The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) Read online

  Her body clenched, straining toward the final peak, and then finally soared into a realm of sensation that was indescribable. She felt transported—separated from her body as if she’d died for a moment—glimpsed heaven, and then came slowly back to earth in a shattering explosion of floating, spasming waves.

  The waves had barely ebbed when he picked her up and carried her out of the water. A moment later, she was down on the grass and he was kissing her again. This time with a tenderness and a sweetness that made her heart break.

  Nay, not break, she realized, open. She was falling hard and fast for Sir Thomas Randolph, and she feared there was nothing she could do to stop it. What’s not to love? She’d better figure out something quick.

  There was nothing Randolph loved more than to bring a woman pleasure. He loved the euphoria that transformed their features into something almost heavenly, he loved the pink flush that rose to their cheeks, the way their lips parted, their eyes closed, and their heads fell back as their bodies gave over in that final surrender. It was a look he’d seen many, many times before, and it always brought him a deep sense of satisfaction.

  But that was nothing compared to the fierce, primal feelings pounding through him now. He felt satisfaction, aye, but it was far deeper, far stronger, and far more primitive in its intensity than the vaguely detached feelings he’d experienced before. There was nothing detached about his feelings right now. He was experiencing every gasp, every clench, every spasm of pleasure right along with her. Her pleasure seemed integral—bound—to his own.

  He didn’t understand it, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. It was different, and he rather liked the way things were. His relations with women had always been easy. Something he didn’t have to think about. They liked him and he liked them. Simple. But what he felt right now sure as hell wasn’t simple. It was powerful, demanding, and intense. It was hunger and desire to the extreme.

  Her breasts hadn’t helped. Who the hell would have guessed she hid such perfection under all those modest gowns? They were spectacular. About the most spectacular he’d ever seen. The round shape, the more than a handful size, the creamy velvet of her porcelain skin, and the delicate shade of pink of those taut little nipples. He would dream about those nipples. How sweet they’d tasted, how they’d felt rolling under his tongue, how much he’d like to feel them raking against his chest as he moved in and out of her.

  Aye, he’d like that a lot—especially the moving in and out part. He wanted to be inside her. Wanted it with a desperate ache that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Maybe ever. Which didn’t make sense. But he was beyond sense.

  It was her response that undid him. The moans, the little arches of her back that begged for more. He knew he could make her shatter, and once that knowledge was lodged in his head he couldn’t let it go. He had to touch her. Had to stroke her. Had to feel her release as he brought her to completion.

  He just hadn’t anticipated the effect it would have on him.

  His body was still hard as a rock, and lust pounded at the base of his spine, but his chest… his chest seemed to expand and fill with warmth and an overwhelming sense of pleasure. Not physical pleasure, but a deep, overwhelming sense of contentment—almost joy. The pain in his body—which hurt like hell—seemed secondary. He wanted to be inside her more than he’d ever wanted with any other woman, but he also wanted to snuggle her against his chest and hold her tight.

  It was the damnedest thing, and he didn’t know what the hell to make of it.

  Randolph wasn’t a man who was controlled by his lust, but when he carried her out of the water and caught a glimpse of the long, sleek limbs now visible beneath her sodden gown, he reconsidered. He might have forgotten every last ounce of his honor and taken her right there, if he hadn’t looked down at her face.

  She looked so incredibly beautiful—and very sweet and trusting. His chest squeezed as a hot swell of an unfamiliar emotion rose up inside him. It was the same strange feeling that made him want to hold her against his chest and protect her.

  Protect her.

  The realization did what the cold water had not, cooling the heat from his blood. He couldn’t do this. He had to stop. It was wrong even if nothing had ever felt more right. He couldn’t take her innocence no matter how hard his body urged it. She wasn’t his, and doing this wouldn’t make her so. He’d given his word. He wouldn’t back out of the planned betrothal with Elizabeth just because her cousin made him out of his mind with lust.

  So instead of ravishing her senseless as every fiber of his body urged to do, he kissed her gently. Tenderly. Telling her in a way that words could not how much what had just happened meant to him.

  It had meant something to him, he realized. Though what, he wasn’t sure. Nor did he like it. But whatever it was, it didn’t make a difference.

  Reluctantly, he lifted his head and gently stroked a wet lock of fair hair from her brow. Her pale skin was like velvet, and his thumb lingered on the delicate bones of her cheek as if he could hold on to the moment for just a little longer.

  Even though he knew it had to end.

  Izzie could tell by the way he was looking at her that something had changed. Regret. That’s what she read in his eyes, and it cast a sudden shadow over what might have been the most wonderful moment of her life. For the briefest instant—not much more than the space of a heartbeat—when his lips had caressed hers so tenderly, so lovingly, she’d felt that she wasn’t alone. She’d felt as if the same strange emotions that were confusing her might be confusing him, too. That maybe—just maybe—he might be falling for her, too.

  She’d felt the possibility of something wonderful. Something special. Something that might be meaningful. But now that feeling was slipping away.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  His brows drew together in a slight frown. “Nothing.”

  “Then why did you stop?” Her cheeks heated as she realized the boldness of what she’d said.

  She sat up, no longer feeling comfortable lying on the ground with him stretched out half on top of her. Though a moment ago she’d thought being under him the most natural place in the world.

  He followed suit, and without the closeness, without the connection, without his heat, she was suddenly cold. She drew her knees in tight against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, unconsciously perhaps protecting herself against what he was about to say.

  He bent one knee and looked idly at the pond, his thoughts inscrutable. He must be freezing as well, but he gave no hint of it. Feelings, emotions, cold… he looked like a man impervious to anything so plebeian. “Because if I went any further, honor would demand that I ask for your hand.”

  The stab between her ribs was surprisingly sharp. She understood. “And you don’t want that.”

  He gave her a sharp look as if her words had pricked. “I’m practically engaged to your cousin.”

  “Practically,” she said. “But not actually.”

  She hadn’t meant it as a challenge, but he seemed to take it as such. Some of the stiffness and defensiveness that had been absent for most of the day returned. “It’s the same thing. I gave my word to Douglas that I would offer for his sister, and I can’t go back on it.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” She couldn’t believe she was talking to him like this—about this—but somehow she knew if she didn’t say something now, it might be too late. It had suddenly become imperative that he not become betrothed to her cousin. Whatever possibility she’d felt in something wonderful would be gone.

  His mouth pressed in a tight line. “Both.”

  Izzie had never lacked for confidence, but even she was surprised when she said, “Even if you want me?”

  He didn’t deny it, but neither from the way he shrugged did it seem overly important to him. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she’d just imagined something that wasn’t there. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe what she’d felt had been one-sided. Maybe for him it was no more than desire. Lust