And he had agreed to meet her at the stables.
He closed his eyes, wishing that he could not always remember with such startling clarity so much that had taken place that night.
But he would always remember.
Every word.
Every whisper and movement.
Going to the stables. Drinking the wine, changing glasses with her.
Their argument. Over Alastair.
“Must you be so hypocritical?” he had demanded.
“Must you be so hateful?” she had returned.
And he had tried to walk away. In all honesty, he had tried to walk away. But she had called him back. “I do—I do intend to show you…something…give you all that is offered…”
The sensations became overwhelming. She was in his arms. He had her lips, and then he had her down upon the poor bed in the stables, and she’d been all that mattered. He’d known he was drugged, but the very essence of the drug had kept him from caring.
How curious now that he could still remember every little nuance of that night. Remember, see her, feel her…
She twisted beneath him as he kissed her, discovering that he couldn’t know her lips enough. Her gown inched up. He dragged it farther, his hands caressing her naked hip and thigh with growing passion and demand. His robe parted. He kissed her throat. She whispered words he didn’t understand. He slipped her gown from her shoulder, her breast. He fastened his mouth upon her nipple, laving the hardening peak again and againwith his tongue. She gasped and shuddered, fingers ripping into his arms. He thrust her gown far above her hips and abdomen, buried his face against the soft, vulnerable flesh there, delved his fingers into the raven black triangle of hair until he touched her with unbearable intimacy. Shudders ripped the length of her, words escaped her, words, having no sense and no reason.
“…just show you…” she gasped.
The flesh of her belly was unbelievably soft, silken fascination. He moved his lips upon it, traveled, delved. The brush of his fingers became bold, demanding, intimate, that of his lips even more so. She filled him, she was every breath, every caress, every beat of his heart, sweet, fragrant, musky. She twisted, writhed. Words ceased to come from her. He heard her frantic intake of breath, felt her fingers digging into his shoulders and hair. She cried out, her body as rigid as steel, and the honey of her seemed to fill him again with intoxicating sensation. He rose over her, knees parting her thighs. She didn’t open her eyes. Her face was pale and beautiful. He groaned with a shudder that seemed to rise from him with volcanic volatility, enwrapped in her, thrust himself fully, deeply within her.
The sound that escaped her was a breath, no more. He looked into her face again. Her eyes were opened, glazed.
“Shawna…”
Her name from his lips was pained. What was done he had not intended.
What was done he could not have avoided. And even now he didn’t seem to be in his right senses because what had been done did not matter. He wanted her. Could not withdraw from her, had to have her. Again, sensation was painfully acute, desire was desperate. In a distant corner of his mind, he was angry with himself. He was a man, not an animal with no reason or logic. Anger didn’t matter, what pain he might have caused her didn’t matter. She twisted. He held taut. She cried out suddenly, herarms coming around him, her face pressed against his shoulder. Pain had stunned her. He could have withdrawn, yet she was suddenly the aggressor, clinging to him. Crimson light and fury seemed to fill him. He moved with desperate energy against her, sheathed, filled, urgent, reveling in every movement, wanting more and more. Climax built wildly within him, spiraled. He was vaguely aware of the rough wool blanket beneath them. The world still smelled sweetly of new-mown hay, more sweetly still of flowers and the woman and the musk of their bedding.
Her face remained buried against him. He caught her hair, forced her to meet his eyes. Hers remained blue and glistening with unshed tears. He found the sweetness of her mouth once again, forcing her lips to part to his. And they did, and she met the hunger of his kiss with a thirst of her own, hesitantly at first, then more fully, until he thought that he would drown in the seduction of her. Then the force of the climax that had been building within him burst wildly upon him. Muscles constricted and taut, he held above her and within her as wave after wave of release seized him, shook him, spilled from him, and into her. As he stared down at her then, he was dimly aware that Shawna had never intended for her game to go so far.
He started to brush her face with his knuckles, to tell her that if her bargain was marriage, then so be it. She was far too anguished, he thought, and he was far too proud to tell her that she had just aroused and seduced him like no other woman. Such admissions with a lass like Shawna could be far too costly for a man in his position at this time. She was still a MacGinnis, lady of the Craig Rock MacGinnises, and dangerous in that holding.
Her eyes closed. Her body glistened in lamplit crimson beauty.
Sated, soaked, both satisfied and aware he’d be wanting far more, he opened his mouth to speak.
No words came from him.
Just the pain. An ungodly pain within his head.
He saw red…
He touched his hand to his temple, and it came away covered with blood.
The color before him turned to black…
The world began spinning into deeper and deeper shades of crimson and black before him.
Yellow, gold, orange, blue…