Bound to a Warrior by Donna Fletcher Page A

had not wanted to belong to anyone. Her mother had belonged, and while belonging could have benefits, in the end it proved worthless.
    Mercy again took a step away from him. “Neither my lips, nor I, belong to anyone.”
    He seemed surprised by her response, and she assumed he would argue the point. He didn’t, though she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that he thought differently from his claim. By not arguing he was simply choosing not to debate the matter with her. And she as well would not waste precious time on it.
    She belonged to no one and that was that.
    â€œI am pleased you thought my kiss memorable,” he said. “I will strive to make all kisses that follow even more memorable.”
    â€œThere’ll be no more kisses,” she said candidly, “except of course for the one I promised you once we are freed.”
    â€œAfraid to kiss me again?” he challenged.
    Truth be told she was, but that was not a truth she intended to share with him.
    â€œWe have no time for kisses. We must concentrate on staying alive.”
    His smile faded and he stepped forward, taking her hand. “You’re right about that. We do need to focus more clearly on our situation, but”—he paused and his smile returned—“there’s always time for kisses.”
    To prove it, he gave a quick kiss to her lips.
    She silently cursed her body for instantly responding to his playful kiss. And she grew annoyed with him, for he kissed her for one reason and one reason only, to prove that he could. He had no intention of paying heed to her declaration that there would be no kissing. He was letting her know he would kiss her whenever he pleased.
    The worst part was that she had no doubt she would eagerly respond.
    Don’t let him control.
    All well and good for her mother’s warning, but how did she stop him when she so enjoyed his kisses?
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    Duncan made sure to keep a keen ear and eye on his surroundings as they continued on their journey. Neither was talkative and he had expected that, the kiss having had a profound effect on them both.
    The idea that his lips had been the only ones to have kissed Mercy left him feeling extremely possessive of her. It was as if he had branded her his and branding was for marriages, not kisses. So why did he feel like this? It irritated him, and yet he couldn’t shake the thought. Not to mention that rage overwhelmed him, if he even gave brief thought to another man kissing her.
    No one had that right, but him. He, and only he, could kiss Mercy. And kiss her he wanted to. Their kiss came as natural as the dawning of the day and continued to rise with as much fervor and heat as the sun did. And like the sun that joined completely with the sky did it finally settle and slowly descend, and that was how he felt with Mercy.
    How then could he stop himself from kissing her again, or could she stop from responding? He was no fool. He knew that she wanted to kiss him again as much as he did her, and they would. They’d both be foolish to think it wouldn’t happen again, but if Mercy felt better dictating otherwise, he’d let her.
    She’d come to her senses sooner or later. Future kisses would see to that and then? He grinned with thoughts of the future.
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    By the time they found a stream they were both so parched that they fell to their knees and hungrily drank.
    Mercy stopped drinking before Duncan and was startled by her reflection in the water. Her face wassmudged with dirt, her long black hair wasn’t only an unsightly mess, but its brilliant luster was gone, and exhaustion stamped its heavy mark around her eyes. Her mother would be mortified by her disheveled appearance and frankly, so was she.
    That she had a reasonable excuse for looking so unkempt was no excuse at all to her. And she felt a sudden need to tidy herself up as best she could. She leaned over the water’s edge and with a scoop of her hand splashed a