Highland Knight by Hannah Howell Page B

at that small, delicate hand on his chest, the small tips of each long finger feeling like a brand on his skin, then looked at her. There was a look of innocence and curiosity in her lovely eyes, but there was also the gleam of a challenge there. Was she daring him to act upon the lust raging through his body just so she could then deny him? It was a game he had the misfortune of enduring before: the favors held just out of reach, offered then withdrawn until he promised some reward. Yet instinct told him Avery would not play such a game, if only because she had no idea how much power she could have over a man—over him. That left him uncertain of just what she was doing, however.
    “Cursed, are ye?” she asked, her voice low and husky. “Have the black fairies set a spell upon ye, then?”
    “I begin to think so,” he murmured, and he could not stop himself from placing his hand over hers, holding her small warm hand where it was. “This is certainly a torment worthy of their ilk.”
    “I have been called many things, but ne’er a torment.”
    “Then the men about Donncoill are blind or complete fools.”
    “Flattery, Cameron? ’Tis a momentous occasion, this.” She placed her free hand at his waist with what she hoped was an air of idleness, as simply a means to steady herself since he kept her other hand captive beneath his.
    “Ye are an impertinent wee lass.” He took a quick, sharp breath when she lightly stroked his side. “Ye play with fire, lass. In truth, I find myself most uncertain of just what game ye are playing.”
    “Who says this is a game I play?”
    She trailed her fingers across his belly. His grip on her other hand tightened almost painfully as he trembled. It astounded her that she could so affect this man, but she quickly smothered a twinge of unaccustomed vanity. For all she knew, the man was simply hot of blood, easy to arouse, and there was his lengthy celibacy to consider.
    For a brief moment Avery hesitated in her subtle assault on his senses. She dearly wished to believe Anne’s assurances that Cameron’s lust was stirred by Avery Murray alone, but that did indeed seem vain, especially since she had never stirred a man’s lusts before. Nay. She inwardly shook her head. She would not falter now. Although she might not emerge from this first joining as the conqueror, she would still hold the honors of having approached him first, of having touched him first, of having stirred his desire to a feverish level ere he had even begun to stir hers. She would also hold the honors of being the first woman he had held in an intimate embrace for three long years. Avery circled his navel with one finger and felt his muscles clench beneath her touch.
    “Jesu, lass, much more and I willnae heed any nay ye might think to utter,” he warned, his voice little more than a groan of need.
    “And mayhap I willnae utter one.”
    It was almost impossible to subdue a squeak of surprise when he suddenly grasped her by the arms and, in one tidy, graceful move, had her down on the bed, his long, hard body sprawled on top of hers. Then she was caught up in how good he felt there, her body welcoming the weight of his, his warmth seeping into her veins; and the faint tickle of fear she felt vanished. This was what she wanted. It might be nearly impossible to hold the upper hand in what was to happen now, but she knew she had pushed him to the edge, knew that no matter what lies he told himself later, a part of him would always know that she had not surrendered what he wanted, that she had given it to him.
    Uttering a soft growl, Cameron kissed her. It was a hard, fierce kiss, which proclaimed his hunger as clearly as the hard length beneath his loincloth did. Avery wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with an equal hunger. She echoed the shudder that went through him. Avery wondered if such ferocity, such near desperation, was a good thing considering this was to be her first time; then he