Pleasurably Undone! by Christine Merrill

it. She watched Tharand keeping guard, knowing that he had no intention of sleeping.
    Such a paradox, it was. He’d brought her here as his prisoner. And yet he’d never treated her in that way.
    She closed her eyes, remembering how he’d defended her from one of his own men. He’d given her the coverlet from his bed the night before, the wool still warm from his body. He’d held her close while riding, teaching her what it meant to feel desire.
    When he’d kissed her, it shattered every image she held. It wasn’t the kiss of a lover, but of a man starving for a woman’stouch. This afternoon when she’d reached out to him, the ground beneath her had shifted. She wanted to kiss him, though it was wrong. He was her captor and a man she should despise.
    Instead, he seemed ready to surrender his life for hers. He watched every man as though anticipating a threat. As though she were a treasure to be guarded instead of a slave.
    The empty void stretching inside startled her. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything for him, this stranger who had stolen her away. Especially not the unfamiliar sensitivity, the longing to kiss him again.
    Aisling drew her legs together, crossing her ankles. The motion tightened the aching within her woman’s flesh. Sinful, wanton thoughts poured through her as she imagined his strong body moving upon her. His hips driving against hers as he filled her.
    Her breath caught and she fisted the coverlet. In the morning, he would leave. She’d not lay eyes upon him again.
    But there was still tonight. A chance to quench this thirst, to understand him.
    He possessed a deep sense of honor, despite his Lochlannach heritage. And even when he’d taken her body to an ecstasy she’d never known, despite her unwillingness, he’d wanted to please her.
    That, perhaps, was why she hadn’t used the knife against him.
    Aisling sat up and drew her knees forward, resting her wrists upon them. Look at me, she bade him. For in his eyes, she would find her answer.
    His gaze snapped toward her. The raw need was almost savage in its nature. He did not relinquish the sight of her, and she unbound her hair for him while he watched.
    “What are you doing, Aisling?”
    She stood and held out her hand. Like a stranger inside herown body, she hardly knew herself. But right now, she wanted a night with no regrets.
    Tharand rose and followed her outside, his large hand covering hers. The storm had ceased, but the frozen earth held a light dusting of snow.
    “I want to be alone with you.”
    He cupped her nape, resting his forehead upon hers. “You don’t belong to me.”
    The reluctance in his voice had nothing to do with lack of desire, she realized. It gave her a measure of hope. “I won’t see you again, after this night.”
    “No,” he answered.
    She rested her arms around his shoulders, leaning in to touch him. “Who is she, Tharand? This woman you seek.”
    He hesitated, but when she kissed his mouth, he answered against her lips, “My sister.”
    “Is she the king’s lover?”
    “She is his hostage. And only fifteen.” Tharand hissed when she pressed her body to his, cradling his length against her softness.
    “You’re trying to save her. By sending me in her place.”
    His shoulders lowered, and she had the answer she needed.
    “You could save us both,” she ventured. “Let me help you.” She refused to believe that he would discard her so easily, that there was no hope.
    He pulled her into a tight embrace, his breath warm against her cheek. “Would to the gods it were possible. But I am commander of the soldiers at Vedrarfjord. Magnus would not take kindly to a betrayal.”
    “Could you free your sister without his knowledge?”
    “I have already tried.” The dark, haunted look in his eyes returned.
    “Tomorrow,” she whispered, touching his upper arms. “We will free her tomorrow.” She slid her hands down his muscles to the dark tattoos upon his forearms. From his stance, she sensed