completion.
She bit him as she bucked. His every instinct cried for release, but she pushed and pummeled until her desperation forced its way through the madness. With herculean effort, he pulled out of her and rolled, shaking, onto his back. He tore deep, ragged breaths into his lungs as unabated need roared like a fire in his loins.
Covering his face with his hands, he willed the throbbing pain of his arousal to abate, willed some semblance of sanity to return as he listened to her scramble away, out of his reach.
What just happened? She’d been open and ready for him. Crazy for him. Harder.
He’d not dreamed the word.
But perhaps she had. She’d kissed him, initiated the joining in her sleep. And he knew precisely when she’d woken. At the sound of her own voice. Harder.
The soft sound of her crying carried from the far edge of the stall.
Bloody hell.
“I didna take your maidenhead, Wildcat. I didna mean for that to happen, but ’twas not my doing alone. I awoke to the feel of your tongue upon my shoulder.”
“Don’t touch me.” Her voice was low, shattered. “I don’t want you to touch me.”
He stared into the night as something withered in his chest. All he wanted to do was get away from here. Away from Scotland. Away from this woman.
As he ran a shaking hand through his damp hair, the full import of what he’d almost done hit him. He’d nearly spilled his seed inside her. What kind of madness . . . ? He’d been half asleep. Unthinking.
If not for her awakening, he could have gotten her with child, binding himself to her for all eternity. The thought made him go cold. He had to find Hegarty, for he wanted nothing more to do with her. Nothing.
Except to bury himself deep inside her and finish what they’d started. God , he wanted to do that. Instead, he sat up and pulled his wet breeks up his now dry legs. The discomfort was almost enough to temper his raging need. Almost.
He sat on the bare stable floor as far from her as he could, and leaned his head against the wall, a sense of doom enveloping him like a fine, malevolent mist.
Brenna woke with a start.
Rourke was standing over her looking grim as he dropped her clothes onto her blanket-wrapped body. “Get dressed. ’Tis morning. We must leave before someone finds us.” He turned his back to her and left the stall.
His voice was cold this morning, unlike last night when they’d . . .
Squeezing her eyes closed, she buried her face in her hands as memory and humiliation washed over her. Last night. She’d dreamed she was having the most incredible sex of her life, then woke to discover it was no dream. She’d panicked. The feel of him on top of her, his weight pressing her into the hay, had triggered her terror and she’d lost it.
How was she ever going to face him again?
Her whole body hot with humiliation, she sat and pulled the coarse blanket tight around her. She’d been wild with need for him. Out of control until . . .
Brenna shuddered. The terror lingered like a bad aftertaste, making her feel shaky and disjointed even as the unreleased tension still throbbed between her legs.
God, she needed to get out of here. She wanted to go home, to her own world, her own time, where she didn’t have soldiers in blue coats ready to plunge knives in her heart and where she wasn’t tempted to make disastrous love to handsome pirates. But to get home she had to find Hegarty.
With unsteady hands, she eased out of the blanket’s warmth and reached for her T-shirt, then scrambled into the rest of her damp clothing. Running her fingers through her hair, she grimaced at the sticky, salty feel. The first thing she was going to do when she got back to civilization was take a shower. Her stomach growled. Or maybe the shower would come second. First she’d find food.
She pushed open the stall’s low door to find Rourke waiting for her, his hard good looks diminished not at all by the wrinkled clothes and his weather-beaten
She bit him as she bucked. His every instinct cried for release, but she pushed and pummeled until her desperation forced its way through the madness. With herculean effort, he pulled out of her and rolled, shaking, onto his back. He tore deep, ragged breaths into his lungs as unabated need roared like a fire in his loins.
Covering his face with his hands, he willed the throbbing pain of his arousal to abate, willed some semblance of sanity to return as he listened to her scramble away, out of his reach.
What just happened? She’d been open and ready for him. Crazy for him. Harder.
He’d not dreamed the word.
But perhaps she had. She’d kissed him, initiated the joining in her sleep. And he knew precisely when she’d woken. At the sound of her own voice. Harder.
The soft sound of her crying carried from the far edge of the stall.
Bloody hell.
“I didna take your maidenhead, Wildcat. I didna mean for that to happen, but ’twas not my doing alone. I awoke to the feel of your tongue upon my shoulder.”
“Don’t touch me.” Her voice was low, shattered. “I don’t want you to touch me.”
He stared into the night as something withered in his chest. All he wanted to do was get away from here. Away from Scotland. Away from this woman.
As he ran a shaking hand through his damp hair, the full import of what he’d almost done hit him. He’d nearly spilled his seed inside her. What kind of madness . . . ? He’d been half asleep. Unthinking.
If not for her awakening, he could have gotten her with child, binding himself to her for all eternity. The thought made him go cold. He had to find Hegarty, for he wanted nothing more to do with her. Nothing.
Except to bury himself deep inside her and finish what they’d started. God , he wanted to do that. Instead, he sat up and pulled his wet breeks up his now dry legs. The discomfort was almost enough to temper his raging need. Almost.
He sat on the bare stable floor as far from her as he could, and leaned his head against the wall, a sense of doom enveloping him like a fine, malevolent mist.
Brenna woke with a start.
Rourke was standing over her looking grim as he dropped her clothes onto her blanket-wrapped body. “Get dressed. ’Tis morning. We must leave before someone finds us.” He turned his back to her and left the stall.
His voice was cold this morning, unlike last night when they’d . . .
Squeezing her eyes closed, she buried her face in her hands as memory and humiliation washed over her. Last night. She’d dreamed she was having the most incredible sex of her life, then woke to discover it was no dream. She’d panicked. The feel of him on top of her, his weight pressing her into the hay, had triggered her terror and she’d lost it.
How was she ever going to face him again?
Her whole body hot with humiliation, she sat and pulled the coarse blanket tight around her. She’d been wild with need for him. Out of control until . . .
Brenna shuddered. The terror lingered like a bad aftertaste, making her feel shaky and disjointed even as the unreleased tension still throbbed between her legs.
God, she needed to get out of here. She wanted to go home, to her own world, her own time, where she didn’t have soldiers in blue coats ready to plunge knives in her heart and where she wasn’t tempted to make disastrous love to handsome pirates. But to get home she had to find Hegarty.
With unsteady hands, she eased out of the blanket’s warmth and reached for her T-shirt, then scrambled into the rest of her damp clothing. Running her fingers through her hair, she grimaced at the sticky, salty feel. The first thing she was going to do when she got back to civilization was take a shower. Her stomach growled. Or maybe the shower would come second. First she’d find food.
She pushed open the stall’s low door to find Rourke waiting for her, his hard good looks diminished not at all by the wrinkled clothes and his weather-beaten
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