Silverhawk by Barbara Bettis Page A

me.”
    “I should,” he whispered, dropping close. Her subtle essence, light and sweet, permeated the air. “I could swoop down, carry you away, and no one would be the wiser.”
    “Don’t be foolish.” Her voice was tart, any remnants of wavering gone.
    “I’m not being foolish. I leave tonight. Come along.” Could he persuade her to accompany him voluntarily? If she agreed to his suggestion, he wouldn’t be forced to smuggle her out of the gates. Not much likelihood, but he’d try.
    Emelin turned to him. In the moonlight, her eyes glowed with indignation; her lips parted to answer. His body stirred at the sight. He’d rather kiss her than talk.
    Touching her would be a mistake.
    Oh, what the hell. He jerked her to him.
    Her mouth fit his like a lock to a key. Something inside him shifted, eased as he searched, breathed her breath. It was sweet as morning, soft as twilight.
    Closer. One arm slid around her trembling shoulders, the other anchored her narrow waist.
    He wanted to absorb her, to lay her down in this dried up garden and lose himself in her.
    She would be warm, not cool. Her body would clench his, all soft, moist tightness.
    Her shudder jerked him back to reality. This woman was not for him, no matter how she felt in his arms. Just a lady to rescue and a means to revenge.
    If he could just convince his cock of that.
    ****
    His arm lay warm across her back. His muscles undulated as he dragged her nearer. She had meant to pull away when he sat, but a moonbeam flashed across his face. It lightened his darkness and turned those remarkable eyes to gray fog. She had just a glimpse before his lips brushed hers.
    No dream could prepare her for the power of that whisper touch of mouths. No imagination could create the wash of sensations that swirled from her forehead to her toes. As in a flood, she felt adrift.
    She clung to his arms, followed their insistence. Closer. For a moment, she couldn’t tell where she stopped and he began.
    His head lifted. “Come with me.”
    The whisper made her stop. What was she doing? Tomorrow she was to wed, but tonight she lay in the arms of another man. And not just any man. A mercenary. No better than an outlaw.
    She tried to twist free, but he grasped her shoulders. The magic created by his kiss vanished, replaced by a frisson of fear. But he would never hurt her, she knew it as deeply as she felt his touch. One last shove at his chest. Might as well try to move a rock wall.
    “This is ridiculous.” She wanted to escape, but her mouth still tingled from his.
    He pressed her head against his heart, the grip light but inflexible.
    “Shhh. You like my kisses. I promise you can have all you want after tonight.” He caressed her back in small, soothing circles. A part of her wanted to linger, to follow, to have more of the drugging kisses. His lips promised delights she’d only dreamed of on her narrow bed in the austere, convent cubicle.
    “You’ll have no worries. I’ll take care of you.”
    The words were ice to her fevered mind. Take care of her indeed. As if she were some camp follower looking for handouts. What did he think she was? Yet for a moment, Emelin had allowed herself to dream.
    She inhaled. He smelled of cool air, warm man, and secret longings. Bumps rose on her arms; her nipples puckered. What might it be like to lie in his arms each night, surrounded by this mysterious aura? Travel to faraway lands. Did he even possess a home?
    But eventually he would tire of her. And where would she be then? Perhaps truly a camp follower, begging for handouts. A shiver coursed down her spine. Never.
    After all, she had a duty. To wed.
    Lord Osbert was not the man she would have chosen, but what ladies ever had the luxury of such a decision? They wed at the direction of their families and, if lucky, found contentment.
    And oh, how she longed for a real home, children of her own. Little Margaret would be the beginning. The child needed a mother’s firm love.
    She