last, the rich rumble of his voice softening her name, making it sound almost pretty when she had always thought it rather harsh. Whenever her father had said her name it sounded like an epithet on his lips.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax, letting her back brush against his…and telling herself she took no pleasure in the hard length of him so near her, touching her.
That the warmth of another—a man—was not something she missed. Something she never had before.
Something she now craved.
Chapter 10
A n arctic cold arrived around dawn. With a shiver and several groggy blinks, Astrid lifted her head and assessed the mist-shrouded surroundings.
She and Griffin no longer slept with their backs to each other but, in this early morning cold, sought warmth and cocooned together. Her upper body was pressed against his, breasts cushioned on the warm wall of his chest.
Cheeks flaming, she attempted to slide her leg out from between his but found it wedged tightly between rock-hard thighs.
His voice purred in her ear. “If you wanted on top, you only had to ask.”
Her gaze collided with his heavy-lidded blue stare. Heat scored her cheeks. Her hair had come loose in the night and she blew at the blond strands falling in her face.
Pressing her hands on either side of him, she pushed herself up, opening her mouth to reprimand him, well accustomed to putting gentlemen in their place.
His hand came up, seizing her by the back of her head and dragging her down to him, smothering her words with the hot press of his mouth.
His lips claimed hers, warm and soft, a tender caress that seemed at odds with such a rough man.
He angled his head, taking more, trailing the warm tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips in a quest for entrance. She gasped and he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue inside her mouth, gliding it against hers in a sinuous dance like nothing she had ever experienced.
A lick of heat twisted in her stomach, thrilling in its strangeness. Frightening.
She relaxed against him, melting into his hard length, her blood simmering, liquefying her bones.
He tasted good, so good, like the way he smelled. Of wind and woods and man. For an insensible moment, her hands curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, mashing her breasts into his chest.
He growled against her mouth, rolling her beneath him, settling himself between her thighs. Even with her skirts bunched between them, she felt the hard ridge of him, prodding and insistent against her belly. He shifted lower, rubbing against her groin, the very center of her—a place that throbbed with desperate intensity, a burgeoning ache that demanded satisfaction and made her squirm in need.
Her fingers clenched the warm wall of his chest, clawing and twisting the fabric of his shirt. Her hips rose, thrusting against the delicious hardness of him.
His lips lifted from hers on a hiss of air, just long enough for him to grit a single word against her mouth. “ Duchess .”
His lips fell back on hers, ravenous, his tongue delving past her lips…still, that feverish utterance struck like an arrow to her heart, reminding her of who she was. Who he was. Only one day widowed and she was rolling around on the ground with a man she barely knew? Without dignity. Without pride. No better than her mother. Easy pickings for some silver-tongued devil’s misuse.
She shoved him off her, disentangling herself from the solid strength of his arms. Scrambling back, she put distance between them. Hugging her knees to her chest, she glared at him in the light of dawn.
He rolled onto his side, watching her with a lazy, seductive gaze that fired her blood…and indignation.
“Don’t think that my gratitude runs this far,” she hissed, rubbing the back of her hand over her mouth as if she could wipe clean the burning imprint of his kiss.
He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes turning hard, the gleam of desire fading.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax, letting her back brush against his…and telling herself she took no pleasure in the hard length of him so near her, touching her.
That the warmth of another—a man—was not something she missed. Something she never had before.
Something she now craved.
Chapter 10
A n arctic cold arrived around dawn. With a shiver and several groggy blinks, Astrid lifted her head and assessed the mist-shrouded surroundings.
She and Griffin no longer slept with their backs to each other but, in this early morning cold, sought warmth and cocooned together. Her upper body was pressed against his, breasts cushioned on the warm wall of his chest.
Cheeks flaming, she attempted to slide her leg out from between his but found it wedged tightly between rock-hard thighs.
His voice purred in her ear. “If you wanted on top, you only had to ask.”
Her gaze collided with his heavy-lidded blue stare. Heat scored her cheeks. Her hair had come loose in the night and she blew at the blond strands falling in her face.
Pressing her hands on either side of him, she pushed herself up, opening her mouth to reprimand him, well accustomed to putting gentlemen in their place.
His hand came up, seizing her by the back of her head and dragging her down to him, smothering her words with the hot press of his mouth.
His lips claimed hers, warm and soft, a tender caress that seemed at odds with such a rough man.
He angled his head, taking more, trailing the warm tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips in a quest for entrance. She gasped and he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue inside her mouth, gliding it against hers in a sinuous dance like nothing she had ever experienced.
A lick of heat twisted in her stomach, thrilling in its strangeness. Frightening.
She relaxed against him, melting into his hard length, her blood simmering, liquefying her bones.
He tasted good, so good, like the way he smelled. Of wind and woods and man. For an insensible moment, her hands curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, mashing her breasts into his chest.
He growled against her mouth, rolling her beneath him, settling himself between her thighs. Even with her skirts bunched between them, she felt the hard ridge of him, prodding and insistent against her belly. He shifted lower, rubbing against her groin, the very center of her—a place that throbbed with desperate intensity, a burgeoning ache that demanded satisfaction and made her squirm in need.
Her fingers clenched the warm wall of his chest, clawing and twisting the fabric of his shirt. Her hips rose, thrusting against the delicious hardness of him.
His lips lifted from hers on a hiss of air, just long enough for him to grit a single word against her mouth. “ Duchess .”
His lips fell back on hers, ravenous, his tongue delving past her lips…still, that feverish utterance struck like an arrow to her heart, reminding her of who she was. Who he was. Only one day widowed and she was rolling around on the ground with a man she barely knew? Without dignity. Without pride. No better than her mother. Easy pickings for some silver-tongued devil’s misuse.
She shoved him off her, disentangling herself from the solid strength of his arms. Scrambling back, she put distance between them. Hugging her knees to her chest, she glared at him in the light of dawn.
He rolled onto his side, watching her with a lazy, seductive gaze that fired her blood…and indignation.
“Don’t think that my gratitude runs this far,” she hissed, rubbing the back of her hand over her mouth as if she could wipe clean the burning imprint of his kiss.
He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes turning hard, the gleam of desire fading.