of viewing her lovely body. He’d sternly reminded himself of rule number four—no physical intimacy. But it had done him no good. Rule number four seemed to have become quite friendly with rule number one—never break an oath—and was cozying up nicely to rule number two—do not lie. What a crowd they were becoming, his broken rules.
Seeing her clad in such a fashion had been worse than if he’d caught her in complete undress. Nude, his hungry eyes could have feasted upon every crevice and hollow of her body; but those pieces of fabric had been cunningly designed to torture a man with the promise of the private slopes and hollows, while granting none of them. Secrets lay beneath that fabric. Were her nipples round duskycoins or puckered coral buds? Was her hair golden and copper there, too? If he had dropped to the floor at her feet, closed his hands around her ankles, and kissed his way up her long, lovely legs, would she have moaned softly, or was she silent when she made love? Nay, he decided abruptly, Lisa Stone would sound like a lioness mating when he took her.
Good
. He liked that in a woman.
She’d made him feel like a hungry animal, caged by his own rules, and all the more dangerous for it. For a few moments, lust had risen so furiously that he’d feared he might drag her beneath his body, uncaring whether she wished it. Instead, he’d clenched his shaking hands behind his back, dropping the cloak to the floor and thinking of his mother, Morganna, who would have disowned him even for thinking about taking by force that which must be gifted. Never had he felt so nearly violent with desire. She had roused deep, primitive feelings in him: possessiveness, jealousy that another man might see her clad thus, a need to hear her say his name and gaze at him with approval and desire.
Circenn drew a deep breath, held it until his heart slowed, then released it. Now that he knew what was beneath her clothing—no matter what gown he made her wear—how would he be able to look at her again without seeing in his mind the endless expanse of silken skin? The gentle swells of her breasts, the tight nipples peaking the sheer gauze, the slight mound between her thighs.
Thwarted desire translated well into rage. He stomped down the stairs to the kitchen, determined to find Alesone or Floria and have one of them see to it that the lass was properly attired. Then he would send one of the Douglas brothers to teach her about their time, something he should have done himself, but he simply couldn’t trust himselfnear her at the moment. He would go train with his men and release some of his frustration in the pure, clean joy of swinging a heavy sword, grunting and cursing. And he would
not
entertain one more erotic thought for the remainder of the day.
Shaking his head, he burst into the kitchen. It took him only an instant to realize that none of his plans for the day was going to go right. In fact, the day seemed to have taken on a devilish persona, determined to mock him.
He drew to an abrupt halt, hastily averting his gaze from the sight of the rounded and flushed bare bottom gripped in Duncan Douglas’s hands.
Alesone had one long leg wrapped around Duncan’s waist, her arms twined around his neck and her skirts tossed up to her shoulders. The foot that remained on the floor was arched upon the tips of her toes, as Duncan’s hands guided her against him in a steady, intense rhythm. The low, sensual sounds of passion filled the room, soft intakes of air, husky murmurs of pleasure, and damned if Duncan wasn’t emitting a deeply satisfied sound with each thrust.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Circenn roared, glancing at the ceiling, the walls, the floor—anywhere but at Alesone’s shapely derriere. “Duncan! Alesone! Get out of the kitchen! Take it to the rooms upstairs! You know I have rules—”
“Ah, yes, the legendary Brodie rules,” Duncan said dryly. He stopped rocking the maid against him with more
Seeing her clad in such a fashion had been worse than if he’d caught her in complete undress. Nude, his hungry eyes could have feasted upon every crevice and hollow of her body; but those pieces of fabric had been cunningly designed to torture a man with the promise of the private slopes and hollows, while granting none of them. Secrets lay beneath that fabric. Were her nipples round duskycoins or puckered coral buds? Was her hair golden and copper there, too? If he had dropped to the floor at her feet, closed his hands around her ankles, and kissed his way up her long, lovely legs, would she have moaned softly, or was she silent when she made love? Nay, he decided abruptly, Lisa Stone would sound like a lioness mating when he took her.
Good
. He liked that in a woman.
She’d made him feel like a hungry animal, caged by his own rules, and all the more dangerous for it. For a few moments, lust had risen so furiously that he’d feared he might drag her beneath his body, uncaring whether she wished it. Instead, he’d clenched his shaking hands behind his back, dropping the cloak to the floor and thinking of his mother, Morganna, who would have disowned him even for thinking about taking by force that which must be gifted. Never had he felt so nearly violent with desire. She had roused deep, primitive feelings in him: possessiveness, jealousy that another man might see her clad thus, a need to hear her say his name and gaze at him with approval and desire.
Circenn drew a deep breath, held it until his heart slowed, then released it. Now that he knew what was beneath her clothing—no matter what gown he made her wear—how would he be able to look at her again without seeing in his mind the endless expanse of silken skin? The gentle swells of her breasts, the tight nipples peaking the sheer gauze, the slight mound between her thighs.
Thwarted desire translated well into rage. He stomped down the stairs to the kitchen, determined to find Alesone or Floria and have one of them see to it that the lass was properly attired. Then he would send one of the Douglas brothers to teach her about their time, something he should have done himself, but he simply couldn’t trust himselfnear her at the moment. He would go train with his men and release some of his frustration in the pure, clean joy of swinging a heavy sword, grunting and cursing. And he would
not
entertain one more erotic thought for the remainder of the day.
Shaking his head, he burst into the kitchen. It took him only an instant to realize that none of his plans for the day was going to go right. In fact, the day seemed to have taken on a devilish persona, determined to mock him.
He drew to an abrupt halt, hastily averting his gaze from the sight of the rounded and flushed bare bottom gripped in Duncan Douglas’s hands.
Alesone had one long leg wrapped around Duncan’s waist, her arms twined around his neck and her skirts tossed up to her shoulders. The foot that remained on the floor was arched upon the tips of her toes, as Duncan’s hands guided her against him in a steady, intense rhythm. The low, sensual sounds of passion filled the room, soft intakes of air, husky murmurs of pleasure, and damned if Duncan wasn’t emitting a deeply satisfied sound with each thrust.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Circenn roared, glancing at the ceiling, the walls, the floor—anywhere but at Alesone’s shapely derriere. “Duncan! Alesone! Get out of the kitchen! Take it to the rooms upstairs! You know I have rules—”
“Ah, yes, the legendary Brodie rules,” Duncan said dryly. He stopped rocking the maid against him with more
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