The Virgin's Pursuit by Joanne Rock Page B

demeanor did not suggest a need for fear.”
    Her heart thudded strongly, the fertility potion she’d consumed adding to the dizzy sensation he inspired. She was not prepared for the brush of his fingertip beneath her chin or the gentle tilt of her jaw to face him.
    â€œA woman can never be too careful alone with a man.” That heat she’d felt rolling off him before returned with new force, prickling her skin like too much time spent in the sun. “The lure of such sweetness can bring out the beast in any male.”
    He warned her away, his voice turning as fierce as his gaze. But strangely, she had no wish to heed it. Something in that fiery expression of his made her more curious than fearful.
    â€œI have learned experience is a far more memorable teacher.” She raised her palm to his chest, letting it hover over his heart for a long moment before she found the power within to drag her fingers lightly along the hard plane of muscle.
    She had witnessed her cousin tease a young groom thus once, and that man had been noticeably affected. Would her touch prove as tempting to the hunter?
    â€œWhat game is this?” His eyes narrowed, and he released her chin to grip her hand in his. “If these are the hands of a laundress, then I am the king of the realm.”
    He smoothed his thumb along her palm, making wide circles that spiraled and narrowed until he reached the heart of her hand. Only then did she realize her error in the lie. For while her hands were no longer the smooth, unblemished mark of her rank, they also lacked the deep red, irritated flesh of a laundress.
    Her cheeks flushed hot from the untruth, but she could not lose him now. She had been drinking her potion for a fortnight, preparing herself for this meeting when she was at the most fertile time of her moon cycle.
    â€œYou do not play enough games, sir, if you find this one objectionable.” Taking a deep breath, she willed her heartbeat to steady along with her nerves. “Does it matter how we come to be in one another’s path so long as we both enjoy the diversion?”
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    Cormac of Glenmore did not begin to find anything objectionable about the willful, independent woman doing her utmost to seduce him.
    If anything, he had ventured into these woods for many moons in the hope of protecting her from afar. He’d heard tales about the daughter of a noble house who had escaped her home during a Norman attack. Her father had died defending his keep and her mother had remarried one of the invaders to save herself. But their sole heir had disappeared. Some claimed she’d been carried off like her mother. Others said she’d perished in these very woods during the harsh winter that had followed. Yet there’d been sightings of an ethereal, golden-haired beauty roaming the woods, rumors of the sole heir’s spirit lingering in the forest where she’d died.
    The blue-eyed blonde pressing her palm to Cormac’s chest right now was no spirit, however. She was a living, breathing woman who tempted him beyond reason. He’d lured her out of hiding as surely as he’d coaxed the cagiest harts and boars from their lairs. But even though he would give his sword arm to take what she offered, the predator inside him remained wary of any prize that appeared too easily won.
    A greater danger might lie ahead. He simply couldn’t see it yet.
    â€œPerhaps it does not matter what brought us to these woods.” He kept her hand captive in his, certain he must have found the elusive Lady of Iness. “But I would know your name at least. I am Cormac.”
    Would she remember the name? He had served the Scots king long enough to have met nobles from most of the ruling houses, including her father. He waited for any sign of recognition, but found none. It was a common enough name, especially with no identifying characteristic attached.
    â€œVery well, Cormac.” She tossed her unbound hair