The Warrior's Forbidden Virgin by Michelle Willingham Page B

it felt like, to betray someone? Wanton and hot?
    He broke free, and her cheeks burned scarlet. What in the name of all that was holy had she done?
    “I’m sorry,” she managed to say. “I was angry for what happened today.” Tears thickened the back of her throat, for she wasn’t at all sorry about kissing him. The only thing she was sorry about was that she’d used him.
    Thank Heaven, he didn’t speak. With his thumb, he brushed a wet lock of hair out of her eyes, guiding it behind her ear. She trembled at the touch of his hand. The rain continued to batter at both of them, clinging to her gown. It felt as though the drops were pounding against her bare flesh. Her nipples tightened, rising from the cold.
    He was staring at her, as though he’d never seen her before.
    “Sir Ademar?” she whispered. “What do—”
    He grasped her nape, tilting her face up to meet his. He kissed her again, slowly. His lips took hers in a sensual onslaught, and she leaned in, letting him learn the shape of her mouth.
    She had kissed men before, but not a man such as Ademar. He kissed her as though he couldn’t stop himself, as though he needed her. When his tongue gently edged her mouth, she opened to him.
    His tongue slid inside, sleek and wet. Her body yearned for more, and she gasped as his hands moved down to her hips. He pulled her against himself, and she felt the hardness of his desire for her.
    She wound her arms around his neck, and his mouth drifted down to her throat. Teasing, tasting him, she moaned. His knee nudged between her thighs, as his palms cupped her bottom. Fire. The rush of need made her desire him.
    He brought his mouth to her ear, whispering, “I’ve never…kissed a woman before.”
    The admission stunned her. A man as handsome as Sir Ademar? Easily one of the strongest men she knew, he’d nearly won the tournament her father had hosted.
    “I find that hard to believe.” Especially given the way he made her feel. Her heart thrummed inside her chest, her body restless and unfulfilled.
    But when she saw the embarrassment on his face, she realized he was speaking the truth. He’d forgotten himself, just as she had.
    “Y-y-you need to come out of the rain,” he stammered. His cheeks reddened at the error in his speech, and she understood then that his usual silence was not from a stoic demeanor. In the past, he had muttered his words, struggling to speak. She’d thought it was nervous behavior, the mark of a shy man.
    It intrigued her, for his kiss was anything but shy.
    “I don’t want to return to my chamber,” Katherine told him. She did not want to exchange more words with her sister, nor hear Honora’s excuses. She needed time away, time to gather her thoughts.
    Ademar held out his hand. “I’ll find a place for you.”
    “For us,” she corrected. “You need to dry your clothing as well.” His garments were as soaked as her own, his tunic, braies, and chausses plastered to his body. Lean and muscled, his body showed the signs of training. Beneath his clothing, there would be scars as well, for all warriors bore such markings.
    Even her sister. Troubled thoughts welled up inside.
    You aren’t like Honora. And you never will be. You don’t have her courage or her strength.
    And once Katherine chose a husband, he would see the truth: that beneath her industrious air and smooth ability to run an estate, lay a woman who let fear dominate her.
    “Will you come with me?” Ademar asked, his hand still outstretched.
    She hesitated, for she sensed that it wasn’t a wise decision to make. She should return to her own chamber, to her own bed. Just as a good daughter would.
    Her frustration flared up again. Obedience hadn’t served any purpose. She’d lost the man she’d wanted and now faced the humiliation of having to wed a different man. Whereas Honora had defied all the rules and won Ewan for herself.
    Ademar saw her hesitation and let his hand fall back to his side. Upon his face, she