Page 79 of The Guardian
“I don’t like the Douglas,” Ian said without breaking his pace, “but I mean to take his advice as soon as possible.”
Sìleas swallowed, remembering the Douglas’s parting words.
For God’s sake, don’t leave her a virgin another night.
CHAPTER 27
Sìleas saw Niall sitting at one of the tables as they entered the dark, noisy tavern. He stood as soon they entered.
“Stay out of trouble,” Ian said, giving Niall a pointed look as he passed him. “I’ll come find ye in the morning.”
It was barely noon.
Niall grabbed her free arm. “Is this what ye want, Sìl?”
Brave lad. Her heart was thundering in her chest, but she managed a nod to reassure him.
Ian strode through the tavern with barely a glance right or left and led her up the stairs. At the last door, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her over the threshold.
Apparently, Ian was taking no chances with the bad luck that lurked in doorways.
He kicked the door shut and set her on her feet. While he shoved a chest from the far wall in front of the door, she glanced at the bed that seemed to fill the room. When he turned and focused his heated gaze on her, she swallowed. His body seemed to pulse with a barely contained energy.
She was aware of his chest rising and falling, the muscles in his jaw working, the tension running through every fiber of him. When he took a step toward her, she had to fight not to take a step back. His desire was palpable and dark, fanned hotter by his anger—anger that stemmed from the sting to his pride as well as fear for her safety.
Without a word, he crushed her against his chest and his passion exploded. His mouth ravished hers, demanding all and holding back nothing.
There was nothing in him of the gentle lover who pressed feather-light kisses over her scarred back. This time, Ian was letting her see the untamed violence of his hunger for her.
She felt overwhelmed by the force of his need, the assault on her senses. It frightened her, and yet something deep inside her craved his raw emotion, unchecked and unbound. She wanted to drown in the stormy passion of deep kisses, to feel the writhing need of the insistent hands gripping her hips.
Ian tore his mouth away to give her hot, wet kisses along the side of her throat. Clutching her bottom, he lifted her against him so that she felt his erection, full and hard.
“I want ye so badly,” he said against her ear. “I may die right here if I can’t have ye.”
For the first time, she felt her power over him—and she liked it. She splayed her hands under his shirt and bit his lip, drawing a low groan from him.
“Well, ye can have me,” she said, and pulled him into another deep kiss.
He backed her up to the bed, and they fell across it. Holding her face in his hands, he kissed her as if he might never have the chance again. Then his hands were running over her body, rough with wanting. Her chest felt tight, as if she could not get enough air. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
His hand was on her breast, his thumb seeking the nipple. When he found it, he lowered his head to suck on her breast through the bodice of her gown. She gasped as intense sensations spiraled through her. The world was suspended as every part of her being focused on his mouth on her breast. It was a torture, but a sweet torture that left her breathless and light-headed.
He jerked at the skirt of her gown until his hand touched her bare thigh. But it was not enough.
“I need ye naked,” he said, his voice a low rasp deep in his throat. “Now.”
He rolled her to the side and began unhooking the back of her gown, while his mouth assaulted hers with scorching kisses that left her dazed and wanting. The next thing she knew, she was lifting her arms and he was pulling the gown over her head. Cool air hit her hot skin—her chemise had come off with her gown.
Before she had time to feel embarrassed, he wrapped himself around her, engulfing her in the heat of his body and his passion. The rough cloth of his shirt made her sensitive skin tingle.
Her heart beat hard with anticipation as he paused to jerk his boots off and pull his shirt over his head. When he crushed her against him again, this time it was skin to skin.
Every inch of her was alive to his touch—and his hands were everywhere, running over her body, as he kissed her hair, her face, her throat. Their nakedness increased the urgency of his already burning need. She felt it in the tension of his muscles under her hands, in the hunger of his kisses.
“Ye are mine,” he said, pausing to look at her with burning eyes. “And I’m claiming every inch of ye.”
His hair slid over her skin as he moved down her body, planting hot, wet kisses down her breastbone, to the undersides of her breasts, and on her stomach. All the while, his hands played with her nipples, sending sensations straight to the aching place between her legs.
