impossible. We can have no future."
"Then we'll have this night, Conor." She brought her other hand to his
chest. "And we'll make it enough."
He cleared his throat, struggling to find the right words. For a man
who prided himself on his ability as an orator, his gift had suddenly
failed him. "You realize that when we leave here, we'll have to return
to the palace, Emma. A palace filled with whispers and rumors. And
danger at every turn."
"I'll risk it." She brought her lips to his and thrilled to the swift rush of
heat. "As long as you're there with me."
On a moan he returned the kiss and thought about crush-ing her in his
arms. But, though the temptation was great, he knew he had to try
once more to convince her of the folly of this.
"I can't be with you every minute, Emma." He caught her hand when
she pressed it to his cheek. Struggled to remember what he'd been
about to say. "There will be long separations. And many dangers."
She saw the way his eyes darkened with a flare of heat. So, he was not
immune to her touch. She brought her other hand to cup his face.
Then she lowered her mouth to his. Against his lips she murmured,
"Is the brave Conor O'Neil afraid of the dark?"
"Of the dark?" He backed away and caught the hands that were
causing such a rush of feelings along his spine. "Nay, my lady. It isn't
the dark that frightens me. It's the woman who plays the temptress
one minute, then hides like a child the next."
Her tone deepened with anger. "I'm not a child, Conor."
"Aren't you?" He stood up and drew her fractionally closer.
"Nay." She lifted her chin in defiance. "I'm a woman, or haven't you
noticed?"
"Oh, I've noticed. I've noticed that you change as the mood suits you.
Right now you're playing the part of a temptress. But it doesn't suit
you at all, Emma. You see?" He tightened his grip. "Here's the proof.
Your hand is trembling."
With boldness she didn't feel, she placed her other hand on his chest. '
'And your heart is pounding like a runaway carriage. Does that mean I
frighten you, too?"
For a moment he didn't say a word, but merely stared into her eyes.
Then he dragged her against him and pressed his lips to her temple.
"You absolutely terrify me, Emma. God in heaven, how much is a
man supposed to take? If I stay here with you, I'll have to kiss you.
And if I kiss you, I'll have to do more. I'll have to have you. All of
you. Do you understand?"
She let out the breath she'd been unconsciously holding. "Aye, Conor.
I understand perfectly. It's the same for me."
He held her a little away and stared at her as though he'd been struck
by lightning.
"The words..." She took a deep breath, then said in a rush, "The words
aren't as easy for me as they are for you, Conor. But I love you. Oh, I
do love you. Desperately. And have, for a very long time."
For several long moments he framed her face with his hands and
merely studied her. Then he drew her into the circle of his arms and
covered her mouth with his in a savage kiss.
The heat was so swift, so sudden, neither of them had time to react.
The kiss was long and deep and so filled with hunger, that each of
them fed from it, frantic to fill the aching void.
Once again Emma was aware of the carefully controlled strength in
the arms that held her. And of the carefully controlled passion in him
as well. Each time he'd touched her, kissed her, she'd felt it. But this
time it was barely contained, threatening to break free at any moment.
Her body felt boneless, fluid, as he dragged her against him and
savaged her mouth.
She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, fueling the
need. It seemed so right. Though his kiss held no gentleness, though
the hands that held her were almost bruising in their intensity, she felt
no fear. Though he was still a man of too many mysteries, she knew
this much. She loved him. And though he hadn't said the words yet,
he loved her. Only her. For now, that was all that mattered.
The need for him grew. The need so long denied. To be held. To be
loved. To be cherished.
Holding her firmly against him, Conor could feel her heartbeat inside
his own chest. It matched his. Thundering. Erratic. And her breathing,
like his, shallow and strained. He heard a hoarse voice whispering her
name and recognized it as his own.
He tore his lips from hers to rush in desperation over her face, her
neck, her throat. The need for her continued to grow until it bordered
on panic. He had to have her. All of her. Body. Soul. Mind. Or he
would go mad.
"Say it again, Emma." He spoke the words against her mouth.
"I love you, Conor. Desperate—"
He cut off her words with a long slow kiss, drawing it out until she
sighed and her lips parted for him. His tongue tangled with hers,
drawing out all the pleasure until they were both lost in it.
He brushed his lips over her eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose.
"Do you know how precious you are to me, Emma?" Before she
could speak he nibbled the corner of her mouth, then brought his lips
lower to the hollow of her throat.
This time, instead of words, he was determined to show her all that he
was feeling. Despite the hard, driving needs, he forced himself to go
slowly, to keep his touches, his kisses, as gentle as possible. But he
knew that soon, very soon, she would discover the darker side of his
passion. A passion that could very well devour them both.
With his tongue he traced the curve of her ear, nibbling, whispering
words that had her shivering with pleasure. When his tongue darted
inside she gave a gasp of pleasure and clutched at his tunic. He pulled
her closer, burning a trail of fire along her throat. She moaned with
pleasure and clung to him, afraid that at any moment her trembling
legs would fail her.
As if reading her mind he caught her hand and together they dropped
to their knees in the cool, fragrant grass of the meadow. But it offered
no soothing balm to the frantic needs that were driving them.
' 'If you need time, Emma, to think, to change your mind, I'll
understand." Even as he said it, Conor cursed himself for a liar. He
would have to die if she walked away from him now. He would beg,
plead, even crawl to have her.
"I need no time to think. I want you, Conor. I want this." She twined
her arms around his neck, offering her lips.
He hesitated, needing this one moment of honesty. "I can make you
no promises, my lady. I am committed to this life I live at court. To
this queen, who holds the fate of our country in her hands."
She felt the stab of pain. Quick. Jagged. A blow from a sword would
have been kinder. She caught her breath on the pain, then forced it
aside. "I'll ask nothing more of you than this.','
A lie, she knew. She wanted so much more. She wanted it all. Home.
Marriage. Children. A lifetime of love with this man. But she would
settle for whatever he was willing, or ab
le, to offer.
He took her mouth with a hunger that shocked them both. His kisses
were by turn harsh, then gentle, as he struggled with the needs that
begged for release. He wanted her. Wanted to take her, here and now.
But what she was offering was so precious, so priceless, he owed it to
her, to them both, not to waste a moment of it. It wasn't enough to
merely take what she offered; he wanted to give in return. As much
care as he could manage. As much patience as she deserved. As much
pleasure as he could provide.
Around them the night creatures scurried. A bird cried and its mate
answered. The leaves of a nearby tree rustled as an owl returned to its
nest with food for its young. The horse stomped and tossed its head,
sending its mane flying. But the man and woman locked in each
other's embracetook no notice. For now the world beyond them no
longer existed. They were no longer strangers on foreign soil. The
queen and her court were forgotten. As were the life and death
schemes that were being played out around them. For now there was
only each other and these few stolen moments.
Though he was a man on fire with needs, Conor banked them,
determined to go slowly for Emma's sake. He would allow her to set
the pace, to savor each moment.
His kisses gentled, as did his touch and his whispered endearments.
With teeth and tongue and fingertips he explored her face, her neck,
her throat. And with each touch he felt her body grow more tense, her
breathing more shallow. As did his own.
Time was forgotten. The rush to return to the palace no longer
mattered. The night closed around them, its darkness lending a
soothing magic to the moment. They felt alone in the universe.
Except for the moon and stars, nothing else existed.
"Do you know how long I've wanted you, Emma? Wanted this?"
She relaxed in his arms, steeped in pleasure. All her fears slipped
away. Her family was safe now, far from Celestine's threats. Because
of this man. Her duties at the palace no longer mattered. All that
mattered was this man. Conor would love her. And that love would
keep her safe from all harm.
As his kisses grew more passionate, her breath came more quickly.
Her body heated, her blood flowed hotly through her veins.
Conor felt the gradual change in her and thrilled to it. It wasn't
surrender she gave. Nor was it surrender he craved. It was trust. Even
though there were still so many things about himself he couldn't share
with her, she was willing to trust him. It humbled him. And filled him
with a strange sense of wonder and pride. Though she knew not
where he was leading, she trusted him enough to follow.
He reached for the rough tunic and breeches that hid her beauty. With
infinite patience he undressed her. As he did so, he allowed his lips to
brush her naked flesh. She trembled and sighed in his arms, which
only excited him more.
He held her a little away and studied her in the thin ribbon of
moonlight. "Emma." His voice was barely more than a whisper on the
breeze. "You're so beautiful, so perfect, you take my breath away."
No one had ever seen her as he had. Nor had anyone ever spoken such
words. She kept her eyes steady on his as she reached for his tunic. As
she slid it from his shoulders she brushed her lips across his
hair-roughened chest. She felt a flutter of excitement when he
moaned and trembled. It was her touch that thrilled him. Her kiss that
filled him.
Drunk with such power she reached for the fasteners at his waist.
When her fingers fumbled, he helped her until his clothes were
discarded carelessly with hers, forming a cushion beneath them.
They knelt facing each other. Without a word he combed his fingers
through her hair, pulling her head back, staring deeply into her eyes.
He covered her mouth with his in a kiss that spoke of hunger, of needs
so long denied. Of a need to touch and be touched. A need to give and
take. A desperate need to share.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her mouth to his
throat. At that simple contact she felt his muscles contract. And then
his hands were moving over her, arousing, enticing, until she felt her
body straining with need.
Now his touch was no longer gentle, but rough, almost bruising. His
kisses grew fierce, demanding. Now she experienced the darker side
of this man. The darker side of his passion. The face he showed to the
world was of a charming, smiling rogue. But the stranger who
emerged was now an insistent lover who began to take, to feast, to
devour. He excited her, even while he frightened her. And the
knowledge that it was her touch, her taste, that aroused him made her
bold.
She pressed kisses to his neck, his chest. At his moan of pleasure she
grew bolder still, running moist kisses across his stomach, exploring
him as he was exploring her. With each sigh, each moan of pleasure,
she grew bolder still.
Together they feasted, they devoured. Each gave and took until,
half-mad, they felt themselves slip over the edge of reason.
Conor was beyond thought. His body was alive with needs. Needs
that only she could fill. He had intended to go slowly, but he could no
longer rein in his smoldering desire. With her passion unleashed, he
was at last free to take her to places she had never gone before.
her breast. Her nipple hardened at his touch and he feasted until she
writhed and moaned. He moved to the other breast to nibble and
suckle until she cried out for release.
Her breath was coming harder, faster now, as she clutched at him and
sobbed his name.
The night air around them was cool, but still the heat rose up between
them, clogging their lungs, leaving their skin damp with sheen.
She trembled as he moved over her, his flesh damp and abrasive,
adding to the exquisite pleasure. He felt her stiffen and gasp his name
as, with lips and fingertips, he brought her to the first peak.
Her body was still shuddering. He gave her no time to think, to
breathe, as he continued to move over her. His voice was low now,
rough and urgent, as he touched her in ways she'd never even
dreamed of. Each touch brought more pleasure. Intense pleasure that
bordered on pain.
"Conor. Please. Now. I want you. Now." She kept her eyes steady on
his, though they were glazed now with passion. She hadn't thought it
possible to want more. But she did.
He let the madness take him over the edge. When he entered her she
wrapped herself around him, wanting to hold on to him like this
forever.
And then she was moving with him, matching his strength.
He watched her, wanting to see her, to fill himself with her, with the
touch of her hands warm upon him, and the taste of her, like the
sweetest of wildflowers filling his lungs.
He knew that, in years to come, while he was far from home and,
fighting to keep his country free, when he was missi
ng Ballinarin and
all that he held dear, he would think of her, and this night, and be
warmed by the memory.
And then there was no time to think as they began to move together
toward a distant star. He whispered her name like a litany, over and
over, as their bodies shuddered and seemed to splinter. And then they
were soaring, floating, drifting. Still holding tightly to each other,
afraid if they let go, for even a moment, they would shatter like
fragile glass.
Chapter Eighteen
For the longest time they lay, unable, unwilling to move, their
breathing shallow, their bodies slick with sheen.
With great effort Conor managed to lift his head. "Am I too heavy for
you?"
Emma was afraid to speak. Afraid if she did, her voice would tremble
and he would realize how overcome with emotion she was. Instead
she merely shook her head.
"If you're cold, love, I could toss my cloak over us."
Love. His easy use of that endearment brought the tears ever closer.
She merely waved a hand, then let it fall back limply.
Alarmed, he levered himself above her and stared down at her. Seeing
the glimmer of moisture on her lashes he felt as if he'd taken a knife to
the heart. "Ah, no, Emma. I've hurt you. I've been a brute. I don't
know my own strength sometimes. I'm so sorry."
"Conor." She lifted a hand to his cheek. "You didn't hurt me. I'm not
really crying. Well, I am. But ever since I've mef you I seem to do
that. It's just..." She sighed. "It was so incredible. I hadn't known it
would be like that."
"Truly? That's the only reason for the tears?"
She nodded.
He felt his heart begin to beat again. Touching his forehead to hers he
whispered, "Then you're not sorry?"
"Sorry? Oh, Conor, how could I be sorry about what we've just
shared?"
He rolled to one side, cradling her against him. "You know Emma, I
knew you were a maiden. I really didn't mean to...I hadn't planned
this..."
She placed a hand over his mouth. "Shh. I know. I was the one who