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her lips. She knew she should protest, should cry nay. She should tell him she
would leave and he could keep all that he'd acquired by her marriage. And yet she
could not speak, could not stop him. Indeed, she wanted to feel his touch upon
her.
"Hawke," she whispered, yet his lips molded more firmly over hers, his tongue
stroking the soft fullness of her lips. Heat and fire swept through her, simmering.
All that he did stoked a rising, molten inferno within her.
He pulled away from her and watched her, his eyes questioning, perhaps
challenging. "Callie..." He whispered her name gently, his hands on either side of
her neck, his thumbs gently stroking her chin and once more the line of her lips.
"Ye have the softest lips I have ever kissed."
"Then ye haven't much to compare them with?" she asked, and wondered at how
inane she sounded.
But he laughed and kissed her once more, this time her lips seeming to part of
their own accord. His tongue stroked and plunged. She swayed into him,
remembering his other kisses and the heat that seemed to explode within her
whenever he touched her so very intimately and so very gently. Nay, whenever he
touched her at all.
He chose not to answer her question. "Ye tremble from head to foot. I will not hurt
ye. Ye are my wife, and ye will be the mother of my children. I promise I will
cherish ye always and keep ye safe." Hawke's voice was soft and gentle, yet still
he commanded answers; demanded submission without even asking. He seduced
by just a look, a simple touch, a smile.
His hands ran down the length of her quivering arms and back again. His stare
probed and sought answers where she could give none. Then he swore softly
beneath his breath and turned from her, striding swiftly away from her. Forcefully,
his fist slammed against the wall.
Her heart jumped and she backed against the wood and the cool glass behind her
until it pressed into her flesh. He was angry and he terrified her. Yet she sensed
he did not want to scare her.
Still--
Once again he turned toward her and walking back to her, with his fingers, he
lifted her chin, never letting her go, yet demanding she look at him, challenging her
with each breath she inhaled.
"I will not force ye," he said, his words bittersweet. Nay, he did not force or coerce
in any way. And she had chosen her fate, her destiny by accepting the marriage
and willingly saying vows that would bind her to him for life. She had chosen a
man whom she did not know quite so well as the other. A man who was not
surrounded by evil. Yet what did she know of Colin MacPherson, the man they
called Hawke?
"Ye detest me and all I hold dear," she told him.
His hands tightened around her, his lips thinned, and it seemed once again she
had enraged him. Then he spoke, "Ye have only to tell me no. Say the word now
and I will sleep alone, but on the morrow, ye will be returned untouched to
Huntington. I will have Father MacMurdo annul the marriage."
"Do not speak Huntington's name again. I will do whatever ye bid me. Whatever is
necessary."
"Will ye sleep with me?"
She nodded, yet she knew he saw the fear in her eyes, felt it in the trembling of
her body next to his.
"Aye, and now I have a warm and willing wife to hold within my arms." He sighed
deeply, yet he did not relinquish his hold upon her.
He touched her lips with his again. Then he stopped and watched her. "Was that
so bad?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Tell me how ye feel, how my touch makes ye feel." He could not help but
command and demand, yet he deserved to know. She did not want to probe so
deeply within herself for answers. Telling him how his touch caused her heart to
pound and heat to rush through her, made her tremble even more.
She bit down on her lip in hopes the pain would make her understand better why
she fell so willingly into his arms.
"Tell me," and his fingers tightened around her arms where they had fallen to rest
a few moments earlier.
"Good." She lowered her lashes, refusing to look at him, refusing to see whatever
emotion might indeed cross his face. Her body thrummed with energy and
excitement. Anticipation swept within.
"Good? Is that all?" he asked, "Perhaps I should try a little harder."
Her head jerked up. "If ye tried harder, I--" she paused, "my knees might give
way."
He laughed, "Well, then, I would have to scoop ye into my arms and carry ye to the
bed."
Her eyes widened. "To the bed?"
"'Tis where we will end up this night if ye do not tell me no. Callie," he paused, his
gaze lingering on her lips, "do ye intend to stop me?"
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No matter what happens I fully intend to
honor the vows I made. I will obey ye."
"Jesu! That is not exactly what I want," he said. "This is not a prison and I am not
your jailer."
"I don't understand."
Hawke ran his hands through his hair, clearly mystified by her statements. "But I
think ye will eventually."
Without warning, he pulled her into his arms, his hands running up and down her
back. She moaned softly when his lips once again closed over hers, his hands
now pressing her so close she could feel his hardness, feel a strange pulsing
against her belly.
"Say no if ye wish," he persisted. His hands roamed everywhere, insistent,
exciting. "Ye are exquisite," he told her. "A breath of fresh air. I would have never
believed an English born Lady could have enticed me so, could have woven me
into an unearthly magical spell so binding I would never be able to break its hold."
The warmth of his hands were on her shoulders, gently easing her sleeves down
her shoulders. "Hawke, should ye do that?" she questioned yet at the same time
realized the stupidity of her words.
"Aye," he said and his lips touched down upon her collarbone, feathering lightly
across the delicate flesh, sending shivers of heat racing within.
Her own fingers wove into his hair. She remembered touching his silken locks
before and wondering at the softness of a man's hair. She pressed close to him
and she thought, one more moment, nay, perhaps one more minute in his arms.
Yet she could not protest, had vowed to obey his every command.
She was his wife.
He would return her to Huntington if she protested.
Suddenly her dress slipped from her, pooling at her feet. He was adept, she
thought suddenly, with women's clothes. She had not even realized he'd
unfastened the gown. She stood before him in her chemise and he was fully
dressed.
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