Page 22 of Border Lord’s Bride

"I want to honor the betrothal that has been negotiated. I want to save my father's reputation."

He turned to face her. "Nay, Elizabeth. That's what your father wants you to say." He frowned. "What do you want?"

She stared up at him, startled. What did she want? Could he not see that in her eyes? He was the man she'd always dreamed of. She wanted him to love her, dance with her, and laugh with her, and hold her late into the night, to embrace their children, for the two of them to grow old together. But how could she say that to him?

He reached for her hand. "Answer me, Elizabeth."

"I want you as my husband."

Before she could go on, he captured her lips, and she moaned at the taste of him. He tasted like all the things she wanted in this life and had never attained. She wanted him, she'd always wanted him, despite her engagement to another man.

A catch came to her breath as Lucius reclined into her, easing her back against the fur-lined cloak. His free hand brushed over her back and he deepened his kiss. His hand on her back delved lower, to cup her bottom and press her hips closer to his. She felt the swell of his manhood as he rocked against her.

Sensations flowed through her as every fiber of her being quivered, came alive. She curled her hand around the nape of his neck and anchored him to her. Her eyes fastened on his and something deep in her soul expanded. I am his. No matter what happened after tonight. In this moment they belonged together as one.

She knew nothing about joining with a man, but she hoped instinct would guide the way. As if sensing her capitulation, Lucius eased her back against his cloak and unfastened the hook on hers. He set her cloak aside and slowly his fingers slipped behind her to release the ribbons of her gown. A heartbeat later he unfastened her gown and sent it sliding over her head. Her chemise followed, leaving her naked. The warmth of the fire reached around her, banishing the chill.

He pulled back from her and removed his boots, his scabbard, then his tunic and breeches, until he lay naked beside her once more, his manhood boldly erect. How beautiful he was.

He gathered her discarded cloak and pulled it over their bodies, shielding them from the cold. In the warmth of the cocoon he'd created, he took her hand and placed her palm against his chest. She could feel the thunder of his heartbeat vibrating through his body and into her own through her palm. Emboldened by the knowledge he was as aroused as she, Elizabeth smoothed her hand down the planes of his chest. She could feel his muscles bunch and release beneath her touch. She delighted in her power over him as she explored the smooth warm flesh over supple muscles and traced the line of dark, wiry hair to where it encircled his manhood.

"You must cease doing that," he said, the sound guttural. Before she could touch him there, he lifted her palm to his lips and placed a tender kiss against her flesh. "I want us to take our time. If you touch me there, I'll be lost."

Before she could ask him to explain, he trailed his fingers over her body, and everywhere he touched was blessed with fire—her breasts, her throat, her belly, her thighs. His hands nudged her legs apart and he moved between them. His head bent and he slowly rubbed his cheek back and forth on her belly. The faint abrasion of his stubble against her bare flesh was wildly exciting.

His teeth nipped gently at her flesh, then his tongue followed to soothe and tease. She could feel his warm breath on her flesh, and the muscles of her belly tightened in response. Every muscle vibrated at an excruciating pitch of anticipation.

He brought his head up and smiled at her, and Elizabeth caught her breath. This is how he should look all the time. Relaxed, with his face alight with laughter and joy. He would have looked that way had the humor not been stolen from him by years of isolation and grief.

She wanted to give him back those years he'd lost, give him back his joy, with a desire springing as much from protectiveness as it did from passion. Her hand moved up to cup his cheek, then smooth back the hair from the side of his face. "I shall remember this moment always, Lucius."

"Me too," he said, his voice thick. His finger delved between her thighs, searching the inner warmth of her womanhood. He found the nub for which he searched and began to slowly rotate with his finger.

She cried out as a searing jolt of need streaked through her.

His gaze was warm with pleasure as he watched her face. "Does this please you?"

She curled her fingers in his hair. "Aye." She could scarcely breathe through the glorious haze of pleasure he created inside her.

"Good." Two fingers plunged inside.

She cried out into the night air as the intensity of his stroke increased, creating both pleasure and hunger. "Lucius, please."

He bent his head and claimed her lips, silencing her plea. His fingers left her as he positioned himself over her and slid within her, slowly, letting her become accustomed to him, to his fullness. When he met with resistance, he paused.

"I'm sorry for this," he said. He tensed before he thrust forward.

She cried out as pain spasmed through her, then just as suddenly faded away until she was again aware of only the sensations of fullness, of pleasure.

He began to move, alternating short strokes with long ones, depth with shallowness, swiftness with long, leisurely slowness.

Elizabeth caressed his back and realized as she did that small scars zigzagged across his left shoulder to his right side. Had a sword inflicted the wound? Her heart clenched. He'd suffered so much pain.

Slowly, lovingly, she trailed her fingers up and down the scar. She wanted him to know by her touch that regardless, she found him perfect in every way. The scent and feel of him washed over her.

Love me, Lucius.

The words were a prayer deep in her soul. He was all she'd ever wanted in this life. He had always been the symbol of everything good to her. He was love. Honor. Passion.