The Lover

She hastened to cover her nakedness with her arm. “I don’t want you, you arrogant cur!”

He laughed again insolently and took a step toward her.

“Keep away from me! I don’t want you touching me.”

“I’ll touch you and more, sweeting. I intend to make you beg for me.”

“You will not!”

It was a challenge he could not ignore. Niall tossed aside his plaid. “You really should refrain from saying things you don’t mean, pet. You’re a hot-blooded wench in need of a man.”

“A man, yes! Not a ruthless barbarian.”

“I can be gentle, as you well know.” He shed his leather waistcoat and then his shirt, revealing the wide swath of his broad, bronzed chest. Unfastening his trews to free his erection, he stood half nude before her, all harsh masculinity and bold magnificence. “I’ll lay wager that I’ll soon have you beneath me, panting and mindless with need.”

His blazing arrogance fueled her fury. “You fiend, you can’t make me want you! You’ll get no response from me.”

“We shall see.”

Their eyes locked in a silent, fiery battle of wills. In the small cottage, tension vibrated between them, feral and primitive. He intended to demand her surrender, Sabrina knew.

Helplessly, she licked her dry lips as he moved toward her. “I’ll…I’ll scream.”

“Aye, you will…with passion when you sheathe me in your hot silk.”

“I’ll scratch you, I’ll bite!”

His mouth curled with grim amusement. “I trust you will. I want you scratching and clawing at me. An angry spitfire makes good bedsport.”

“Bedsport!” Her fingers clenched into angry fists.

Resting one knee on the bed, Niall stood over her challengingly, his eyes burning into hers. Trapped by his powerful body, Sabrina dropped her incensed gaze to his splendid arousal, huge and thrusting.

She could feel her heart pounding. Niall would win if she let him touch her.

Turning abruptly, she lunged for the foot of the bed, trying to escape, but Niall flung himself after her. Covering her with his body, he pinned her down with his weight, pressing her chest into the mattress. Her cry of outrage was muffled by the covers.

“Aye, play the spitfire for me, Sabrina…Let me feel your fury. You’re hotter and tighter when you’re angry, just how I want you.”

Ignoring her wild struggles, Niall drove his straining manhood against her skirts, probing the soft buttocks beneath. “That’s it, fight me, sweet tiger. I want you writhing and breathless when I drive deep inside you. I want you moaning my name, pleading with me to love you…”

“I won’t…”

Her nipples already hurt, their hard points chafed by the wet linen, but when his hands reached around to cup and fondle her, they contracted into tight aching buds, shooting arrows of excited painfulness deep between her thighs. Roughly he kneaded the peaks, deliberately arousing her.

“Let us see how ardently you protest when I bury myself inside you.” He pushed up her wet skirts, exposing her bare thighs. She could feel the cool air on her chilled buttocks, feel his warm fingers between her legs…

“Niall…plague take you, no!”

“Yes, sweeting.” His voice was dark velvet. “I’ll not relent until you burn for me, till I feel the pleasure rip through you…”

His promise made her pulse leap wildly. She could feel the heated length of his sex brand her naked thighs like searing steel, feel the pulsing urgency of his lithe, magnificent body.

His teeth grazed her ear, his breath coming harsh and hot against her skin as he said, “Even now the fire in your blood burns for release.”

“Curse you…get…off me!”

In partial compliance, he arched his body over hers, but instead of freeing her, he lifted her on her hands and knees, rendering her completely vulnerable. Kneeling behind her, he stroked the velvet-sheathed hardness of his arousal against her yielding bottom, making her weak with longing.