The Rose and the Shield (Medieval 2)

But she was not.

This trembling in her body was not fear. This softening of breasts and thighs was not fright. Her fingers, trapped against his chest, crept upward, testing the soft linen cloth of his shirt, feeling their way over the hard muscles beneath. She turned her head a little, and found her nose pressed to bare flesh, where the laces at his throat were untied. Briefly, she felt giddy, like a child playing a spinning game, and then she pressed her palms to that solid wall of muscle and gave a sharp push.

“Release me, Captain.”

Not surprisingly, he didn’t move an inch. “’Tis not safe to be outside your chamber at night, lady.”

“This is my keep!” she retorted, pushing again without success. “My home. I am safe here.”

He drew her even closer, stilling her struggling with ease. His mocking breath stirred her hair, whispering in her ear. “Are you?”

Was she? Now that she no longer knew whether Arno was friend or foe, was she really safe? And what of the mercenaries? They had sworn to protect her, and she had believed it…until now.

“What do you here?” she asked sharply, leaning her head back to try and see him in the darkness. The torch farther up the stairs flared in the draft from her open solar door, and the flame seemed to catch in his eyes. He was smiling, but it was not the sort of smile to relieve her anxiety.

“I do not sleep well.”

“If your bed is uncomfortable, Captain, you should ask for another,” she replied with studied coolness. “Unless it is your conscience that keeps you from sleep.” A man like this must have many heavy matters on his conscience, death and blood and betrayal.

He laughed softly, untouched by her gibe. “’Tis not my conscience keeps me from sleep, my lady. Will I show you what keeps me from my bed?”

She opened her mouth to demand a proper answer, and realized his hands were moving down her back, deftly following her soft curves. With a gasp Rose pressed closer, trying to escape him, but the movement only melded her body more firmly against his. Whichever way she turned, there was no escape. He was everywhere.

Briefly he paused, spanning her narrow waist, and then his chest expanded on a deep, silent breath as if he had come to some decision, and he cupped her buttocks in his big hands, and drew her up firmly against him. The hard, unyielding ridge of his manhood answered her question.

“’Tis you,” he murmured, his lips hot against her temple and traveling down. “I want you.”

“No.” She sounded weak, a feeble thing. Her voice, her muscles, her will…all seemed to have been suddenly sapped of their strength.

He nuzzled at her cheek, tasting her, his unshaven jaw abrading her, his narrow braids tickling her skin. Inside, her heart began thudding anew, while outside her skin grew hot, burning wherever he touched her. His mouth had reached hers, almost but not quite meeting, so close that she could feel him, all but taste him. Gunnar leaned down and oh-so-gently, sucked on her lower lip.

She melted.

“No?” he mocked, his breath hot in her mouth. His hand was sliding up between their bodies, searching for the opening in her robe. His fingers delved and found, slipping inside the thin cloth. The callused tips felt rough against her soft flesh, and so warm. His palm was hard from many years of fighting others’ battles, but she could not think of that. Not now, not now…His hand closed over her breast and she knew she must have found heaven.

“Lady, this doesn’t feel like ‘no.’”

Like the traitor it was, her body responded. Her nipple beaded into his palm, her flesh aching and swelling. He began to rub gently, back and forth, and she gave a soft groan. Rose felt him smile against her lips.

And then, abruptly, he spun her around, making her cry out in surprise. The outer stone wall of the stairwell was against her back, cold against her heat. He placed himself a step below her, his body leaning heavily into hers. The glow of the torch reached them more easily now, like fire in his hair, although with his head bowed his face was in shadow. But he could see her, and he looked long, perusing the dazed glow in her eyes, the pink flush in her cheeks, the tremble of desire in her lips.

“I think you want to say aye, lady. Your body tells me aye.”

He bent and took her mouth with a savage, controlled thoroughness, stealing from her any last chance she had of denying him the truth. She did want him, oh so much, so much. It was as if all her life had been building up to this moment, with Gunnar Olafson, on the cold, dark stairs in Somerford Keep.

Her arms came up, her hands clinging to his shoulders. He brought his thigh up between hers, pressing inexorably against her soft, swollen female flesh. The pleasure was undeniable, and nearly unbearable. Rose went rigid. He lifted his mouth from hers and smiled into her eyes, his handsome face hard with his own desire.

“Tell me you w

ant me,” he said, an order, as if she were one of his mercenary troop.

But Rose shook her head in denial, as if she weren’t all but lying in his arms, her robe open to the touch of his hands, her mouth swollen from his kisses.

He laughed, as well he might. He lowered his head and began to suck on her breasts, finding the nipples, his tongue doing things she had never even dreamed of. The sensation was exquisite. Quite unable to prevent herself, Rose arched against him, catching at his hair, tangling her fingers in the smooth strands. Her legs trembled so much she rested her weight on his intruding thigh. A dark, voluptuous rapture spiraled through her as her most sensitive flesh rubbed on hard muscle. She moved a little against him, to ease the unbearable ache between her thighs. And made it worse.

“Gunnar, please,” she managed, her throat dry and tight, her body trembling as though she were chilled and not burning hot.

When he removed his thigh she made an instinctive sound of protest, but he was only shifting her, lifting her, his hand opening her robe until she was bare to his touch from neck to toes. His fingers drifted down over her belly, combing through the dark hair at the juncture of her thighs, and slid into the hot moist core of her.