Sweet Lord, even there she was temptingly, pleasingly soft and supple!
With a flick of his wrist, he pulled her hard against him. Her mouth swallowed his husky groan. Her breasts felt full and firm, pushing against his chest; the shape and feel of her burned through the thick leather jack, stamping an imprint into his skin that he'd a feeling would brand him forever. His tongue darted and probed and teased. He was shocked to feel her meet the passionate strokes measure for bold measure.
The woman was a seductress!
All thought of satisfying his curiosity with one simple kiss scattered from Connor's mind. There was nothing simple about this kiss, nothing simple about Gabrielle's unabandoned response. He'd expected her to be shy, perhaps even frightened and unwilling. He'd never miscalculated a woman and her response so drastically in his life!
What he'd wanted was but a quick kiss, something to tame his mounting curiosity and put the matter to rest in his mind.
What he'd gotten instead was an armful of wild, unrestrained passion.
Gabrielle attacked his senses in ways he'd never experienced, to an extent he'd never imagined possible. The sweet, fresh scent of her filled him. The silky feel of her hair slipping through his fingers, the warm pliancy of her perfectly rounded curves straining against his body, made him ache for something infinitely more intimate. The taste of her mouth left him parched, thirsty for a taste of all of her.
Her arms slipped around his waist, her hands splaying his back. She squirmed closer. Her hips pressed hard against his, her breasts rubbed against his chest. His breathing, what there was of it, went harsh and choppy.
Did the lass have any idea of how much he wanted her? Of how her untamed response was driving him insane? Did she care?
It took every last shred of Connor's self-control not to surrender to the sudden, unexpected urge to strip away the barriers of cloth separating them. He wanted—needed, craved—to feel her naked skin gliding beneath his open palms. Beneath his mouth and tongue. He wanted to touch and taste all of her. Now. So badly it frightened him. But not so badly that he would stop.
Releasing a shaky moan, he leaned into her until her spine bowed. Her curves cushioned his front as he deepened the kiss. She needed to feel the true extent of his desire for her, needed her to decide—now, before it was too late—to be sensible and stop this madness while there was still the time and ability to do so. The hardness between his legs said that the time for stopping was growing preciously short.
Gabrielle did not shy away, as he'd expected—hoped?—she would. Instead, she kept pace with the bold strokes of his tongue. In fact her tongue made more than a few bold strokes of its own. Strokes that left him shaking and breathless.
Her hands stroked restlessly over his back—sometimes caressing, sometimes clenching around the leather of his jack in tight fists... always in ways that promised untold delight were the jack and tunic peeled away and his skin laid bare to her touch.
Connor shivered. A lightning bolt of raw sensation fisted in his stomach, rippling shockwaves throughout the rest of him when he imagined her fingernails raking over his ultrasensitive flesh. His head spun. His desire escalated, spiraling upward with soul-numbing speed.
She wasn't his wife. Yet. He should stop. So rationalized the small portion of his mind still able to cling to a tattered thread of sanity. Another, larger portion instantly countered the thought, reminding Connor that, while it was true Gabrielle was not his wife, she would be soon enough. This very night if he could manage it!
More importantly... had she even once, in either words or in deed, indicated that she wanted him to stop?
Nay, she had not!
Just the opposite. The way her temptingly full body wriggled impatiently against him, the way her warm, ragged breaths puffed like a sweet summer breeze against his cheek as she clung to him and returned his kiss with an ardor that wanted—demanded—more, encouraged his yearning to satisfy the mutual need simmering like liquid fire inside them both.
An intense throbbing shot through Connor, rocking him to the core. Och! how he wanted her! Here. Now. In any manner she pleased. The sanctity of marriage be damned; their legal joining was a negligible obstacle that would be remedied soon enough... after their physical one.
"Gabrielle," he sighed after easing the kiss enough to whisper her name huskily against her lips. Could she hear his heart pounding? She must, for it was beating so loud and hard that Connor could barely hear his own voice over the racket "What are ye doing, lass? Dinny ye ken that ye're supposed to kiss like an innocent maid?"
"I'll kiss any way you want for me to," she replied, her voice low and breathless, the pitch equally as husky as his own, "provided you kiss me like that again."
Connor's eyes snapped open. When had he shut them? He didn't remember, didn't care. Right now he was drowning in the most beautiful gaze he'd ever seen, and he couldn't think beyond it. Her eyelids were passion-thick, the inky lashes shielding eyes that were the tumultuous color of the North Sea just before a storm; dark green and vibrant, glazed by passion.
The sight evaporated whatever answer he might have given.
He pulled back a little, his gaze raking her, taking in her whole face. Was the dim light highly flattering, or had she always been this lovely and he was only now noticing? Her cheeks were flushed, her lips full from his kiss, slightly moist, parted invitingly. A ray of moonlight snuck in through the ceiling of leaves; the silvery beam streaked over his shoulder and played on her hair, highlighting the curls clinging to her cheeks and brow until they appeared an appealing shade of rich blue-black.
Connor had not thought this woman ravishing on their first meeting. Nor did he think so tonight. However, at some point, for reasons he didn't dare examine too closely, his opinion of Gabrielle Carelton had, with no concrete reason to be cited, changed. She would never be a great beauty, to say otherwise would be a lie, yet she was easy on the eye in a way uniquely her own, a way that he found surprisingly appealing.
She wasn't the weak, frail English creature whom Connor had imagined weeks ago that he'd be saddled with. Rather, she had a sturdy body that not only adapted admirably well to the harsh Scots climate, but that also invited a man's touch and welcomed it without flinching.
While she'd proved she could be feisty enough when riled, Gabrielle normally displayed a mild disposition that he found at once gracious and intriguing. That she'd set out to rescue Mairghread equipped with naught but his harebrained cousin bespoke an innate kindness that her sometimes haughty Sassenach temperament was deft to conceal.
Aye, what she'd done was foolhardy in the extreme, he'd be the first to admit it. Yet her reasons were pure and unselfish. He did not have to like it, but how could he not respect and admire it? How could he be angry with her?
The answer was simple.
He couldn't.