“Do you no’ want to be close to someone?” His voice was rough at her ear, and the heat of his breath made her nerve endings sing all the way down her back. Though his heat and strength surrounded her, he didn’t touch her. Always so close, yet so far away.
“Do you?” she asked.
“Aye. I want to be close to you.”
She closed her eyes. “Why?” She wished she hadn’t asked, but she couldn’t help herself.
She moved to leave, to slip around him and out the door. As if he sensed her thoughts, he grasped her hands and pressed them against the glass at the level of her head. His hands trapped her, and the cold of the window only served to enhance the heat of him at her back.
“Look at me,” he said.
“What?” He’d trapped her so that she couldn’t turn. How was she supposed to look?
“Look up at the window.”
A trick of the light allowed her to see their reflection, his head above hers. Only their hands touched, and the tension of being so close to him yet so far away made her tremble.
“I want you, Esha. For your courage, your strength, your wit and humor. You’ve ensnared me.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed, as his eyes met hers in the glass.
“But I also want you for your body, for your lovely face. For the way you look at me when you think I canna see.”
She gasped. Why was he telling her these things? Could he possibly mean them?
“I’ve had a taste of you, Esha, and I canna rest until I’ve had more.”
He bent his head to her neck and dragged his lips along her skin. The contrast of soft lips and prickly stubble made goose bumps break out along her arms.
“It’s just sex,” she gasped.
He bit her once, at the slope where her neck met her shoulder, then looked up to meet her eyes in the glass once more. “You know it’s no’. And I know it’s no’. No’ after that night on Mull, when I felt you hot and wet beneath my mouth. When your cries echoed in my ears and your hands fisted in my hair.” His voice was darkly intense, his face more so.
She looked away, embarrassed. He released her hand to capture her chin, gently drawing her face back up until her eyes met his in the glass once again. She could have lowered her hand, could even have broken away and run for it, but she was caught in his spell. He returned his hand to hers, trapping her once more with nothing but a light pressure on her hands and the weight of his gaze.
“I’d do anything for that again. To make you mine in that way, when all the pretenses fall away and you’re bared to me, unable to pretend you doona care.”
“Warren, I—” She broke off when he pressed himself against her back, finally, finally making contact. The heat and strength of him were overwhelming, just enough to snap some sense into her.
“Aye, lassie?”
She shook her head. He pressed his hands against hers, enough pressure to let her know that he’d wait for her to finish. She couldn’t keep herself from answering. “I care.”
He grinned, a brief half smile that made her heart jump, then tilted his head to press a kiss to the top of hers. “Then doona move your hands,” he said. “And doona look away.”
The command caught the breath in her lungs, and she watched, entranced, as he moved his hands along her body. Slowly, as if cherishing every inch of her.
“I love your long, beautiful neck.” His eyes held hers, almost painfully intense, as he ran a big, scarred hand down the front of her neck. His other hand gripped the side of her hip, as if to trap her because he was afraid she might run.
She was done running. She watched as he ran a broad hand down her chest to her breasts. He cupped one, gently testing the weight.
“They’re too—”
“Perfect. Like the rest of you. Like your strong arms.” His touch on the bared skin of her arms made her shiver, made her wish he’d touch the rest of her. He ran his hand down over her waist, slipping it beneath her shirt to rest on her stomach.
“Your skin is so soft. I want to kiss you and lick you here, teasing and torturing you for what’s to come.”
She had a vision of him on his knees, doing to her what he’d done before. Her own knees weakened, threatening to collapse, and he felt the brief shift.