Fourteen
 

“Your maidenhead belongs to your husband.”

Gregor was the best archer in Scotland; it was no surprise that his arrow struck with cruel precision.

Cate had thought he’d put the ridiculous idea of her betrothal behind him. How could he kiss her like that and still mean to marry her to another man?

He must be the most stubborn, thickheaded man in Christendom! And perhaps blind as well, not to see what was right in front of him. He cared about her—loved her even, though she knew he would run to the nearest battlefield if she told him as much. He showed his feelings in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, and yes, in the way he kissed her. A man could not kiss a woman with that kind of tenderness and passion and not be at least a little in love with her. She didn’t care how good he was at lovemaking, or how many women he’d had in his bed.

Admittedly, she wasn’t exactly an expert on the subject, but she’d be willing to stake her life on it—and her virtue as well.

Cate wasn’t going to let him pull away. Not this time. She was out of patience. She wouldn’t let him marry her off to another man.

Sitting up a little, she reached out and put her palm flat on his chest. Emboldened by the hard slam of his heartbeat that seemed to jump up and meet it, she looked him squarely in the eye. “No.”

He appeared too momentarily stunned to reply. Knowing it wouldn’t last, she took a deep breath and did the one thing she instinctively knew would put a decisive end to further argument. She let her hand slide down over the warm, hard ridges of stomach muscle to the tie at the waist of his braies.

He sucked in his breath, his eyes dark and predatory, watching her every movement like a hawk daring a mouse to come into his range.

She dared. With a deep breath for courage, she lowered her hand, curving it around the thick column of his manhood.

Oh … my. She might have gulped, but the swallow stuck in her throat.

Every muscle in his body seemed to tense—an impressive feat for a man who seemed to be built of little else. The low hissing sound that came from between his clenched teeth nearly made her pull away, but she didn’t. Instead, she felt a strange flush of what could only be called power—feminine power. The feel of him in her hand, so strong and thick, and surprisingly hard, knowing she’d made him that way, gave her courage.

“No,” she repeated. “I want you, and I know you want me, too. I don’t want you to stop—I want you to finish what you started on the practice yard. I want you to be the one to show me passion. I want you to make love to me.” She looked into his eyes, which seemed to be glowing brighter than the fire. “Make love to me, Gregor … please.”

If someone had asked her for the perfect response to her plea, she would never have thought the sharp curse that came from his mouth would have been it. But somehow the word fit, and not just because it rather crudely summed up what she was asking him to do. Somehow it seemed to encompass the intensity of emotion that he was keeping bottled up and she was forcing free. Somehow it seemed to capture the harshness of his desire, and the base depth of his need for her. And somehow that one wicked word seemed to strip away the last vestiges of pretense and civility, revealing the raw, primitive hunger that he would no longer deny. With that one word, she heard his helplessness, his surrender, and knew that no matter how exceptional a warrior he might be, this was one fight she was going to win.

His mouth was pulled into almost a grimace, the arms holding her had turned as rigid as steel, and every muscle in his body seemed as tight as one of those bowstrings for which he’d become famous. Yet he was so impossibly gorgeous in the candlelight, it make her chest squeeze.

“You don’t fight fair, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t know if I can give you what you want.” She held her breath when he paused. “But God knows I’m going to try.”

Cate sighed with relief. She didn’t know what promise he was making, except to know that he’d just made one. He didn’t give her time to ask, for no sooner had he finished than his mouth was covering hers in a kiss that left no doubt of his intentions.

He did not intend to woo or entice, he intended to have her, and the knowledge bloomed inside her until warmth and happiness filled every part of her body.

Drawing her hard against him, he claimed her mouth with bold, demanding strokes of his tongue that sent shudders of white-hot need rippling through her body, crashing over her in hard waves. She was drowning in sensation, being dragged under in a riptide of heat and desire. He was kissing her like he could never get enough of her. Kissing her like it meant something. Nay, like it meant everything. She returned the kiss with increasing fervency, until it seemed they had dissolved into one another, their mouths, their tongues, their bodies becoming one.

Passion consumed them both—the same as before, yet different. It was just as incredible and just as powerful, but this time there was nothing holding back. It came on her hot and heavy, demanding and unyielding.

It was the same soft mouth, the same spicy taste, the same deft tongue kissing her, but this kiss came with a no-holds-barred intensity that was both utterly dominating and oddly freeing at the same time. He made her feel safe. Protected. Loved.

He was on her, in her, surrounding her. His heat enveloped, the granite solidness of his body pressed, his kiss possessed, but never did he take. Rather he gave himself in a way that she suspected he’d never given himself to a woman before. And she took him in with everything she had, opening herself up to him, his kiss, his touch, and the powerful sensations he was stirring inside her.

Instinctively, her fingers curled tighter around his manhood. The husky, deep groan of his pleasure seemed to shudder through her as well. Holding her hand to him with his, he forced her to grip him harder, and then thrust up into the circle of her hand. Once. Twice. The bottom of her stomach seemed to melt between her legs as he thrust again, the raw, ragged sound of his pleasure echoing in her ears.

With a curse that told her he’d had all the pleasure he could stand, he drew her hand away and lowered her back onto the bed.

He came over her, pressing her more deeply into the mattress, his powerful body hard and unyielding on top of her. A warrior’s body with the thick, solid muscle that she’d come to crave. Desperately. Frantically. Her hands clutched his shoulders, gripped the rocky muscles of his arms and slid over the hard slabs of muscle at his back forged by years of using a bow, but still it wasn’t enough. She had to be closer, which seemed an impossible quest as their bodies were already fused together.

The same hardness she’d been holding in her hands was between her legs now, and she lifted her hips against him, needing him closer to the part of her that fluttered wildly with need.

The kiss spun out of control, growing hotter … deeper … wetter. The determined, demanding strokes becoming less precise and more wild. His hands moved over her body, hot and possessive, claiming her with every touch and caress.

He cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb over the tip until it was taut with need. She wanted to cry out when he broke the kiss—perhaps she even did—but the disappointment lasted only long enough for him to lower his head.

Oh God, his mouth! His hot, wet, wonderful mouth was on her breast. Pleasure shot through her in a bolt of pure molten fire when his lips covered the throbbing nipple. Even through the thin layer of linen of her chemise, the heat and dampness assailed her. Unconsciously, she arched into the gentle pull of his mouth, begging for more, a silent request he was only too eager to answer.

Somehow he’d managed to loosen the ties of her chemise. Barely was she aware of cool air on her fevered skin—her fevered bare skin—however, before he took her in his mouth, sucking and circling her with his tongue, until she cried out with pleasure so acute, her body seemed to shake with it.

“God, you are beautiful,” he murmured, his warm breath making her damp skin prickle. “So responsive.” He flicked her with his tongue, then tugged the turgid flesh gently between his teeth, until she moaned. “Do you like that?”

She might have glared at him, knowing he was teasing her. Of course she liked it. She loved it, and didn’t want him to stop.

But as their eyes met, she suddenly became aware of her naked flesh between them and flushed. It seemed such a small amount of naked flesh compared to what he was no doubt used to.

She must have given away her thoughts; his face darkened. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Cate. You are exquisite.” He covered her with his hand, and the look of rapture that came over his face as he groaned gave her no room to doubt him. “Perfect. So round and firm.” He squeezed gently. “With just enough to fill my hand. And nipples as rosy red and tight as pearls.” He smoothed the hard tip with his thumb. “I could look at you forever.”

Forever. Her heart squeezed with longing. It was just a turn of phrase, she told herself, but why when she looked into his eyes did it seem to mean something?

Gregor meant every word. When he looked at her like this—her dark hair spread out on the pillow behind her, her skin flushed, her eyes heavy, her mouth bruised from his kiss, the taut, round curve of creamy flesh bared to his gaze—it wasn’t just lust that came over him, although that was undeniably part of it. It was something far bigger and more powerful, a surge of emotion he’d never experienced before. It squeezed his heart, tightened his throat, and filled his chest with a heavy warmth. It was a feeling of utter rightness and happiness, which, given what he was doing, was ironic.

But he wasn’t going to think of that. He knew exactly what he was doing, and what it meant. He wasn’t going to second-guess his decision now. Although admittedly, it hadn’t been much of decision. It wasn’t the first time a woman had tried to change his mind by putting her hands on him. But it was the first time it had worked.

Christ, when Cate had slid her hand down his bare stomach, coming to rest inches from the throbbing head of his erection, he would have given her anything she wanted to make her go lower. The knowledge that her hand was so close to his cock had made him so hot he thought he was going to explode. He nearly did, when she finally put her hand where he wanted it.

It had been one of the most sensual, erotic moments of his life, and looking into her eyes, so wide, guileless, and full of her unabashed love for him, nothing had ever felt more right.

She belonged to him, and he would have her—whatever the cost, it would be worth it.

Just looking at her was worth it. She was so damned lovely it took his breath away. He wanted to get down on his knees and worship every inch of her—preferably with his mouth and tongue. And he would. Next time. But right now, just the sight of one small breast that fit snugly in the palm of his hand and the turgid pink nipple was too much for him to take.

Where the hell was all that experience he was famous for?

She was a virgin. And not that he didn’t appreciate that fact—he did—but making it good for her wasn’t going to be easy, especially when just kissing her turned him into some kind of clumsy, ham-fisted squire who had only one thought on his mind.

It was a good thought, though. A really good thought.

Slow down, damn it. Pull it together.

Taking her nipple in his mouth again, he plied it between his teeth, tugging gently, and sucking until she’d forgotten all about modesty and was writhing shamelessly—wantonly, God help him—underneath him. Just the way he liked it. Her body crying out for the pleasure he was about to give her.

She was so primed, so responsive, he knew he could make her shatter just by sucking and teasing her breasts, but he wanted to feel that first shudder of pleasure. He wanted to see her face as she broke apart under him.

Slipping his hand under the edge of her chemise, he slid the back of his finger up her thigh, edging closer to the sweet cleft of her womanhood.

She didn’t seem to notice until his hand had slipped between her legs, and then she stiffened for a moment. But only a moment. The second his finger brushed the silken folds, she shuddered and moaned.

Wet. So warm and wet. He gritted his teeth against the violent surge of his own need pressing hard at the base of his spine.

Swearing silently, he knew that whatever control he’d managed to find was quickly slipping away.

He concentrated on her face, watching the shock, and then the pleasure unfurl like a pink rose on her cheeks as he brushed over her. Gently at first, letting her get used to the sensations taking hold of her body.

He gave her breast one last long suck and then released it as his finger slipped inside. Mimicking what he was doing between her legs, he flicked his tongue out over her nipple, circled and stroked. Teasing her with soft breaths of warm air against the damp skin until her back was arching and her hips were lifting in silent plea for release.

She was so damned beautiful, his need for her so intense, he couldn’t tease it out any longer. Keeping his eyes on her face, he sucked her breast hard and caressed that sensitive spot with his thumb as he pressed the heel of his hand against her and gave her that friction she needed.

She gasped. Stilled. And broke apart with the sweetest cry he’d ever heard. Her face went soft and dreamy with euphoria as her body shuddered and contracted. He felt the heat, the rush of dampness, and every spasm of the pleasure that claimed her.

It was almost perfect. Next time it would be, because next time he would be inside her. In about two seconds, as that was about as long as he could wait.

Cate felt like she had died and gone to heaven. Surely that was what it must feel like to float among the clouds. Well, perhaps not float. Shoot, soar, and tumble was probably more accurate.

Her body was still tingling when her gaze cleared enough to see him propped over her. His face was strained and tortured in the shadows. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and kiss him, but she didn’t have any bones left.

The warmth of his hand left her body as he started to work the ties of his braies.

Curiosity perked her up a little, as she looked down just in time to see him free himself. Good God! She flicked her tongue nervously over her lip as she took in the thick column of flesh that seemed even bigger and more powerful than when she’d been holding him. It might have been carved from marble, it was just as shiny, polished, and perfectly formed as the rest of him.

He made a tortured sound low in his throat. “Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, and this is going to be over before it has started.”

She didn’t know what he meant, but it sounded like she was doing something right. “Do you like it when I look at you?”

He bit out a laugh, mumbled something like “hell yes,” and then looked at her with that bone-melting, knee-weakening smile of his that had probably felled more hearts than she wanted to think about—including her own—and answered simply, “Aye.”

A wicked and, she suspected, very cat-like gleam came to her eye. “You liked it when I touched you also, didn’t you? Can I do it again?”

He swore, and seemingly incapable of saying anything else, he nodded. She wrapped her hand around him, momentarily shocked by the warmth and velvety softness, which seemed impossible given how hard he was. He was like marble all right, with a thin, velvety layer on top. But hot marble with a life beating underneath.

“Does it hurt?”

“God, no.”

The muscles in his stomach and arms holding him over her tensed as she started to explore his length, tentatively at first and then with growing boldness as his increasingly strained growls of pleasure encouraged her. She wanted to grip him, so she did, and the results were rather spectacular. His expression transformed into something so rapturous, she felt like a goddess.

After moving her hand up and down a few times the way he’d shown her how to do before, however, she felt his hand clamp down on hers.

“No more.” His jaw was clenched, his gaze was distant yet his eyes were full of concentration, and every muscle of his body seemed drawn up tight like he was fighting some kind of secret battle.

She pulled her hand away. “Did I do something wrong?”

His gaze met hers. “What you are doing is perfect. But I want to make this last, and if you keep doing that, I’m not going to be able to do that.”

She didn’t know what he meant, but the admission made her heart swell and her body go soft all over. She smiled, reached up, circled her hands around his neck, and dragged his mouth down to hers.

It was as if a dam had burst. All the passion he’d been holding back as he brought her pleasure came rushing out in a torrent of raw need. His body came down hard on top of hers. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his as he settled himself between her legs and kissed her.

It seemed the most natural thing to have him on top of her. To have their bodies stretched together, legs twined, chest to chest, hip to hip. To have the thick, solid weight of him wedged between her thighs.

Good lord, he felt good. Everything felt good.

The sensations built again. Faster and hotter this time, as she now knew where it was leading. He was kissing her so perfectly, with long, deep strokes of his tongue that beckoned to a primitive place inside her. Her hips started to lift and circle against him. Her body started to tingle. The need for friction and pressure grew at a frenzied pace. She grabbed hold of his shoulders as if he were a rock to anchor her in the storm building around her.

But he pulled her back before she broke apart again. “Not yet. I want to be inside you this time.”

Her chemise was twisted around her legs, and it took him a moment to find the edge to lift it.

“This damned thing is in my way.” He gave her a boyishly impatient look. “Next time it’s coming off.”

Despite the blush that rose to her cheeks at the thought of being naked in front of him, she couldn’t help but smile. Next time.

Positioning himself between her legs, his eyes held hers. She couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to. The emotion of the moment had not only swelled her heart, it had also swelled her throat.

She’d dreamed about this for so long, but never had she imagined it would be so perfect.

“It might hurt a little,” he warned.

But the warning was lost in the storm of sensation that followed, as the thick head of his manhood started to nudge inside her with a gentle rocking motion of his hips. He moved like a dream. It felt like a dream. The connection was everything she’d imagined and more. She felt possessed. Claimed. Filled. Bound to him in a primitive way that could never be undone.

But it wasn’t without some discomfort.

“God, you feel so good,” he said tightly, his gaze once again filled with intense concentration. He was being gentle with her—patient—and clearly it wasn’t easy for him.

“Good” wasn’t the word she would use. He felt … big. As in “perhaps he was the wrong size for her” big. She tensed as her body struggled to take him in.

“Almost there, sweetheart. God, I’m sorry …”

She didn’t need to ask for what. He held her gaze and gave one last determined push. She gasped, not only at the sensation of him seated fully inside her, but at the sharpness of the pinch.

Hurt a little? Her body screeched at the invasion.

But not for long. He started to kiss her again, murmuring all these sweet things against her mouth and near her ear—which tickled and made her shiver at the same time—about how he was sorry, how it would go away, and how he was going to make her feel good—really good.

He was right.

After a few minutes she forgot about the pain, and no longer felt like a wall that had had its defenses breached with a battering ram. The tension eased with his tender kisses and words, and discomfort was replaced by something else—arousal. A small flutter at first, and then a much larger one as he started to move. Slow and easy in the beginning, getting her used to the motion, and then a little harder and deeper.

He was kissing her still, his body sliding over hers with each stroke. The feel of all that radiating masculine power, all that strength, moving over her—inside her—was incredible. It made her want to move with him.

Which she did. Much, apparently, to his approval. Aye, she could hear the sounds of just how much he liked it with every thrust of his hips, marked by a fierce grunt that sent a wicked shiver of pleasure slithering down her spine.

She’d expected the intimacy and connection—though hadn’t realized the intensity—but she’d never realized how physical lovemaking would be. Not unlike the training she did in the yard. The more of her body she put into it, the better it felt.

He was working hard, too. His body was warm and slick with exertion—and getting warmer and slicker by the minute. Surprisingly, she liked it. She liked feeling his muscles bunch under her hands as he thrust into her, she liked bracing herself to absorb the impact, and she liked feeling the fiery heat of his passion under her fingertips.

He even smelled good. Of course he did, she thought with a smile. Even sweat smelled clean on Gregor MacGregor. The heat only seemed to enhance the subtle masculine spice of his skin. It made her want to press her nose against him and inhale, letting the arousing scent pour over her.

He looked so dark and fierce, and so incredibly gorgeous, that when their eyes met—and held—her heart squeezed with so much happiness, the poignancy was so sharp and intense it was almost painful.

He was beautiful, what he was doing to her was beautiful, and she loved him so much it hurt.

He must have recognized the look because his gaze softened.

“Are you all right?”

She smiled. “Better than all right. It feels amazing.”

“Just wait,” he said with a slow smile. “It’s about to get even better.”

She knew he was a man she could rely on. He was good to his word.

He slowed his thrusts, moving his hips in a long, circular stroke that started out slow and easy, and then went faster and deeper, making her moan every time their bodies came together and sending a fresh wave of sensation tingling between her legs.

God, he was incredible. His body was like an instrument of pleasure, every move, every stroke, calculated to hit the perfect note.

He knew exactly how to bring her pleasure, and he did—almost more than she could take. She could hear the music building in her ears. The beating of her heart, the quickening of her breath, the echo of their moans as they pounded together toward the final beat. Toward one spectacular crescendo.

“Oh God!” he bit out between gritted teeth.

Their eyes met. She saw the exultation fill his gaze at the same moment the sensation claimed her. Their bodies stiffened together in that one timeless pause before breaking apart in a shattering ray of stars and light. Their cries weaved and tangled together, as a hot rush of pleasure came over them in wave after powerful wave.

When the sensation finally ebbed, it was as if every ounce of energy and emotion had been wrung out of her. Spent and exhausted, Cate curled herself into the warmth of his body and like a well-fed, contented cat, promptly fell asleep.

It took Gregor a moment to realize where he was. The last thing he remembered before closing his eyes was thinking how ironic it was that the first time he actually wouldn’t mind hearing how wonderful (explosive, mind-blowing, and earth-shattering also seemed appropriate) their lovemaking had been, the lass snuggled up against him had fallen into the sleep of the dead. When he opened his eyes in the cool, dark chamber, the warm presence at his side was gone.

Where the hell did she go? He looked around in confusion and disbelief, followed quickly by irritation. Bloody hell, didn’t she know it was rude to slip out of bed and run away without saying something first? Something like “Thanks for the most incredible night of my life, Gregor,” or “You were amazing, Gregor,” or “I love you, Gregor.” Aye, especially that. He rather thought he would like to hear it again, especially when he was feeling so contented. Nay, not contented, happy. Maybe happier than he’d ever been in his life.

Making love to Cate had been every bit as incredible as he’d thought it would be physically, but it had gone beyond that. Far beyond that, taking him to a place he’d never been before. A place where he’d like to be holding her in his arms right now!

Minutes passed—at least twenty of them. Bloody hell, where was she? If anyone should be sneaking away in the darkness, it should be him. This was her room, damn it!

He’d tossed off the bedsheets and was starting to look around the floor for his braies when the door opened. He straightened and turned, seeing the object of his irritation shadowed in the doorway, frozen in her tracks. She seemed surprised, but he wasn’t sure whether it was at seeing him awake or the fact that he was standing naked in her room.

He rather suspected it was the latter when after the stunned pause, she made no secret of her interest—her great interest—in every facet of his body. Good God, the lass shouldn’t look at him like that unless she was prepared to act on all that lust she was casting in his direction. He was liable to forget that he needed to leave, and that she was probably in no condition to be ravished after the ravishing of the night before.

Her face fell as he drew on his braies. “You’re leaving? You can’t go yet.”

The vehemence of her protest took an edge off some of the sting of waking up to find her gone. “It will be morning soon. Where were you?”

She frowned, catching something in his tone. Closing the door behind her, she walked toward him. “I’m sorry if I woke you. I tried to be quiet.” She bit her lip, heat rising up her cheeks. “I needed to use the garderobe.”

“You were gone a long time.”

That probably wasn’t the most delicate thing he’d ever said in his life, but damn it, this was a new experience for him, and he was feeling …

Uncertain. As if he were sailing in unchartered waters. He’d never been in a situation like this before. A situation where he needed to know that everything was all right. Nay, better than all right. He needed to know that she was all right, that he hadn’t hurt her, that it had been just as incredible for her as it had been for him.

The heat in her cheeks deepened. “There was some blood. I used a cloth and the pitcher of water in your room, so as to not disturb you. Did I do something wrong? Are you angry with me about something?” Her mouth trembled as she looked up at him.

“Ah, Christ,” he said, drawing her into his arms. The feeling of warmth and contentment that he’d missed upon waking returned instantly. He was acting like a scorned lass. “I’m sorry. Nothing is wrong, and of course I’m not angry with you.” He tipped her chin, bringing her luminous eyes to his. “What would I have to be angry with you about?”

She gnawed on that wickedly crimson bottom lip a few more times before responding. “I thought you might be regretting what … what we did.”

His gaze held hers intently. “I don’t regret anything that happened last night.” His thumb caressed the part of her lip that had just been bitten. “How could I?”

The smile started out slow, but it didn’t take long to light her whole face. The warmth radiated inside him as well.

“I’m glad. It was … wonderful,” she finished with a sigh. Her grin turned cheeky. “I guess I’d forgotten how cranky you can be in the morning.”

He drew back. “Cranky? I’m not cranky.”

She arched one delicate, dark brow.

All right, well, maybe he was occasionally—though very rarely—a little out of sorts in the morning. But not today. “I just wasn’t expecting to wake up alone.”

The second brow shot up to join the other, this time in surprise. “What did you think, that I’d skulked away in shame and left you?”

He frowned—darkly. “Of course not.”

“You did!” Amusement danced in her eyes. “You did think that.” She put the back of her hand up against her forehead in mock horror. “The most handsome man in Scotland abandoned in bed, what has the world come to?”

His eyes narrowed with warning at her teasing. “Christ, not you, too! I wish I knew who’d come up with that ridiculous moniker, so I could devise some kind of horrible torture to return the favor.”

She laughed, lifted up on her toes, and pressed a soft kiss on his mouth. The easy display of affection surprised him. But he suspected he might be able to get used to it.

“Poor Gregor. I’m sure it’s been horrible having women falling at your feet all the time.”

He grinned wryly. “Aye, well, maybe it wasn’t so bad all the time, but you haven’t met Hawk.”

“Who?”

Hell, he’d spoken without thinking. He’d relaxed his guard, he realized. It probably should bother him more than it did, but he trusted her. Cate was entirely without artifice and didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body—it was what made her so different, and what drew him to her. She was real. He didn’t need to worry about games or ploys or manipulations.

“A friend,” he said, waving off the subject.

Instinctively, his hand had slid around her waist when she’d kissed him, but having that warm, taut body pressed against him was beginning to take its toll. He let her go and stepped back. “I should go.”

“No, not yet.” She had that crushed, disappointed look on her face that hit him squarely between the ribs. “It isn’t morning. Can’t you stay a little longer?”

Not if he didn’t want to make her more sore than she already must be. His gaze flickered to the bed, an unconscious indication of the direction of his thoughts. The smile that crept up her features this time was decidedly more sensual and scheming. Her hands came up slowly over his naked chest to loop around his neck. Her body slid up against him like a wildcat, sleek and dangerous—and every bit as deadly. Especially the pointy nipples stabbing him in the chest. They killed him.

She circled her hips against him. “Please, don’t go.”

Perhaps she had more artifice than he realized. Who the hell would have guessed she could play the seductive siren? But play it well, she did. He was good and seduced.

She peeked up at him naughtily from under her lashes. “Didn’t you say something about my chemise next time?”

He really had to stop swearing around her so much, but the lass really knew how to push him in all the right places.

He could push a few of his own. Pushing her back on the bed, he ripped the offending garment away to reveal a body that had every right to be worshipped.

He’d never seen another woman so perfectly formed. She was all long, lean muscle, slender and strong, with little extra flesh to mar the graceful, feminine lines. For despite the obvious strength in her limbs, she was undeniably feminine with gently curved hips, delicately rounded breasts, and a lush little bottom with an expertly placed dimple or two.

He told her exactly how beautiful she was in words, and then with his mouth and tongue. The feel of her coming apart against his mouth drove him wild. He hadn’t intended to take her again, but she had other ideas and didn’t seem to mind too much—especially when he was deep inside her, and she was crying his name and begging him to go harder, as he pounded and shuddered inside her.

It would have been perfect if a moment after rolling off her, his brother hadn’t come bursting through the door, “Cate, you—”

Seeing them on the bed, John stopped dead in his tracks. Shock was followed by a look of condemnation that made Gregor feel all the guilt that he probably should have felt much earlier.