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He held her against him—one hand in her silken red hair, his other arm around her back—and after a moment, she began to melt, moaning, her hands coming up to grasp his tunic as if she were falling.

The joining of their mouths sent him spiraling downward into an abyss so wide and so deep he knew it would be bottomless. He struggled for purchase, desperate to pull away, but the blaze of desire was so huge and dark and consuming that it pulled him in until retreat was impossible, unimaginable.

Her lips opened at his urging and then he was part of her, intimately, his tongue finding hers, thrusting softly, then aggressively, while he held her head still with his hand. Their tongues and tastes and hungers mingled until he felt himself shaking with the force of it, his body aflame like newly forged steel, hers a tender branch that went up like tinder. They burned one another, consumed all air, all breath, all life… all. Keep reading

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Lucas went over to the bed, pulling it across the dirt floor, closer to the stove. He picked up his coat and the icy blankets, and hung them on the foot of the iron bedstead to dry.

Then he started unbuttoning his shirt. “You probably should get out of those damp clothes.”

He said it casually, as if it were a simple and sensible idea, not shocking at all. And suddenly Annie realized what else being stranded here meant.

It meant spending the night alone with him. Several nights.

With no bars between them.

He hung up his shirt on the bed. Annie remained right where she was. In the corner. Fully clothed in her freezing, clinging dress and undergarments. Watching him.

The muscles of his back and arms flexed in the lamplight as he unrolled the mattress, spreading the coverlet out across it. Along with the quilt. There weren’t any pillows. He sat on the bed and took off his boots. Then he lay down and stretched out on his back with a muffled groan.

“What are you doing?” She still hadn’t moved.

“Going to sleep,” he said as if it should be obvious, sliding beneath the quilt and rolling on his side.

Annie frowned. So he intended to take the bed and all the covers? But then, she thought grudgingly, he needed them more than she did, since he was the one who’d been shot.

She started looking around, trying to think of where she was going to sleep. The moth-eaten animal pelts hanging on the walls didn’t hold much appeal as blankets. And the freezing cold floor wasn’t much of a choice.

“Are you coming to bed or not?”

Her stomach flipped at his grumbled question. She turned her head and stared at him blankly, her heart beating too hard. “You mean I… we… we’re both going to…” Heat flooded her cheeks. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea, Marshal.” Keep reading

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He heard her stand. He had to shut his eyes to banish the image painted by the sounds: water sluicing off her naked body. The little rush of breath between her teeth as the night air touched her wet skin.

Next he heard the crunch of the rushes beneath her feet as she stepped from the tub. And the quiet rustling of the linen as she rubbed the soft cloth over her smooth, wet curves.

Then silence.

Every muscle in his body tightened. He remained still, not trusting himself to move. Knowing that if he so much as dared draw breath, he would have her in his arms and on the bed before either of them could say a word.

He blinked once, slowly. Waited.

“Royce?” she whispered tentatively.

“What?” His voice sounded rough and hollow.

She hesitated a moment. “What am I to wear?”

The chamber seemed to grow smaller and even hotter around him. He waved a hand over his shoulder, motioning her toward the corner near the door. “See if any of those fit you.”

He listened while she padded barefoot over to the pile of stolen garments. She could not put her ruined gown back on. The few bits of cloth left intact after their escape today had more or less shredded when she had disrobed for her bath. The task of getting undressed had apparently been difficult with her hands bandaged. And he had not dared to offer help.

Nor did he offer any now, as he listened to her wrestling with the homespun garments in an attempt to fit them over her curves.

She made a sound of frustration. “I do not think these will work. My hips are too…and my…my…”

He did not need an explanation. His imagination provided a complete, vivid picture.

Gritting his teeth, he whispered an oath and flicked a glance heavenward. Was it not enough that he had to spend the next few days alone with her in this room? Did she have to be as naked as Eve the entire time? Keep reading