Page 144 of Historical Hotties
He rose wearily, his gaze still averted, moving for the door. He looked as if he had just seen defeat at the hands of his mightiest enemy from the way his broad shoulders sagged. Carington stopped watching him, hearing his footfalls across the floor.
The heavy door opened and softly closed. Her heart shattered. A whimper escaped her lips and she broke for the door, throwing it open.
“Creed!” she cried.
She raced to the top of the stairs, only to run headlong into him; he could not have been more than a few steps down the flight. She did not even think; her arms went around his neck of their own accord and she pressed her lips against his with all of the passion and awakening emotion she was feeling. She knew he would shove her away, but she did not care; at the moment, her mind was only thinking of one thing; to hold the man, to feel him, before he was forever taken away from her.
But a strange thing happened; Creed did not pull back, nor did he shove her away. In fact, he seemed to be much more aggressive with their stolen kiss than she was. More than that, he was completely taking over, kissing her so hard that he drove her teeth into her soft upper lip. Carington gasped softly as he suckled away the pinpoint of blood as his tongue demanded entry into her honeyed mouth. Before she realized it, she was aloft in his arms and they were back in her borrowed chamber. The door was closing behind them and she heard the bolt lock.
She was still in his arms, held off the floor by his amazing strength as his mouth suckled her mindless. She could not forma coherent thought as he blazed a scorching trail across her cheek, down her neck and to the base of her throat. Carington held his head so tightly against her flesh that she was sure she was suffocating him.
“Creed,” she murmured into his forehead. “I’m more than a hostage to ye, am I not? Tell me that I am.”
He nodded, his lips working their way up her neck. “God help me, you are,” he muttered. “But I cannot.…”
He trailed off, his lips claiming hers once again. They were in a frenzy of passionate discovery, gently biting, suckling, acquainting themselves with the taste of one another. Whatever attraction had been present from the moment of their introduction was now raging like a fever, out of control. Creed knew, from the moment he put his lips on her, that he was lost. All of the rationalization in the world was not going to help him out of this because it was more than simple lust; there was feeling involved. Once feeling was part of the formula, there was very little he could do against it.
Somewhere in the tumult, he had bumped into a bed and stumbled back on it. Falling with Carington in his arms, she lay atop him as his mouth did wicked things to her. His enormous hands were on her head, wrapped up in her hair, holding her tightly against him and she could hardly breathe through his tender force. He stopped at one point, holding her head in his hands, staring at her perfect face with smoldering eyes. She had gazed back, wide-eyed and flushed, wondering what he was thinking. But before she could ask, he rolled over and laid her upon the bed, his mouth descending on hers with far less frenzy and far more passion.
He was sucking the life right out of her. Carington held him fast against her, feeling his massive arms wrap themselves around her small body and knowing there was nothing sweeter in this world than being enfolded in his enormous embrace. Thekiss that afternoon had only been a foretaste of the joy to come. What Creed was doing now went beyond anything she could have possibly imagined.
Her surcoat was a very proper garment, high of neck and long of sleeve. Creed wanted to taste more of her flesh in the worst possible way but the garment was restricting. It was, however, quite clingy; her round, full breasts were outlined and enhanced by the cut of the coat. He unwound one arm from her body, his big hand moving to her shoulder. As he kissed and nuzzled her, the hand moved down her arm, to her hand, and she clutched him fiercely. They held hands a moment, becoming accustomed to the feel of one another, before he let his fingers drift across her flat abdomen. Carington’s little hand followed his, fluttering atop his fingers, delighting in her first experience with a man. When his warm palm moved up her torso and closed in around a full breast, she started at the sensation.
He stopped sucking her lower lip long enough to look at her. “Did I hurt you?”
She swallowed, trying to catch her breath. “Nay,” she whispered. “’Tis just… it was unexpected.…”
He removed his hand immediately. “I did not mean to frighten you,” he said, pausing to look at her lovely face, his wits returning now that the frantic kisses had eased. “You make me feel like a weak man, Cari. I am not weak by nature.”
She reached up, timidly touching his handsome, weary face. “I wouldna knowingly weaken ye, Creed. Not for anything. Ye’re the strongest man I’ve ever met.”
He smiled faintly. “For a Sassenach?”
She grinned, biting her kiss-chaffed lip. “For any man.”
They lay there a moment, smiling at each other. He loomed over her, studying the lines of her face, the gentle curve of her neck as it descended to her shoulder. She was so flawless and perfect. And he was terrified.
“I really should get back to my post,” he said softly, brushing a stray lock of black hair from her eyes. “Will you be all right tonight?”
“I’d be better if ye stayed with me.”
He lifted an eyebrow, thinking of the deeper connotations of that. He knew she had not suggested the more carnal expectations of the statement; still, what she was suggesting was improper. On the road it was one thing to sleep in the same tent with her for protection’s sake, but now that they were at Prudhoe, there were no such allowances.
“I cannot, honey,” he said quietly. “Already, my presence here is dangerous. Surely you know that.”
She averted her gaze, toying with the cleft in his chin. “Creed?”
He was aware she was ignoring his statement. “What?”
“Why are ye so cold to me at times and so… passionate at others?”
He sighed heavily, reaching out to touch her creamy cheek. It was as soft as an infant’s. “I am sorry if it seems that way. You must understand that there is a certain demeanor I must present when we are in the presence of others. I cannot act like a besotted fool every time I look at you. But in private moments like this, I am free to show how I feel. Does that make sense?”
She was still playing with his chin; her touch felt just like heaven to him. “Are ye?”
Again, she was evading his question. “Am I what?” he asked.
“Besotted?”
