Read Online Emerald Embrace by Shannon Drake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shannon Drake
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lass, you should be frightened. Very frightened. If you hear noises in the night, you should run. You should lock your door tightly and ignore everything that you hear. Aye, indeed, lass. As it is, you should run. As far from Castle Creeghan as you might!”
She should have had some quick retort, but suddenly, she had none. The moonlight was pouring in upon them and she realized that she was in his arms, or at least, his arms were still about her, his hands upon the small of her back. And she was certain that he wore nothing beneath the jacket, and she was achingly aware of the breadth of his shoulders and the ripple of muscle in the bronzed and richly furred chest that was bared to her by the deep V of the jacket. His body seemed to emit heat and energy in waves as wild as the slash of the sea against the rock, and the fire in his eyes was unmistakable. Her mouth grew dry as her eyes met his, suddenly naked, suddenly bared.
He wanted her. The master of Castle Creeghan wanted her, and she knew that she responded to that wanting in a way that she had never imagined possible before. She wanted her dream to be truth, wanted to feel the brush of his fingers upon her naked shoulders, wanted to feel the burning heat of his kiss upon her bared flesh. She wanted to brush against him, to press close, to feel his arms wrap around her and hold her still to the leisure of his forage upon her lips and form.
“Aye, lass, you should run,” he murmured. “Hear the wind, hear the cries, hear the savage tumult of the sea. Perhaps the dead do rise and haunt us all.”
“Lord Creeghan, I do not run,” she whispered, trembling. She was fiercely aware of his nearness, and the raw power of his maleness. “Even when I am threatened.”
He touched her cheek gently, stroking down the length of it with his knuckles and following through so that his touch seemed to breathe against the length of her throat and collarbone and rest against her shoulder.
He smiled then, the moonlight touching his eyes and causing his teeth to flash whitely against the shadows. “Do I threaten you? Aye, lass, that I do. For if you stay, I will have you. Do you understand me? ’Tis not by choice, but by the yearning alone. I will have you, bed you, lass, if you do not comprehend my words. Bear that in mind when you make your decisions.”
She gasped at last, and stepped away, staring into his eyes, unable to believe that he would be so bold as to say such things—even if he was thinking them. What did he think of her?
She was illuminated by the moonlight, the gauze covering her from breasts to ankles, and yet she knew that he saw her clearly, saw her form defined and delineated, beneath the mist of sheerest white. “My dear Lord Creeghan, you do flatter yourself,” she claimed.
But his smile remained and he came toward her. His hands fell upon her arms and moved the soft material against them, and then he was lifting her, and she was suddenly stretched out on her bed, in the tangle of her covers, her hair a wild splay upon them.
“Perhaps I do not threaten, perhaps I warn,” he whispered, his breath feathering her cheeks and lips as he leaned over her. “Indeed, lass, know this: you’ll have met the dragon or the beastie in truth if you stay, for I will have you this compliant, this willing, this sweetly, within my bed. Yet, you are a widow, milady. Maybe I am misled, maybe you are the one stalking the dragon?”
Her heart beat rampantly as his words sank into her mind. Her temper rose at long last to save her from the seductive quality of his words and of the night and the moonlight.
“Beast, indeed!” she spat suddenly, striking out.
But he was quick, and caught her hand, laughing. He stepped back, releasing her. His smile broadened, and he bowed deeply to her. “So run, lass, run if you would have the chance. And if not…”
A dark brow arched, and he turned silently and disappeared through the balcony doors. With a startled gasp she
She should have had some quick retort, but suddenly, she had none. The moonlight was pouring in upon them and she realized that she was in his arms, or at least, his arms were still about her, his hands upon the small of her back. And she was certain that he wore nothing beneath the jacket, and she was achingly aware of the breadth of his shoulders and the ripple of muscle in the bronzed and richly furred chest that was bared to her by the deep V of the jacket. His body seemed to emit heat and energy in waves as wild as the slash of the sea against the rock, and the fire in his eyes was unmistakable. Her mouth grew dry as her eyes met his, suddenly naked, suddenly bared.
He wanted her. The master of Castle Creeghan wanted her, and she knew that she responded to that wanting in a way that she had never imagined possible before. She wanted her dream to be truth, wanted to feel the brush of his fingers upon her naked shoulders, wanted to feel the burning heat of his kiss upon her bared flesh. She wanted to brush against him, to press close, to feel his arms wrap around her and hold her still to the leisure of his forage upon her lips and form.
“Aye, lass, you should run,” he murmured. “Hear the wind, hear the cries, hear the savage tumult of the sea. Perhaps the dead do rise and haunt us all.”
“Lord Creeghan, I do not run,” she whispered, trembling. She was fiercely aware of his nearness, and the raw power of his maleness. “Even when I am threatened.”
He touched her cheek gently, stroking down the length of it with his knuckles and following through so that his touch seemed to breathe against the length of her throat and collarbone and rest against her shoulder.
He smiled then, the moonlight touching his eyes and causing his teeth to flash whitely against the shadows. “Do I threaten you? Aye, lass, that I do. For if you stay, I will have you. Do you understand me? ’Tis not by choice, but by the yearning alone. I will have you, bed you, lass, if you do not comprehend my words. Bear that in mind when you make your decisions.”
She gasped at last, and stepped away, staring into his eyes, unable to believe that he would be so bold as to say such things—even if he was thinking them. What did he think of her?
She was illuminated by the moonlight, the gauze covering her from breasts to ankles, and yet she knew that he saw her clearly, saw her form defined and delineated, beneath the mist of sheerest white. “My dear Lord Creeghan, you do flatter yourself,” she claimed.
But his smile remained and he came toward her. His hands fell upon her arms and moved the soft material against them, and then he was lifting her, and she was suddenly stretched out on her bed, in the tangle of her covers, her hair a wild splay upon them.
“Perhaps I do not threaten, perhaps I warn,” he whispered, his breath feathering her cheeks and lips as he leaned over her. “Indeed, lass, know this: you’ll have met the dragon or the beastie in truth if you stay, for I will have you this compliant, this willing, this sweetly, within my bed. Yet, you are a widow, milady. Maybe I am misled, maybe you are the one stalking the dragon?”
Her heart beat rampantly as his words sank into her mind. Her temper rose at long last to save her from the seductive quality of his words and of the night and the moonlight.
“Beast, indeed!” she spat suddenly, striking out.
But he was quick, and caught her hand, laughing. He stepped back, releasing her. His smile broadened, and he bowed deeply to her. “So run, lass, run if you would have the chance. And if not…”
A dark brow arched, and he turned silently and disappeared through the balcony doors. With a startled gasp she
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