Read Online Into the Dreaming by Karen Marie Moning - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Karen Marie Moning
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the hearth in the great hall; she curled near a table and three bright oil globes, he practically inside the hearth atop the blaze. He’d been surreptitiously watching her across the space of half a dozen feet for over an hour, and his question was the first direct one he’d asked of her since her arrival at Dun Haakon that didn’t concern castle matters. Concealing a smile, she continued writing as if she hadn’t heard him:
He rose from the chair so abruptly that it toppled over, crashing to the floor. His aquamarine eyes glittering with desire, he ripped the sheaf of papers from her hands andthrew them aside. He towered over her, his intense gaze seeming to delve into her very soul. “Forget these papers. Forget my question. I want you, Jane,” he said roughly. “I need you. Now.” He began to strip, unlacing his linen shirt, tugging it over his head. He pressed a finger to her lips when she began to speak. “Hush, lass. Doona deny me. ’Tis no use. I will have you this night. You are mine, and only mine, for all of ever, then yet another day.”
“Why another day?” she whispered against his finger, her heart hammering with nervousness and anticipation. She’d never been with a man before, only dreamed of it. And the dark Highlander standing before her was every inch a dream come to life
.
He flashed her a seductive grin as he unknotted his plaid and let it slip down over his taut buttocks lean, muscular hips. Bracing his hands on the arms of her chair, he lowered his head toward hers. “Because not even forever with you will be enough to satisfy me, sweet Jane. I’m a greedy, demanding man.”
“I said what are you writing?” His voice was tight.
His hard body glistened bronze in the shimmering light of dozens of oil globes. “I can’t resist you, lass. God knows I’ve tried,” he groaned, his voice low and taut with need. “I think about you day and night, I can’t sleep for wanting you. ’Tis a madness I fear will never abate.”
Jane swallowed a dreamy sigh and paused, quill poised above the paper. She arched a brow at him, outwardly calmwhile inwardly melting. His eyes flashing in his dark face, he coiled tensely in his chair, as if he might leap up at any moment. And pounce.
Oh, if only!
“Why do you care?” she said with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. She was sick of being patient. She knew that the presence of the villagers, the laboring with his hands on what had once been his home, and his nocturnal spying upon her in the bath were beginning to take a toll. She’d been wise to take a passive role for the past two weeks, but it was time to be more proactive. She had twelve days, and she was
not
going to lose him.
“You do nothing without purpose,” he said stiffly. “I merely wish to know your purpose in practicing your letters so faithfully each eve.”
Jane pressed her quill to parchment again:
He tugged her up from the chair, crushing her body against the hard length of his own. Gazing into her eyes, he deliberately rocked his hips forward so she could feel his huge cock need. Hard and hot, his impressive erection he throbbed, pressing through the thin silk of her gown …
Jane blew out a breath of pure sexual frustration—writing love scenes sure could be sheer torture for a girl with no man of her own—and placed the quill aside. Sexpot promptly jumped onto the small side table and attacked the feather, shaking it violently. Rescuing the quill before the kitten shredded yet another one, she hesitated before answering. She knew that one inadvertent misstep might drive him back into his rigid shell. He’d made it clear he would never permither to touch him. She had to find a way to coax him to touch her.
“I’m not practicing my letters. I write stories.”
“What kind of stories?”
Jane stared at him hungrily. He was so damned sexy sitting there. Only yesterday he’d taken to wearing a plaid for the first time since his arrival, saying it was cooler to
He rose from the chair so abruptly that it toppled over, crashing to the floor. His aquamarine eyes glittering with desire, he ripped the sheaf of papers from her hands andthrew them aside. He towered over her, his intense gaze seeming to delve into her very soul. “Forget these papers. Forget my question. I want you, Jane,” he said roughly. “I need you. Now.” He began to strip, unlacing his linen shirt, tugging it over his head. He pressed a finger to her lips when she began to speak. “Hush, lass. Doona deny me. ’Tis no use. I will have you this night. You are mine, and only mine, for all of ever, then yet another day.”
“Why another day?” she whispered against his finger, her heart hammering with nervousness and anticipation. She’d never been with a man before, only dreamed of it. And the dark Highlander standing before her was every inch a dream come to life
.
He flashed her a seductive grin as he unknotted his plaid and let it slip down over his taut buttocks lean, muscular hips. Bracing his hands on the arms of her chair, he lowered his head toward hers. “Because not even forever with you will be enough to satisfy me, sweet Jane. I’m a greedy, demanding man.”
“I said what are you writing?” His voice was tight.
His hard body glistened bronze in the shimmering light of dozens of oil globes. “I can’t resist you, lass. God knows I’ve tried,” he groaned, his voice low and taut with need. “I think about you day and night, I can’t sleep for wanting you. ’Tis a madness I fear will never abate.”
Jane swallowed a dreamy sigh and paused, quill poised above the paper. She arched a brow at him, outwardly calmwhile inwardly melting. His eyes flashing in his dark face, he coiled tensely in his chair, as if he might leap up at any moment. And pounce.
Oh, if only!
“Why do you care?” she said with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. She was sick of being patient. She knew that the presence of the villagers, the laboring with his hands on what had once been his home, and his nocturnal spying upon her in the bath were beginning to take a toll. She’d been wise to take a passive role for the past two weeks, but it was time to be more proactive. She had twelve days, and she was
not
going to lose him.
“You do nothing without purpose,” he said stiffly. “I merely wish to know your purpose in practicing your letters so faithfully each eve.”
Jane pressed her quill to parchment again:
He tugged her up from the chair, crushing her body against the hard length of his own. Gazing into her eyes, he deliberately rocked his hips forward so she could feel his huge cock need. Hard and hot, his impressive erection he throbbed, pressing through the thin silk of her gown …
Jane blew out a breath of pure sexual frustration—writing love scenes sure could be sheer torture for a girl with no man of her own—and placed the quill aside. Sexpot promptly jumped onto the small side table and attacked the feather, shaking it violently. Rescuing the quill before the kitten shredded yet another one, she hesitated before answering. She knew that one inadvertent misstep might drive him back into his rigid shell. He’d made it clear he would never permither to touch him. She had to find a way to coax him to touch her.
“I’m not practicing my letters. I write stories.”
“What kind of stories?”
Jane stared at him hungrily. He was so damned sexy sitting there. Only yesterday he’d taken to wearing a plaid for the first time since his arrival, saying it was cooler to
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