Read Online Midnight Honor by Marsha Canham - Free Book Online Page A

his back and welcomed the first powerful thrust with a cry of joy. As big as he was, she stretched eagerly to accommodate him, aware of every heated, surging inch of him. The pleasure shattered her again. And again. She could feel his flesh growing impossibly harder, thrusting into her with the full power and strength of his possession.
    He whispered a ragged command and she raised her knees, locking her ankles together at his waist. He reared up, his face taut, the muscles across his chest and shoulders bulging, gleaming with his exertions, and she saw him give an apologetic little shake of his head, as if he could delay the inevitable no longer. He arched his torso and plunged his hips forward one last time, erupting hotly within her. She shared every shudder, every shiver, every liquid throb of his release before the sheer force of their expended energies brought them melting together in utter collapse.
    Even then he continued to rock gently inside her, his flesh as unwilling as hers to relinquish even the smallest quiver of pleasure. From somewhere she found the strength to open her eyes; when she did, she saw the mirror image of their bodies twined together in the pattern of shadows on the wall, a sight that was more intoxicating than any ten bottles of fine French claret.
    She ran her hands up from where they had been so urgently grasped around his buttocks and smiled faintly at the dampness she could feel on his shoulders and across his back. Angus Moy did not sweat, as a rule, nor did he pant or grin like a cocky adolescent who has just discovered the real reason why ministers spent so much time in the pulpit lecturing against sins of the flesh.
    “Forgive me,” he murmured, capturing her lips beneath his. “You said you were tired. I did not mean to keep you from your bed.”
    “A bed would be nice,” she agreed. “Eventually.”
    “Eventually?” He said it as if the word held a wealth of possibilities and Anne parted her lips around another sigh, feeling him stir inside her.
    “I'm still there,” he whispered. “God knows how, but I am still there.”
    “Yes,” she gasped, curling her hips up to savor the delicious thickening. “And right there is where you will remain, my lord, until neither one of us has the strength to say nay.”

Chapter Four
    W hen Anne opened her eyes again, the room was completely dark. There was not even a ruddy glow from the fire with which to orient herself, and it took a moment to realize she was no longer in her own chamber; she was in Angus's big bed with the heavy draperies closed to keep out the drafts. Outside the velvet cocoon, she could hear the wind moaning against the window, rattling the panes of glass with frequent wintry gusts. Inside, there was only the sound of her own breathing and a depression beside her that was still faintly warm, suggesting she had not been alone very long.
    Her husband's nocturnal habits had always baffled her. While she could remain in bed as long as the covers were warm and the pillow soft, Angus rarely stayed an entire night abed regardless of how long a day he'd had, or how late an evening. A light, restless sleeper, he would often be up well before the first servant rubbed the crust out of his eyes. Many a time Anne would waken to find him reading or sitting at his desk catching up on his correspondence. He claimed it was a habit he had acquired in his travels through Europe. In order to see and do all there was to see and do, he had learned how to get by on a meager two or three hours of sleep each night.
    Anne did not think there was a castle anywhere in the world that would inspire her to rise before dawn and traveltwenty miles by horse cart just to glimpse an illusion of battlements floating above a cloud of mist. She was even less likely to cram her feet into shoes with three-inch glass heels just so she could dance the night away in some Russian princeling's court. She preferred the beauty of the glens and ancient keeps right