Firelight danced over his face, touching on the strong contours, caressing the wicked tilt of his lips. A man like him…well, a man like him was hopelessly unsuited to a woman like her. She craved order. Stability. A quiet, predictable life.
Connor MacMasters was none of those things. He was six feet of magnificent chaos. There’d be nothing orderly or stable or predictable about a life with him. But oh, how she craved the man’s caress. His possession.
Him.
He cupped her chin with one hand, those beguiling eyes seeming to see her very soul. “I want to kiss ye.”
She heard the question in his words. How very peculiar, this brash, arrogant warrior, seeking her approval before claiming her mouth. And how very marvelous. He’d given her power. Power to deny him. Power to drink him in. Power to savor all he had to give.
“Yes,” she whispered, hearing his indrawn breath.
And then, his lips were on hers. So very sweet. Such a potent elixir, this man’s kiss. How had she ever lived without it?
His hands drifted lower, trailing the column of her throat with his fingertips. Heat unfurled along the languid path, coursing lower, stirring her hunger.
“Ye’re lovely, lass,” he breathed against her mouth. His hand dipped to her breast. Even through the layers of combination and dress, his heat kindled sparks of need. Such tenderness in his touch. Such gentleness. Such adoration.
She heard a low sigh. As if in a dream, she realized the sound had come from her throat, and she reached for him, exploring the hardness of his shoulders and upper arms with her fingertips. Suddenly, his shirt seemed a hindrance, the soft, white cotton a barrier to the contact she craved. Bolder than she’d ever dared, she took to the buttons and made short work of them.
His knowing smile was her reward. With a tug of the fabric, he pulled the garment over his head. The shirt floated to the floor, but her brain scarcely registered its slow drift to the wooden planks. She savored him with her eyes. With her touch. Her fingertips skittered over his flesh, delighting in the texture of his skin. Hair, crisp and dark, feathered over that carved chest. He was hard muscled, sleek and powerful. And for that moment in time, he was hers.
Hers. What a delicious thought. Pity it seemed akin to temporary madness.
But what a wickedly decadent madness it was.
Her heart needed to feel. Passion. Desire. Wanting. All those dreams she’d boxed away long before she’d boarded a steamer for England and devoted herself to caring for her sister and niece.
And now, she was experiencing all that, and more. This could not last. Very soon, this night with Connor would be naught but a memory.
But what a splendid memory it would be.
He kissed her again, and she stilled, allowing the sensations to claim her awareness. She hadn’t lied when she’d said she was not an innocent. Well, not-quite-an-innocent might be more to the point. As she allowed the pleasure of his caress to fill every nerve, every cell, she realized just how new this delicious yearning for a man truly was. Bone-deep and sensual. So very intense. And so very different from the rather rushed and cold experience she’d once shared with the oh-so-proper suitor who’d offered marriage vows but had touched her with a precise detachment, as if learning to dance by following cut-out feet upon the floor.
With a groan, Connor released her. Johanna froze. Did he mean to leave her? It seemed a dagger had been poised to plunge into the heart he’d made vulnerable with his caress.
He stood back. Just a step. Heat burned in his eyes.
“Tell me to leave,” he said, lower now, rough with need. “Tell me to go. If ye don’t… I want ye, Johanna.”
She held back the words perched on her tongue. Instead, she met his ravenous gaze. She drank in air, as if that would fortify her.
“And if I want you tonight?”
“I’m no saint, mo chridhe. If ye’ll have me, I’ll love ye tonight, Johanna. I’ll be gentle. But by morning’s light…ye will be mine.”
She closed the scant inches between them, longing for a night of pleasure with this magnificent man. He’d swept away her inhibitions. All but one.
“I do want you, Connor. More than you know.” Her gaze dropped to her toes as the concern that gnawed at her formed into words on her lips. “But, we must consider…the consequences…”
“Ye’re concerned about a babe?”
“It is indeed a possibility.”
“I’ll not let that happen.” He kissed her. “Do ye trust me, my sweet Johanna?”
The taste of his lips, so very delicious, intoxicated her. She fought to keep her head about her. “We must be…cautious.”
“Ye’ve my word as a gentleman,” he whispered against her mouth.
“A gentleman?” She pondered the word, a smile tugging at her lips. “My, perhaps I should rethink this?”
Humor danced in his gaze. “Lass, ye wound me.”