Barbarian's Soul by Kayse Joan

Author:Kayse, Joan [Kayse, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Historical
Goodreads: 18362507
Publisher: Ink Lion Books
Published: 2013-08-19T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

She tasted of mint and melted honey and seduction. Bran shuddered. She tasted like paradise.

In the arena, every move was calculated, decisions made in split seconds, gut instincts guided your hand. There could be no hesitation, no second guessing. Impulsive reactions could leave a gladiator dead in the sand. Bran had learned that at the point of a hot iron and the stroke of a whip.

How had he ended up on his knees like a supplicant worshiping a goddess?

It had not been impulsiveness, he reassured himself through the wine-induced fog his brain had sunk into. No, he’d been thinking about this kiss since the moment he’d looked over the wall of Paulin’s domain, seen the surprise in her eyes flash into amethyst fire, defiance and spirit daring him to act. The gladiator in him had not been able to turn away from the challenge. The man he was could not now turn from the sensual woman pliant beneath his mouth.

Bran tilted Adria’s chin with his hand, then deepened the kiss. Her hair was soft and thick as he’d imagined, her lips warm and sweet beneath his own. She’d gone rigid with outrage at his first touch, but she was not trying to pull free and that startled and pleased him.

Adria gave a small moan into his mouth. He slid his hands to the back of her head, cradled her close and inhaled the sweet, fresh scent of her skin, eager to drive away the dark memories her questions had resurrected. She tasted so good.

Her lips parted beneath his. White-hot lust crashed through Bran’s belly straight to his groin. He took full advantage, plunged his tongue into the moist recesses of her mouth, explored and savored the taste. A low groan rumbled from deep within his throat when her tongue met his, the small, tentative strokes sending fire through his veins.

Adria ran her hands along his arms to his shoulders, cool against his fevered skin. Speaking of his time as a gladiator to this fractious female had also startled him. He spoke of that time in hell...of Beatrix...with no one. While he could blame the wine, it had been an unreasonable desire to shake her image of him as a barbarian that had prompted it. If he did not stop now he would become the very image of what she thought him to be and ravage her right here on the floor.

He pulled away. Her small whimper of protest sent another shaft of hot pleasure through him.

“That,” he said on a ragged breath, “should not have happened.”

She stared at him, a confused look in her eyes now darkened with desire to the purple of bell heather that covered the meadows of Eire. Her lips, still parted, were swollen and pink which only made him want to kiss her more. Bran sucked in a ragged breath, brushed his thumb across her plump lower lip. Gods, he wanted to do so much more.

As regret tugged at him, anger replaced confusion, heightened the rose flush desire had brushed across her cheeks.

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