The Outlaw's Bride by Liz Ireland

Author:Liz Ireland [Ireland, Liz]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781460359259
Google: d2y2W5UEhRQC
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-06-16T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Lang didn’t need to be asked twice. As soon as Emma spoke the astonishing words, he bent down to press his lips against her own parted ones. He didn’t question her motives, or ask how a simple carved bird could elicit such an odd request, or wonder why the hell she was asking him of all people to kiss her. He’d already spent four long days in bed thinking way too much about Emma to refuse the opportunity she offered him.

The trouble was, he’d meant to stop with a mere brush of his lips against hers. A taste, nothing more. But a taste of Emma’s sweet lips wasn’t nearly enough. Her mouth was soft and warm, the movement of her lips tentative yet curious. Five minutes ago she’d seemed shocked that he would march into her bedroom; now she seemed unafraid to have him ravish her in her bed. The contradictions in her drove him to distraction, and his pent-up desire for her made him forget all about his plan to stop at a simple peck.

He pulled her gently to his arms and deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth for better access to the delectable wine of her lips. His movement shifted something between them; suddenly Emma became an active participant in their experiment. Forgotten covers pooled around her waist as she lifted her hands to encircle his nape. Her body cleaved to his like sky against the earth.

He hadn’t expected the sharp stab of desire he felt as she undulated against him, or that a mere soft moan of pleasure from her would drive him to the edge of control. His groin was burning and stiff, and as they explored each other’s mouths, he realized it had been a long, long time since he’d felt this strong a desire for any woman.

Not since Lucy.

The very name was like water dousing a campfire. Lucy had taken his kisses as her due, stoked his desire and affections, then turned away from him without a second glance when he’d offered her everything he had. She never dreamed of marrying a farmhand, she’d declared. She’d assumed Lang had understood that from the beginning.

He hadn’t, but he’d learned the ground rules, all right, with Lucy as his master teacher. Rich gals didn’t marry poor men, and kisses that meant a great deal to one person could count for very little to another.

Slowly he tore himself away from Emma’s lips, savoring the last taste of her. Who knew if he would ever be allowed another? Emma wasn’t Lucy…but now he wasn’t even a farmhand. He was a desperado, and though he was innocent, asking a woman to care for him was close to criminal. Especially a woman who had already been as kind and generous to him as Emma had been.

When he pulled back he searched her green eyes for her reaction, but his gaze was drawn again to her parted lips, still moist and pink from their kiss.

“Oh my!” She glanced down at her arms and hands and torso as if taking inventory, then looked back up at him.

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