The Warrior's Damsel in Distress by Meriel Fuller

Author:Meriel Fuller
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin Historical
Published: 2017-09-05T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Eva staggered to the four-poster bed, knees whippy as saplings, her muscles wrung out, barely supporting her. Delight scorched her slim frame: wild, pulsating waves of heat, relentless, turning her logical mind to mush. Clawed by a deep yearning, her belly hollowed out, jerky and volatile. The briefest touch. The skim of his fingers against her cheek. Her body had responded to him with such force that a tremble of fear rattled through her.

Flinging herself across the bed, she buried her hot forehead in cool linen. She wanted to shout aloud, to thump and bash at the plump pillow, to tear at the fragile cover; make the feathers fly. But she bit down hard on her bottom lip, reining in her careering frustration. For the man who had made her feel like this was also the man who sat in a bathtub a few feet away. She mustn’t make a sound.

How dare Bruin have this power over her? This ability to turn her limbs to mush, a helpless pulp. To turn her into one of those simpering maidens in their filmy satin gowns, wafting about great halls, doing nothing all day but glance covertly at the handsome knights and hang upon their every word as if they were pearls of wisdom. She was not one of those women! She was Eva, practical, forthright Eva, the woman at whom people laughed because she could ride and run as well as any man. The woman who had fought for the right to run her own estate after the death of her family, only to have it stolen away from her by Lord Steffen’s underhand methods.

She yanked the towel more securely against her back and hips, holding the edges closed within the hollow of her belly beneath her. The fur coverlet tickled her clenched hands. Desire stalked her: a treacherous lust that gripped her loins, made whispering promises. The way she reacted to him, his nearness, his touch; the way she looked on, an impotent observer, as her cheek rubbed against his knuckles. Self-restraint fled, a mocking banshee cackling into the wind, no help to her at all. She had never known anything like this before, this need, this craving to lie with a man, to delight in his flesh, to revel in it. Startled, she blinked against the pillow, eyelashes scratching against the linen. She wanted to weep at the shame of it. Her thoughts were that of a wanton, surely, not a respectable maid! And yet, for all her self-chastisement, the flame of devilment burned brightly, hugely, in her heart, refusing to be doused, refusing to be cowed by such outrageous thoughts. She wanted him. She wanted Bruin. She wanted to lie with him.

‘Oh, I thought you’d be dressed by now.’ Bruin’s voice ripped through her scandalous thoughts, a knife through silk.

Startled by how quickly he had bathed, Eva rolled over, not thinking. The towel parted, falling aside to reveal slender legs, skin like gossamer satin, curving hips, her womanhood nestled beneath the slim indent of her stomach.

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