Crusader's Lady by Lynna Banning

Author:Lynna Banning
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2007-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Marc woke to a throbbing pain. He jerked to consciousness to find Soraya’s dog gnawing contentedly on his thumb. ‘Leave off, you little cur!’

He felt Soraya’s frame under the cloak shake with laughter. She reached out her hand, lifted the animal away and cuddled him close to her body.

The pup made a satisfied smacking noise. ‘Are you injured?’ she murmured over her shoulder.

‘My hand is yet whole,’ he breathed. ‘It is my pride that smarts.’

‘I am glad,’ she whispered.

‘For my hand? Or my pride?’

Again her shoulders shook with laughter. ‘Your pride, my lord, needs no help.’

‘God,’ he whispered. ‘You are a saucy handful. More trouble than you are worth.’

She rolled partway toward him. The mutt came with her, edged toward Marc’s belly, sniffed once and growled low in his throat.

‘You are wrong, Marc,’ she said at last. ‘I am worth more than you can imagine.’

Her breath caressed his neck. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to crush her in his arms, bury himself deep inside her and claim her as his own. His body trembled with desire. He wanted to possess her. All of her.

Soraya lay beside him, breathing softly, while Roger and the king slept on. Slowly, Marc moved his warm, gentle fingers to touch the back of her neck. She held her breath, felt her heart stop. How glorious, to be touched by a man.

Wanting gnawed at her like a sweet pain, penetrating her blood and bone, making her skin burn with desire. She lay still, listening to the rhythm of their irregular breathing. His thumb moved back and forth just at her hairline, then purposefully stroked the shallow indentation at the base of her neck. Waves of sensation, like hot, sweet honey, spread over her belly, her thighs.

The place between her legs throbbed, as if her flesh were crying out for something. His fingers circled the shell of her ear, tangled in her hair, and his soft breath shuddered against her skin.

‘Soraya,’ he whispered.

And that was all. Just her name and his breath and his voice, but it was enough. More than enough. It told her of his need and of his carefully restrained passion. She rolled onto her back, then turned toward him. His hand touched her cheek, and she— God help her—she moved it down to her breast. He lay motionless, then gently leaned toward her to press his forehead against hers.

‘Soraya.’

‘Yes, Marc.’ He did not move, and she understood. Roger or Richard could wake up at any moment.

The recognition of what simmered between them was blinding. She slid her hand to his mouth, felt his ragged breath flow between her fingers. He did not need to touch her; they were connected all the same.

It was the most ecstatic moment she could ever remember.

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