Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(13)

Della arched fully into him and let out a moan of surprise. No one had ever dared to stand so close to her. Never had she been touched so boldly. Her arms had a mind of their own as they moved to rest weakly on his mammoth chest. She felt his hand as if it was everywhere, sliding over her flesh beneath her gown. Clasping her thighs tight, she wondered at the sudden dampness between them.

Brant’s smile broadened against her throat and she heard his small chuckle of victory. She was too far gone to care. Somehow he managed to lift her breast from her tunic to better cover it with his fiery palm. Della let out a cry as air hit her chest. Hot kisses moved down her throat to sting her collarbone. Licking her skin, he groaned as if reveling in her sweet taste. His beard tickled her and she shivered.

Her hands twisted in his tunic and she pulled him closer, wanting to feel more of him. He moved his agonizing kisses lower onto her breast. Suddenly her nipple was in his mouth and a burst of light and color lit up her closed eyelids.

Della ran her fingers into the neckline of his tunic, innocently caressing the muscles she found there. Her hands shook with the force of the new emotions that flooded her. She didn’t understand what was happening to her body, didn’t think she wanted to. All she knew was that she couldn’t speak and she couldn’t beg him to stop.

Brant released her nipple and pressed his arousal boldly against her center heat. Growling, he lifted her by the butt, forcing her legs to grip his waist. Della gasped at his strength as he held her against the wall of the bedchamber. Through their clothing his hardness ground into her.

“Methinks you do not find me such the wretched boor now, m’lady,” he said aggressively against her throat. Her lips stung with longing, but he refused to kiss her. “Beg.”

Della heard the word through a fog. It brought her up short and she stiffened against him in anger. “You miserable toad. Let me down before I scream. How dare you do this to me? I loathe your touch. You have no right to fondle me so.”

Brant instantly let go and stepped away. Della jerked in surprise, barely catching herself from falling on the floor.

“Methinks you have already screamed aplenty, lady bride. Or do you forget so quickly what came out of your mouth a moment before.” Brant didn’t wait for her reply before storming angrily out of the chamber.

Della watched him go, somewhat disturbed by what his words implied. Had she been screaming at his nearness? Had she let him touch her so wantonly? Shivering, she knew he was right. She had acted shamelessly in his arms. The remnants of the flames he’d lit inside her coursed through her limbs and she quickly covered her exposed chest.

Tears ran over her cheeks. Turning her face into the wall, she pounded the stone with her fist until her skin was bleeding and raw. His whispers had exhilarated her and tormented her at the same time. He represented everything she hated, but she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what his hands had meant with their mysterious promises.

Curse you, Brant the Thorn, and your pagan ways.



Brant stormed the halls in disbelief. The mass between his thighs strained, begging for attention. He could still see her clearly, Della’s image burned into his brain to torment him. Several strands of her hair had come loose at his rough handling and fell sensually over the exposed breast. Her skin was the color of fresh cream.

Temptation raged inside him and it took all his control not to turn around, throw her onto the bed, and take her in his passion. He wasn’t used to denying himself such pleasure, especially when he had every right to take it. Only the look of utter terror on her face had stopped him.

Brant sighed in frustration. He couldn’t understand her distaste for him, no matter how hard he tried. He’d hoped things could be cleared between them, but her prejudice was blatant. She judged him by the ancestral blood that ran through his veins and not his merits. It was strange that she had such distaste for his heritage, for many of the Northumbrians were of mixed blood between the Anglo-Saxon and the Norse. Although it was well known she came from an almost purely Anglo-Saxon background, he knew that her own heritage had some Norse blood. Besides, Northumbria belonged to the so-called heathens.

Though his raging arousal still wanted to debate the fact, Brant didn’t think he could bed her now if he wanted to. He was too angry. But his fury was as passionate as his desire and he felt a strange war begin to wage within his depths. He’d felt her reaction and witnessed her innocent desire. She didn’t understand what her body was doing, just as he knew she couldn’t begin to control its response.

Brant groaned. He’d acted purely on instinct. His body desired her so much. It just had a hard time deciding whether it desired to ravish her or to throttle her.