The Knight(6)
He prayed she never would. He needed her, and he was only beginning to realize how much.
CHAPTER TWO
It was happening again. Joanna felt the strange sensations flooding her and knew she would be helpless to resist. Not that she wanted to. That had been the problem from the first. When James was holding her, touching her, and kissing her like this, she never wanted it to end. She liked it. Liked not just the way he made her body feel—all hot and prickly and sensitive—but also the way it made her feel in her heart: protected, cherished, and… loved.
Most of all loved. James loved her. How could she have let Thom make her doubt him for an instant? She put all of her guilt into her response, opening her mouth and kissing him back with every bit of the fervor and passion that he was giving her.
Though Joanna was tall for a woman, James still towered over her by nearly a foot, and she had to stretch on her tiptoes just to slide her hands around his neck to hold on. And hold on she did. It seemed the moment his mouth touched hers, the bones in her legs dissolved. Actually all of her bones dissolved. She turned into a melty puddle of heat and sensation.
Her skin flushed. Her body tingled from the sensitive tips of her breasts to the intimate place between her legs. The fleeting memory of another sensation—one that had left her shattered and weak—teased the fringes of her consciousness.
A low moan of anticipation escaped from deep in her throat. She increased the pressure of their bodies, melding her curves into the hard contours of his chest and thighs.
The last few years of warfare had wrought many changes in James, but by far the most noticeable were those to his body. The lean, lanky build of his youth had transformed into rock-hard muscle and granite planes. He was still lean, but all vestiges of youth were gone. He was a man, with the solid, muscular build of the fierce warrior who’d struck terror across the Marches. She shuddered a little, remembering how it had felt to squeeze those muscles beneath her palms.
Even his face had changed, though not from any scars. Unusually, James’s face bore no marks of the warfare that had consumed all of their lives. Rather, the boyish good looks had hardened. Become sharper. More dangerous and ruthless. He was handsome, but that wasn’t the word that came to mind when you looked at him. He was imposing. Fierce. Determined. From his size, to the piercing dark eyes, to the set of his square jaw—that was what she saw. But somehow it only added to his appeal.
Indeed, he looked more like a ruffian than a lord or knight. He wore no fine wool surcoat or tabard emblazoned with the arms of Douglas over his mail. Actually he hardly wore any mail at all, only a coif under his helm to protect his neck. Otherwise his armor consisted of a basic black leather cotun and chausses dotted with bits of steel, more suited to a Highland warrior than an important lieutenant in Bruce’s personal retinue. But heavy armor did not lend itself to the agility and speed required for the quick style of attack that James was becoming famous for—modeled on the Norsemen who had terrorized Scotland’s shores years ago.
As a youth, James had been somewhat fastidious in appearance, and though the English had dispossessed him of his lands and robbed him of his lordly robes, essentially forcing him to live like an outlaw in Ettrick forest, vestiges still remained. He always smelled clean for one. Beneath the cool brace of the wind on his skin and the warm scent of leather, she could detect the fresh hint of his soap. And the black hair that had given rise to his epithet might be longer, but it was still neatly trimmed and combed—except for that one wavy, untamed lock that fell across his forehead. He was freshly shaven as well, though the shadow of his beard was already dark a few hours later. She could feel the rough scrape as he kissed her.
And God, how he was kissing her. The stroke of his tongue in her mouth sent shudders of sensation rippling through her. She could taste the spiciness of the cloves he liked to chew on.
She whimpered as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer and holding her more firmly against him. Their bodies locked. The thick slab of his erection pressed insistently against her belly, and her body responded with a swell of heat between her legs. He wanted her, and the proof of that want, big and hard against her, made her quiver.
The first time she’d thought the fit impossible. He was too big, and she was too… innocent. But he’d proved her wrong. The memory of the initial pain was a distant one, fading beneath the far greater memory of pleasure. Pleasure that he would give her again. But it wasn’t just the pleasure she craved, it was the closeness. She wanted to feel joined to him again. Wanted to feel him inside her—filling her—forging the bond that bound them together forever.