Delectably Undone! (7 page)

And at last, at last he cupped her there. There where she so needed to be touched and ravished. There, where she was so hot and wet. And still he teased, tracing her quivering inner thighs, skirting her need, brushing lightly over her core so that she lifted against his hand in frantic want.

Hot kisses trailed over her belly; his tongue, all silk and sin, circled her navel, seduced in the same languid rhythm as his long fingers in the damp heat between her legs. Pressing a last kiss to her belly, he sat up, his hand still stroking in tender intimacy, and knelt between her thighs, pushing them wider.

Wanton heat poured through her as he gazed, as he traced the hot, exposed wetness at her core, his fingers sliding easily. Slowly, so slowly those two fingers eased into the tight, slippery ache. Lightning laced her, streaking down every vein, every nerve as he stroked, as he found a place inside her that wept for his touch, and pressed up. Hard. A frantic cry tore from her throat as pleasure burst into desperation and the fire burned hotter.

He slid lower and, sprawled at his mercy, she didn’t have to ask what he intended. It was there in his dark, hungry gaze, in the slow pressure of his fingers in her slick, aching need.
His turn.
Slowly, so slowly those fingers withdrew, and her world nearly cracked apart as he replaced them with mouth and tongue. All hot, wicked seduction as her body arched wildly at the lancing pleasure, and her hips bucked. One powerful arm over her waist held her safe, captive to his mouth. Broad shoulders held her thighs spread and a hand under her buttocks tilted her for his pleasure. And hers.

She sobbed, twisting and shimmering in his arms, her taste and fragrance bathing him. His body pounded with the need to have her, and she was ready, so ready….

He surged over her, guiding himself to her entrance, sliding just within, with a shuddering groan at the tight, wet heat that welcomed him. Shaking with need, he reimposed control.
Slow
.
Tender
. But her body danced beneath him, lifting to take more of him, his name sobbed in desperate plea…
possession
. Lost, he thrust into her, driving himself to the hilt in her sweetness. She cried out, fingers sinking into his arms, and, every muscle rebelling, he stilled, deep, so deep inside, her yielded body all his. Her eyes were closed, her breath coming in uneven gasps.

“Loveday?” He hardly recognized his voice. Her eyes opened, clouded, stabbing into him, even as the need to move raked him. She was so tight…. If he’d hurt her… “Sweetheart?”
Oh, God. Loveday…

“Please…Evelyn—”

She was stretched tight, full to bursting, but he had stopped and she was dying, burning, wild for the continued rhythm of his body within her. But he held still. His eyes on hers, his hoarse voice told her why he’d stopped, but even to reassure him, words jammed in her throat. Instead, she lifted against him, begging with her body for his possession, moaning at the fierce pressure within her. His groan answered her wordless assurance, and he began to move in deep, long strokes that found every hidden need of body and soul, and assuaged them with fire. And she responded, finding and matching his rhythm so that he became hers, just as she was his. So that the fire leaped and redoubled between them.

He held her spread beneath him and loved her deeply, fiercely, every stroke of his body into hers a claiming and a surrender. She no longer knew which was which. He lowered his mouth to hers and took her cries, absorbing them into his own deeper groans, filling her mouth to the same ancient rhythm that rocked them until she flamed, and whirled to the edge of the abyss to hover there, crying out for release.

And he gave it to her. One strong hand slid under her bottom, lifting her into his thrusts so that she broke and fell, shattering, dissolved in ecstasy.

Evelyn felt it, let it take him, sheathing himself deep in her convulsing body. Every muscle hardened to steel, and his world shook, splintered as his own consummation flared white-hot, spilling into her in fierce joy.

They had forgotten to draw the curtains, and the pale dawn crept in, gilding the soft, fragrant curls that flamed across his chest. Every silken curve snuggled against him, her hand resting over his heart. He lifted it to his lips, kissed the slender fingers and replaced them. Nothing had ever been so right.

“We have a problem,” he murmured, nibbling at her ear.

She wriggled, squirming against him so that he hardened. “Hmm?”

“Your paintings. I’ll have to commission some nice sedate tapestries to cover them.”

“What?
” She sat up, realized she was naked, and clutched at the sheet to cover her breasts. “The devil you will!”

He grinned and twitched the sheet away from her. “You haven’t considered the scandal, sweetheart.”

“Having paintings of your mistress seducing you all over the walls will upset society?” All vestige of sleep had vanished from her eyes, which had narrowed to golden shards. “You should have thought of that before you commissioned them!” She tried to grab the sheet back, but he hung on, and she glared at him.

He glared right back. “Mistress be damned! It’s the scandal of having erotic murals of my
wife
seducing me that will rock society!”

There was a moment’s silence. Then she whispered, “Wife?”

“Wife,” he said firmly. “I may be a selfish aristocratic bastard—Lionel had that right—but I’m not stupid. I don’t make the same mistake twice. I told you I was keeping you this time, and you agreed.”

Heart pounding, she said, “I know you said you were going to keep me, but you don’t actually have to marry me to do that, you know.” It would be easier to remind him if her foolish heart could forget the tender words he’d whispered during the night. Words of love. Words she had given back to him. In his world love didn’t necessarily include marriage…. “I mean, I’m here now. In your bed. I thought you were asking me to be your mistress. Just because I’m Lionel’s sister—”

“No.” Evelyn drew her into his arms and pushed a tumbled curl out of her eyes. “You’re Loveday. Not Lionel’s sister. And I have to marry you because I love you.”

Her heart shook, more at the tenderness in his voice and hands than the words themselves. She couldn’t doubt that he loved her, but she was still a nobody. He was a viscount. “But—your family won’t like it now any more than they would have six years ago. And I…I won’t know anyone. No one will want to know the sister of an artist! And what about my painting? I
can’t
give it up!”

He actually laughed. “Is someone asking you to give up your painting?”

“Wouldn’t you?” She couldn’t quite believe that he wanted to marry her, let alone permit her to continue painting.

“No.”

She still wasn’t convinced. If he thought she’d paint as a ladylike hobby…

“Professionally?”

He grinned. “It will make up for your lack of dowry. Just don’t sell any nudes of yourself to anyone but me. That’s my only condition.”

He viewed her outraged expression with satisfaction. “And my family can mind their own business,” he went on. “They’ll come around.” They would have no choice.

He thought of Phoebe Angaston. “Also, I can guarantee you at least one female friend in society.” One who would use her considerable influence to help Loveday. A portrait of the lovely and wealthy Miss Angaston, for example… Besides…” he gestured to the paintings “…you haven’t considered. This is my town house! I can’t marry anyone else
but
you with those on the walls!”

PLEASURED BY THE VIKING

Michelle Willingham

Author Note

The Vikings have always had a strong presence in Ireland, all around the coastal areas. By the medieval era, they had blended in with the Irish tribes, intermarrying with them.

Pleasured by the Viking
is the story of Gunnar Dalrata, a Viking warrior who falls for an Irishwoman, Auder Ó Reilly, whom he knew years before. The awkward, adolescent girl has transformed into a stunningly beautiful woman, but Auder is promised to another man. Gunnar’s protective instincts are on edge, for he has no intention of letting her go.

This story is connected to Harlequin Historical
Surrender to an Irish Warrior.
Gunnar Dalrata plays an integral role, and I hope you’ll enjoy learning his connection to the MacEgan Brothers.

I always enjoy hearing from readers. You may email me at [email protected] or by mail at P.O. Box 2242, Poquoson, VA 23662 USA. Visit my website at www.michellewillingham.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/michellewillinghamfans.

Look for Michelle Willingham’s

Claimed by the Highlander

The first of a Scottish family miniseries
coming soon from Harlequin
^®
Historical

Chapter One

Glen Ocham, Ireland
1181

T
wilight descended, casting shadows upon the
cashel
in a fading veil of gray. It was a spring night of celebration, a time when the Irish gave thanks for their prosperity. But for Auder Ó Reilly, it was the beginning of the end.

Her skin was frigid, for the life she’d known was slipping away, like water from between her fingertips. In two days, she would travel north to the Norman settlement governed by Lord Miles de Corlaine, Baron of Maraloch, to be his bride.

The very idea of surrendering herself to the Norman made her shudder. Aye, she would protect the lives of her kinsmen, by forging this alliance. They would be safe from invasion, their lands joined together. And Lord Maraloch was a wealthy man who could give her everything she would ever need.

But that wasn’t the reason she’d agreed to marry him.

Auder’s gaze settled upon her mother, who was sitting apart from the other women. Halma Ó Reilly’s thin face held a serene expression, but there was pain and loneliness beneath it. The shadow of humiliation from her husband’s misdeeds surrounded her still.

It’s not your fault,
Auder wanted to tell her mother.
You don’t deserve to suffer for what Father did.

She wanted to see her mother laughing again with friends. She wanted her to have a reason to lift her head up, knowing that her daughter had created peace where there had been a threat. And for that reason, she’d agreed to the marriage.

Halma had protected her in so many ways. Could she do less for her mother?

Auder crossed the
cashel
until she sat beside Halma. The matron’s green eyes stared at the others who were feasting and gossiping. “You haven’t touched your food.”

“I’m not hungry.” Halma patted her hand. Concern lined her face, and she added, “Auder, I’m not so sure you should marry this baron. We don’t really know the man.”

“It was my choice, Mother,” Auder pronounced. “I’ve agreed to accept the honor.” Though she tried to summon a smile, she couldn’t. Right now, she felt as though she were disappearing from her own body.

“You’re a beautiful woman,” her mother said, touching Auder’s cheek. “You could have your choice of any man here. Why would you give that up?”

For you,
she wanted to say.
To take away the shame you’re feeling right now. To give you a reason to be proud again.

“None of the men here interest me,” she lied. “And don’t you believe the lives of our clan members are more important than my personal feelings?”

“You have the choice to say no,” Halma said. “No one will force you into this marriage.” Her face grew tight with worry. “Or his bed.”

A shiver crossed over Auder at the thought of submitting to the Norman. She was not a virgin, but the one time in her life she’d taken a lover, it had not been pleasant. Something to be endured rather than enjoyed. Afterwards, the man had left her without speaking, and she was left to wonder what she’d done wrong.

Since that time, she’d held herself apart from all men. Though she was never impolite, she’d made it clear that she had no interest in any of them. But instead of making them keep their distance, it only made matters worse. The men tried to compete for her affections, each believing that he was man enough to wear her resistance down.

“I’m feeling tired,” her mother said, rising from the bench. “I think I’ll go and rest for a while.” Her face was bright with embarrassment, as though she didn’t want to discuss Auder’s impending marriage any further.

When Halma had gone, Auder’s mood dimmed further. She didn’t feel like celebrating, not when she had only two days left. In dismay, she stared down at her hands. They were stained from madder root, not at all a lady’s hands. The markings were a part of her, a visible sign of her love of dyeing cloth. Women from all over the region traveled to bring her their lengths of wool and linen. It filled her with pride to see women and men wearing the rich crimsons, emeralds and saffrons.

If she wed the Norman, she suspected she would have to give it up. Ladies of noble birth did not soil their hands with common labor. Auder closed her eyes, wondering if she could convince her husband to let her continue her craft.

In the distance, she saw the chieftain’s wife Morren struggling with a basket. Auder pushed her way past the others, making her way toward the pregnant woman. Morren adored plants nearly as much as she did, and although she’d known the woman all her life, they had become closer friends over the past few months.

Auder took the basket from Morren and walked alongside her. “Tired?”

“A little,” Morren admitted. “I’ll be glad when this child is born, near the end of summer.” She risked a glance at her husband, who was standing on the opposite side of the
cashel
with several of their clansmen. “Trahern is more afraid of the birth than I am.”

Morren settled to rest upon a bench and motioned Auder to sit with her, her gaze turning serious. “Auder, you should know…the Norman soldiers are patrolling our lands again. Trahern has posted sentries, but I don’t know their intent.”

A coldness settled within her stomach, and Auder veiled her fear. “Perhaps they’ve come to escort me to my marriage.” Looking into the other woman’s eyes, Auder tried to show a courage she didn’t feel. “I’ll go with them if I must.”

Morren didn’t smile. “Until we know why they’re here, I don’t want you to be alone at any moment.” She looked around and caught sight of Gunnar Dalrata, beckoning him to join them.

Tall, with sun-darkened blond hair and cloudy gray eyes, Gunnar was one of the few men Auder felt comfortable around—namely because they’d been friends since four summers ago, when she’d visited her mother’s Norse family. Although he’d been handsome even then, not once had he shown her any interest. It was no wonder, since she’d been inches shorter and hadn’t developed as a woman.

But even after she’d arrived home, he’d kept his distance, not speaking to her at all. She’d caught him watching her from time to time, but it was as if their friendship had disappeared. Though it bothered her, she supposed his actions were out of respect for Clár Ó Reilly, whom he’d been courting.

“Gunnar, will you stay with Auder and guard her?” Morren asked, glancing back at her husband. “The Normans—”

“I’ve seen them.” His expression tightened with anger, but he gave Morren a nod. “And you’re right. Auder shouldn’t be alone while they are about.”

His tone made her feel like a child not old enough to be left by herself. He hardly looked at her, and the easy friendliness he’d always shown was gone. She couldn’t understand why.

“Good.” Morren rested one hand upon her spine as she stood and started walking away. “I’m going to speak to Trahern about the celebration tonight, and if you’d stay with Auder, I’d be grateful.”

Unrelenting and fierce, Gunnar stared at Auder in silent disapproval. “So. You’re still planning to go through with this?”

“That’s all you can say to me, after I’ve returned from traveling?” She crossed her own arms, sending him a dark look. “Not even a greeting?” It annoyed her for it seemed that she’d imagined their friendship.

Gunnar’s eyes turned to steel, and she was startled by the restless anger brewing within him. “I can’t believe Trahern would let you do this. He’s lost his wits if he thinks you should wed the baron.”

Auder straightened her shoulders, using her height to meet his gaze directly. “It’s the right thing to do, if it protects us from an invasion.”
And if it protects my mother.

“We can defend ourselves, Auder,” Gunnar argued. “Just because there are more of them doesn’t mean we cannot fight.”

“But if I do this, there is no need for fighting.” The Ó Reillys couldn’t withstand another attack—not after the devastating massacre they’d suffered a year ago. The survivors were gradually returning, but the damage was done. Fewer than twenty remained.

Gunnar studied her as though he were trying to find a way to talk her out of the marriage. His gray eyes bored into hers, moving past her face and down her body. “And you don’t mind being used in that way? You’re just a girl.”

A flustered air enveloped her as his words conjured up the vision of her marriage bed. She imagined the Norman’s heavy weight bearing down upon her, while she had to endure his touch. Auder knew she wasn’t capable of feeling passion; her last lover had taught her that lesson well enough. There would be no pleasure; it was a matter of distracting herself with other thoughts while he satisfied himself.

“I’m not a girl anymore, Gunnar,” she made herself say calmly. “Not that you’ve noticed.”

He stared at her, his eyes meeting hers. “I noticed.” His mouth drew into a line, and he took a step closer. She could almost feel the palpable change between them, and she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to.

“I suspected you’d grow up into a beautiful woman,” he said, touching her cheek with his palm. “But I never thought you’d give yourself up to a Norman.”

A hard pressure built up within her throat, but Auder forced herself to look at him. “If this will protect my mother and the others, then it’s worth it.” The whispers about her father would eventually stop. And maybe she could bring something good out of Lúcás’s mistakes.

“There are other ways, Auder.”

She fell silent. The gentle touch warmed her skin, and her cheeks flushed. Though it was nothing more than the touch of friendship, she’d never expected to feel this uneasy around him.

This is Gunnar,
Auder reminded herself.
There’s no reason to be nervous. His interest lies in Clár, not you.

She tried to take a breath, but it was as if the air around her had grown thicker. She saw his mouth tighten in a thin line, and his grip upon her hands grew protective. An invisible cord drew her to him, and she noticed things she hadn’t seen before. There was a darker gray ring around his eyes, and he’d taken a blade to his cheeks, shaving them clean. She wondered what his skin would feel like against her fingertips. Or his mouth, heated and demanding upon hers.

Her embarrassment deepened when she saw his expression transform. He was looking at her as though he wanted to act upon her desires. Like he wanted to take her face between his hands and kiss her senseless.

“Auder,” he murmured, his tone darkening. She could almost hear his unspoken warning that she’d come too close.

To distract herself, she brought her attention to his worn hands, which were callused and scraped. “You’ve been working on the new wall, haven’t you?” Turning his palms toward the light, she saw several splinters. She edged one of them out, and he pulled his hands back as if he didn’t want her touching him.

“It’s nearly completed.”

The shielded distance was back, and with it, the awkward silence. Since she’d met him, she’d rarely seen him unoccupied. Gunnar enjoyed building, creating structures with his hands. His home was one of the nicest she’d ever seen, with tight walls and a strong foundation.

Auder frowned at his skinned flesh. “Clár won’t like what you’ve done to yourself.” She deliberately mentioned the widow, to remind herself that Gunnar was involved with someone else.

“Clár is used to my rough hands.”

With that remark, Auder had the sudden vision of Gunnar’s callused fingertips moving over her own body. Her skin flushed, and an ache formed within her breasts. What was the matter with her? She knew better than to entertain such foolish thoughts. Immediately, she shut the thought away, refusing to think of it.

“I imagine she is.” Auder glanced outside the
cashel,
feeling the sudden need to escape the boundaries. She wanted a walk to clear her head. “I’m going outside for a few moments.”

“Not with them out there.” He blocked her path, resting his hand upon the battleaxe hanging from his waist. “You’re safer inside.”

“They’re camped a few miles away, and I won’t go far. I just need…to get out for a few moments.” The very walls of the
cashel
felt like a prison, closing in on her. If she could gather even a few moments of freedom, she could endure what lay ahead. She gripped her hands into fists so tight, the knuckles whitened. “You can come along and guard me if you want.”

Discontent lined his face, and she suspected he wouldn’t allow it. If it weren’t for his promise to Morren, no doubt he’d be enjoying the feast with Clár at his side.

But when she repeated her plea, at last he shrugged. “For a short time. And not any further than the river bend.”

She let out a slow breath of air. “Thank you.”

Gunnar walked with her along the edge of the river. The waters were higher than usual, from all the rain. Most of the homes were elevated, to protect them from flooding, but nevertheless, she didn’t like the look of the swollen water or the brooding clouds.

Auder sat down in the grass, letting her ankles dangle over the water, the scent of fresh greenery surrounding her. In a few more months, the hills would blossom with gorse and heather, exuding rich colors. But she wouldn’t be here to see them.

Gunnar remained standing beside her, his hand resting upon the battleaxe at his waist. He stared out at their land boundaries, searching for any threat. There was a different edge to him, and she found herself watching him. Her awareness deepened, even as she warned herself not to fall into that snare.

He held a warrior’s stance, and it seemed that every sense was attuned to danger. His eyes never left the perimeter, constantly searching.

Gunnar kept his grip upon his battleaxe, his mood growing as dark as the fading landscape. Although a marriage alliance was a civilized method of bringing the Normans and Irish together, he didn’t trust the invaders. And the idea of handing Auder Ó Reilly over to their leader infuriated him.

She was far too good for the Normans. She was beautiful and shy, and nearly every man among his tribe and the Ó Reillys was infatuated with her. Her height rose well above most women, and when she stood, her mouth rested at his chin. She kept her hair tightly braided against her scalp, but below her nape, it hung free, down to her waist. It was a mixture of brown and red, almost like autumn leaves. Her eyes were blue and green, ever-changing in color.