Bound by Honor

She sighed into his mouth, stepping onto his boots with her bare feet so that she could better reach his lips. Sweet, soft, full lips . . . he felt his whiskers scrape against them and the delicate skin of her cheek as he tried to consume her . . . this woman. This woman who’d haunted him for more than a decade.

Tremors shook his fingers and weakened his knees, and he forgot to breathe.

At last. At last.

And then she tugged away, and he reluctantly let her go. Marian looked up at him with eyes that didn’t sparkle, but smoldered dark emerald, and held his gaze as she smoothed her hands down over the front of his chest, then grasped his shirt as if it were a mail hauberk and lifted it over his head, the swell of her breasts brushing against him. His squire, the whores, his mistresses . . . all had done such a simple act many times . . . but never before had he appreciated it more.

He reached for her, needing to feel her skin against his, but she darted out of his range, smiling a hot, seductive smile. Where had she learned such a thing? It was an expression of knowing, of teasing.

From John?

From Locksley?

I’ll not go to Locksley.

But she had come to him.

Why? Why?

His mouth turned dry, the blood pounding deep inside him, and he stood, wondering what new torture she . . . or John . . . had devised.

Aye, he could not discount the possibility that the prince would barge into the chamber at any time and join them.

“Nay, Will,” she said, positioning herself so that the bed was between them. She still wore that smile, that gentle smirking curve of her lips, now swollen from the long, deep kissing. Looking at him from beneath her lashes, she said, “I am weary of being the plaything. Of being pawed and licked and kissed until I cry for mercy. I have decided . . . aye, indeed . . . that it is your turn to be the one who is pleasured.”

“Marian.” His lips could barely form her name, let alone ask her if she were mad.

“Aye, Will,” she said, gliding toward him from around the bed. “I wish for you to allow me to pleasure you.”

The expression in his eyes-heated, blazing with desire-made her so weak it nearly sent her to her knees. Marian felt her lungs clog and tighten and her belly twist with anticipation. She wanted him, wanted to touch him, to bury her face in his chest, to stroke those long, strong arms, and to feel those powerful legs slide against hers, to be filled and caressed and loved. . . .

But then he reached out, pulling her roughly up to him. His expression had gone dark and blank again, with only a hint of the heat that had been there a moment ago. His fingers curved tightly into her arms as he looked down.

“Marian,” he said, dark eyes boring into her. “Tell me that John has naught to do with this. Please.”

Now she saw it: the desperation, the need buried there beneath the cold exterior. With a rush, she understood. “Nay, Will, nay.” She gripped his solid, warm shoulders. “I swear to you, on my soul, ’tis only me. And you. ’Tis my choice, Will. You are my choice. Now.” She bit her lip, but the words tumbled out because she needed to erase that fear in his eyes. “Always. I love you.”

She caught her breath. How could it be, after her deep loathing for him? But it was true. She felt the certainty of it, warm and full. Right . . . and almost holy.

The blackhearted Sheriff of Nottinghamshire had captured her heart.

“Marian.” He said her name in a low sighing groan, then dragged her against him again. The planes of his chest moved against her flat palms as he pulled her so close she could hardly draw in a breath. “How can you . . . ?” His voice trailed off as he covered her mouth, his lips still moving.

Her eyes closed and she sank into him, against him, for a long, sleek kiss . . . and then she pulled away. “Do you not think to distract me from my purpose, Will,” she said, careful to inject a clear note of teasing in her voice.

The range of emotions that had played over his face since he’d come into her chamber indicated how vulnerable and wary he was, despite the cold, brutal exterior he’d shown. She wanted nothing to bring shadows back into his eyes again on this night.

She wanted only to see the rise of pleasure and the flush of release. She wanted him to see her, only her. To say her name and know it was she who brought him there. To be one with her.

Thus, when he stepped back, releasing her, she feared he might have misunderstood. But then she realized he was no longer so wary and that a bit of a smile lurked behind his lips.

“Your purpose?” he repeated.

“Aye.” She knelt at his feet and gave his hard belly a little push. Understanding, he settled back on the bed so she could pull off his boots. Then he stood while she unlaced his braies and dragged them down over his hips and the very insistent erection that jutted forth. A little drop gleamed enticingly at its tip.