Her Irish Warrior Michelle Willingham (i read books .TXT) 📖

‘I thought I was over him. I thought it would be different with you.’

Her words struck him like a fist. He didn’t like being compared to Hugh, not in any way. He wanted to argue that he was different.

But hadn’t he just shown her otherwise? He’d lost his control, forcing her to kiss him. ‘I won’t bother you again,’ he promised. ‘It should never have happened.’

‘I know we must consummate our marriage once,’ she whispered. ‘After that you need not come to me. I won’t ask it of you.’

‘It isn’t your fault, Genevieve. I pushed you too far, and you were not ready.’

Slowly, she sat up. Though her tears remained, he saw a fierce determination. ‘I can be,’ she insisted. ‘Teach me not to fear. I promise I won’t push you away. Just…have patience with me.’

‘You don’t know what you are asking me.’He didn’t have that kind of restraint. And it was becoming harder to silence the voices that reminded him he was betraying Fiona. He didn’t want to think of his first wife any more. He was tired of the guilt weighing upon him.

Her palm reached up to his scar. ‘I trust you,’ she whispered.

He didn’t want this kind of responsibility. His body craved her, tá, but he wasn’t the right man.

He started to refuse again, but the words tangled in his mouth. She laid her cheek against his, and his arms folded around her. He couldn’t speak, but merely held her. He wondered if he had enough honour to turn her away.

Genevieve tried to mask her emotions. She hadn’t known the fear would return like that. Not with Bevan. But she’d never experienced the onslaught of feelings that had rushed through her, a sensation as though she were burning. When he had pressed her against the wall her nightmares had returned. Hugh had once held her against a wall, beating her until she lost consciousness.

No. She would not think of him any longer. She would keep her vow to reclaim her freedom. If she could just force herself to lie still, to submit to Bevan, she felt certain he would drive away her ghosts.

His thumb grazed a path across the neckline of her gown, sliding down to her waist. Slowly, Bevan drew her to face him.

His hands moved to her veil, and he waited for her to pull away. When she did not, he unfastened it, letting her hair fall across her shoulders. The silken mass hung below her waist in dark waves.

He threaded his hands in her hair and noted the tension that returned to her body. She was still afraid, though she fought it.

Though he wanted to bed her, wanted to take the pleasure he’d denied himself for over two years, it was her fear that made him pause. He knew he could teach her not to be afraid of a man’s touch. As long as he did not consummate the marriage he could keep a tenuous hold on his vow of faithfulness to Fiona.

Genevieve’s hands rested upon his chest. Tentatively she explored his bare skin beneath the tunic, tracing the outline of his muscles. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her fingertips.

So long. It had been so very long since he’d let anyone touch him. The goodness of her was like a balm to his spirit.

‘Are you certain about this?’ she asked. Her fear was audible from the tremble in her voice. ‘If you do not want me—’

He placed a finger over her lips, letting his hand rest on her waist. He wanted her so badly his body was ready to ignite at her touch. She had come to him, wanting him to drive out her demons. And he would this night. He could bring her to fulfilment, chasing away her fears without forsaking his vow to Fiona.

He placed her arms around his neck and leaned in. Her lips met his, opening when he prodded her with his tongue. When at last she surrendered, he slid his tongue inside the warmth of her mouth, the fire of his need growing stronger.

The vow of fidelity was so strained he was ready to snap. This was his new wife. Before God, he was meant to make her his. And she was eager to learn everything he could teach her.

Bed her, his lust urged him.

He closed his eyes, wondering why he was keeping a vow to a woman who was dead. Just as Hugh still ruled Genevieve with the legacy of fear, Fiona still ruled his heart.

Genevieve broke away, her hands trembling. He saw fear in her eyes, but there was also trust. She let him see every feeling, every part of her.

‘What do you—?’ She stumbled over the words, then took a deep breath. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Nothing.’A tightness rose in his throat at her confession. He couldn’t name the feelings he had for her, but she had managed to push away the darkness in his life. ‘It’s too soon for you, a chroí.’

He was lying. It was too soon for him. His heart hovered on the edge of a precipice, knowing it was time to let Fiona go. But even as he touched Genevieve, even as he warmed to the idea of loving her, he wasn’t ready to cast away his loyalty to Fiona.

But he could pleasure Genevieve, bring her to fulfilment and drive away her nightmares.

‘Shall I leave?’ she asked.

He shook his head. His hands framed her face, his thumbs stroking her cheek. He brought his palms down to her shoulders, his gaze searching.

Genevieve wondered what he was thinking, why he hadn’t responded to her words. Then his mouth descended on hers again, in a hot storm of need and desire. She shivered, clinging to him as her skin grew warm. His muscles flexed beneath her palms, and she moved her hands over his skin. His kiss invoked aching feelings of need, and liquid heat rushed between her thighs.

The fear rose up in the pit of her stomach, though