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

Opening the chamber door, he found Genevieve sitting on a bench near the fire. Her hair was undone, falling across her cream-coloured léine. She held her hands in her lap while she stared at a chest against the wall.

‘Ewan tells me Marstowe was here,’ he began.

Genevieve nodded. ‘Aye.’

‘Tell me what happened.’ He kept his tone firm, needing to understand her reasons. ‘Why did you open the gates to him?’

Genevieve met his gaze directly. ‘I’ve been running from him for weeks now. I thought it was time to stop.’

‘He could have harmed you.’ Bevan caressed the side of her jaw, where the dark bruise had once been.

Genevieve held his hand to her face. ‘I know it. But I wanted to face him. I wanted him to see that I will not allow my fears to rule me any more.’

‘Why?’ All the thoughts of what might have happened came rising up. ‘Why would you put yourself in such danger?’

‘Because I knew your men would keep me safe. Even without you here.’

Her trust in him was the last thing he had expected. He didn’t know what to say, so he rested his hands upon her shoulders. He massaged the tension from her neck, sliding her hair over one shoulder. She leaned back against him, closing her eyes. ‘Mmm.’

He turned her to face him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against him. ‘I missed you.’

He gripped her tightly, feeling a surge of tenderness. The faith she had placed in him made him want to give something back to her.

Cupping her face between his hands, he kissed her. She responded, meeting his lips with sweetness. Fiona had never looked at him the way Genevieve did. It made him feel powerful, knowing that he could make her feel the same passion he did. The way he never had for his former wife.

Genevieve traced a finger across the scar on his left cheek, then his right.

‘Battle has taken away my good looks,’ he teased.

She shook her head. ‘No. The scars show your strength.’ With her lips, she pressed a kiss against each one. His skin grew warm beneath her lips, his body rising to meet her.

‘I have other scars,’ he offered, glancing below his waist. She laughed, her cheeks flushing.

Bevan unfastened his sword belt, then removed his tunic. Bare-chested, he caught her in his arms again, pressing a kiss along her nape. ‘Did you order the bath?’

‘I did.’

Bevan removed the rest of his clothes, standing naked before her.

Genevieve’s cheeks reddened, but she did not look away. Her heartbeat quickened with anticipation. Like a fierce warrior’s, Bevan’s body held numerous scars from countless battles. The skin at his shoulder wound had healed at last, a mark he would carry on her behalf.

Not an ounce of fat did he hold on his lean, muscled frame. When he sank down into the tub of water his dark hair fell about his shoulders. His green eyes beckoned to her in wordless invitation.

Genevieve picked up a cloth to wash him, and he stopped her. ‘Use your hands,’ he said, in a deep whisper.

She had expected to submit to him, to lie beneath him and let him do as he wished to her body. Never had she anticipated that he would ask her to take the lead. ‘I can’t.’

‘Tá, you can.’ He took her hand in his, soaping it and laying it atop his chest. He brought her palm over the hard planes of his chest, over the scars, and the gesture frightened her.

She wasn’t any good at this. She could never please him in the same way he did her. When she tried to pull her hand away, he caught it, asking, ‘What are you afraid of?’

‘I’m not afraid.’

Liar, she thought. Though she tried to hide it, Bevan was not misled.

‘He hurt you. And I know you’re thinking of him now.’

‘I’m not.’ But she knew he could see through her pretence of bravery. He was partly right. She was remembering Hugh. But she also remembered how Bevan had turned her away the last time. What if he did so again? What if she displeased him?

He caught hold of her wrists, trapping her at the side of the tub. ‘You said that you wanted to be free of him.’

‘And I d-do,’ she stammered. ‘If you want, I’ll remove my gown and lie on the bed.’

‘You don’t deserve to be taken like that,’ Bevan said, kissing the inside of her wrist. A spiral of desire shivered through her. ‘I do not want you to be afraid.’ He brought her hand to his chest, dipping it below the water. ‘And so I am going to let you take me.’

He stroked her hand, moving it lower down to his hips. Genevieve’s eyes widened. ‘But I told you—I don’t know how.’

‘Do what you like,’he said, ‘and I’ll let you touch any part of me. For tonight, I am your servant.’

She froze, hardly able to breathe. ‘What if you don’t like it?’

‘I promise you, I’ll like it.’ His gaze grew compelling, his voice seductive. ‘Why don’t you come into the tub with me?’

‘There is no room for both of us.’

‘There is if you sit on my lap.’He offered a wicked grin. ‘I don’t think you’ve kissed all of my scars yet. I have a few more.’

And suddenly she realised what he was doing. He was ensuring that she would have no memories of Hugh to interfere with this. She was in command, and he would not force her to do anything she didn’t want.

The heady sense of power helped her gather the fragments of her courage.

‘I’ll have to remove my gown,’ she said.

Bevan’s only answer was a smile.

Chapter Sixteen

T he water spilled over the edge of the tub, and Genevieve nearly lost her balance. Bevan caught her by the waist, turning her until she sat in his lap against his chest. She could feel the hard length of his manhood pressing against her spine, and it brought the fear back.

She