Page 45 of Dark Embrace

He shook his head, and slid his hand quickly over her breast. She gasped in more pleasure, but he abruptly lifted her in his arms and was carrying her to her bed. Why wasn’t he caressing her and kissing her? she wondered, finally becoming alarmed.

He laid her on the bed, panting. Sweat beaded his temples. His hand slid into her hair, anchoring her head. “Ye canna control yer dreams,” he said. Softly, he added, “Ye canna control me.”

“Something is wrong,” she breathed, but she no longer cared. Tears came. “I’m hurting and hot. Hurry.”

His gaze slid down her body. Brie realized he was fighting himself, but she didn’t know why. Then he reached down and slid his hand over the slick depths of her womanhood. She arched against him, throbbing softly.

But he didn’t caress her.

She arched again and somehow looked at him. “Please.”

His blinding gaze lifted to hers. He was trembling; he shook his head. “If I make love to ye, I am doomed.”

Brie jerked to sit up. This was not a dream.

He stood, magnificently aroused, his entire body taut. He shook his head and started to back away, but his gaze kept moving back down her body as if he had never seen a naked woman before.

Brie leapt to her feet and took his face in her hands. “I love you. It’s only a dream. Let me make love to you.”

He started shaking his head in negation, but his gaze was fixed on hers—hot, hard and anguished. He was distressed. She felt that now, too.

“You’re the one who’s afraid,” she whispered. She tried to smile, and ran her thumb over his jaw. To her shock, he gasped, his eyes flying in confusion to hers.

She drew back, releasing his face. “What is it?”

He breathed hard, panting. “Dinna touch me, Brianna,” he said.

And she felt him clearly. He was afraid of her touch—and desperate for her to touch him, too.

Of course he was. Had any woman touched him with true love and affection in sixty-six years? Brie cupped his jaw and stroked her thumb along the hard ridge there. He cried out, but instead of pulling away, his thick, dark lashes fanned out.

His desire stabbed through her. Inhaling, Brie covered the slab of one pectoral muscle with her other hand. She ran her hand across his spectacular chest. He moaned, arching back. His desperation consumed her, thick with explosive heat and desire. This man was starving for love and affection, she thought.

“God,” he whispered.

Brie trembled, aching impossibly now, and stood on tiptoe, kissing each nipple slowly in turn. He cried out, jerking back. “Cease.”

Their gazes clashed, his wide with alarm.

He was going to vanish into reality. Instantly she put her arms around him and held him, hard, letting her love cloak them both.

He did not vanish. His desire soared.

“It’s all right,” she whispered.

His pleasure spiraled wildly as she held him. She thought she might shatter soon, but she stepped back, caught his hand and kissed it with the love consuming her. Then she brought it to her breast.

His eyes held hers, shimmering oddly.

“It’s all right,” she said again, meaning it.

His hand closed slowly, tentatively, on her breast. Then his palm scraped her hard nipple and swept up over her shoulder. “I must go.” He turned to leave, and he was massively aroused.

She caught his hand, aware that his tension was about to break.

He slowly faced her.

Brie took his face in her hands again, heard him gasp, “No,” and ignored him. She pressed her mouth to his.