Coulter, Catherine. Rosehaven / Catherine Coulter.

she was naught more than a girl when it came to kisses, and smiled up at

nim. Nay, I just wished to greet you as you deserve. Won’t you kiss me,

everm. The kisses I gave you were my first. I know nothing about how

U is d°ne. But I like the taste of you. And your mouth is so very warm and soft.”

He actually shuddered. He pulled her against him, grabbed the thick

raid in his hand, and pulled her head back. He kissed her with all the

ger m him, and it was a lot. He felt surprise in her and shock. Not re-

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vulsion, just shock. He was going too fast, too hard. She had never been kissed before. He eased, just caressing her mouth now, and slowly he ran his tongue along her lower lip.

She made a strange noise. He lifted his head.

“That was your tongue,” she said. “Surely it is an odd thing to do Not that it wasn’t nice, but still, Severin, are you certain that is done?”

“There are many things men and women do to each other that you would think odd right this moment, Hastings. But not tomorrow or the next day.”

There was now a good deal of jesting and laughter all around them. “I think we have provided my men an entertainment that will have them giving me advice throughout the rest of the day and night.” He cupped her face in his palm. “I do not understand this change in you, but I will accept it. It is pleasant.”

She laughed, pulled away from him, and shouted to all his men, “Come into the great hall. MacDear has prepared bounty for all of you.” She added low to Severin, “If you would come to our bedchamber, I will see to your bath.”

His eyes nearly crossed. He’d been so weary he had thought he would fall out of his saddle, but no more. He wanted to grab her up into his arms and run up the solar stairs with her, kissing her and fondling her all the way owiHie had her on her back in the center of that big bed, and then he would pull off all her clothes and come into her and . . .

“My lord, welcome home.”

He shook his head. His men laughed harder. His voice came out rough and mean. “Aye, Gwent, it is excellent to be back. All went well else you wouldn’t be smiling like a buffoon. And Beamis, you have helped train all these louts?”

There was more laughter, Beamis and Gwent poking each other, insulting each other, and he was pleased that the two men had become friends. He suddenly saw in his mind’s eye the young girl who had come to his bed at Fontivale keep some three days’ ride from Oxborough. She was younger than Hastings and had known more than some of the women

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, j taken to his bed in the Holy Land. He swallowed, remembering he’d been there in his bed, waiting for him, smiling, her arms ready

1 n him to her. She’d told him how magnificent he was, how he made

feel and he remembered so clearly that he thought that this girl didn’t , . i j^ was an animal. She’d made him feel strong and powerful. But , wj seen Hastings clear in his mind in those moments when he’d me into Anne. He’d seen Hastings’s face pale and set as he moved over her He’d known that she hated this joining with him, he’d known it and hated her for her hatred of him. He’d taken Anne three times before he had fallen into an exhausted sleep. And then he had dreamed of Hastings, dreamed of that moment when she had saved him from death by the assassin’s knife, how she had wiped him down when he had lain there roasting with the hellish fever. The coolness of her hands, the lightness of her touch.

He had felt immense guilt the next morning. At first he hadn’t recognized it for what it was, but when he had, he’d hated himself for it. Guilt was the spawn of weakness. Guilt? Because he’d taken his pleasure with another woman? It was absurd. But he had left the next morning, a day earlier than he had planned, not seeing Anne again.

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