A Moonlit Knight
Jocelyn Kelley

Excerpt

"I can walk," Mallory said in her primmest tone as he stepped off the bottommost riser.

"You have proven that. You do not need to prove it again." He gave her a grin. "Hold tight."

Before she could ask what he intended, he bent toward where her bow had come to a stop. She stretched out to grasp it before he could tip her onto the floor. With a grunt that suggested she weighed as much as a millstone, he stood straighter, drawing her back against his chest.

"If I am too much of a burden, you may put me down posthaste," she said.

"You are a burden."

"Then put me down."

"You misunderstand me, Mallory. Carrying you is not an onerous task. Trying to figure out what you will do next is."

Mallory hoped he did not feel her start at his words that were as cold as a slap across the face. Not that she could fault him when she had spat at him like a furious cat moments before she stroked his face. Explaining was impossible, because then she would have to recount how her father had taunted her until she lost her temper. She had struggled to hold her emotions in check and had succeeded at St. Jude's Abbey. Until she had met Saxon Fitz-Juste, she had believed she had put that part of her past behind her, but his half-jesting derision had blinded her once again with icy rage.

She would not give into it again. Quietly, she replied, "I could say the same about not knowing what you might do next."

"Then let me put your mind to rest. Here's what I intend to do next."

His mouth covered hers before she could draw in another breath. Then his breath was mingling with hers as he deepened the kiss. She never had imagined anyone's skin could feel as hot as his lips or as searing as the delight swirling through her like a summer wind, powerful and gathering into a storm.

Her hand edged around his nape, and her fingers sifted up through his hair. She had no idea if he was still walking or if he stood still. All of her was craving motion, to be closer, closer, ever closer to him. She shifted in his arms, but he held her between his brawny arm and his lips. As he sprinkled kisses across her face, her skin sparked as if each spot he touched glistened with starlight. His beard brushed against her skin when he tilted her head back to trace the flame along her neck before recapturing her lips once more. His tongue caressed hers, and she moaned with a longing she could not name, a longing that urged her to surrender herself to him, to give him. . .

"No!" she gasped, drawing back.

"Don't say no before I even ask you anything," he whispered against her ear.

Shivers, heated with the force of that summer storm brewing within her, cascaded along her. She fought it as she ordered him to put her down.

"I like holding you." He gave her an easy grin.

It was exactly the grin she had seen her father give his mistress -- the she-beast who had come into her mother's house and her father's bed.

"Put me down!"

"Mallory, it was only a kiss."

"Only a kiss?" Her fury refocused on how he denigrated her precious feelings. She was not being reasonable, but every nerve within her throbbed with the memory of his touch and the yearning for him to kiss her again. Her mind was warning her not to be more foolish. She must listen to her mind, not to her body. "Put me down!"

"Nonsense. The fact that you have not sent me flying halfway across the palace shows how weak you are. I am carrying you up to your room." His smile became icy. "And I am going to enjoy doing so."