Page 13 of Darro

Did that mean he wanted to be alone with her? Had he already picked up on how she looked at him? He wouldn’t know that he had starred in all her girlish and teenage fantasies, of course, and she’d die before she admitted that. Esme wanted to ask him to tell her his life story, but then he would know more about her than she wanted him to. She needed to slow down and play it cool; letting him get to know her first seemed better than grilling him about what he thought of her. Once she knew if he liked her and wanted to get to know her better, she could certainly move faster. She also suspected that if she wasn’t careful she’d end up behaving like a silly, star-struck teenager. No, she needed some time to get a better seat on the rollercoaster of her emotions before dragging him over the safety bar and making him go along for the ride.

“I love gardens,” she told him, turning to go over to some flowering plants, and then looked down as his arm bumped against hers. A thrill bolted through her that she managed to conceal with great difficulty, and then she saw his expression. “It’s okay, I won’t wander off. If I do, I have a great sense of direction. I never got lost when I was a kid, even when I went into the woods.”

Darro looked as if he wanted to say something, but then just nodded again, and pulled off the heavy wool plaid he had draped across his shoulders. Something gleamed at his temple.

“If I talk too much don’t mind me,” Esme told him. “I’m a chachalaca—a chatterbox.”

“I’m no’ much for words,” he admitted, brushing his temple with the edge of his palm, leaving a wet streak.

He’s sweating.

“You can let me do the talking. Also, I’m always hot, and not because I’m a Chicana. My body temperature runs a few degrees warmer than anyone else.” She grinned at him, hoping he would laugh at her joke and relax, and then stepped on a rock that made her foot slip.

As she fell backward, he caught and turned her so that he held her up against his chest. Esme slipped her arms around his waist to hold on. The smell of him made her imagine she was hugging a great big oak tree. Or were his muscles made out of some kind of metal? Everywhere she touched him, he seemed as solid as iron.

“I beg you release me, lass,” Darro said, his tone strained.

She should do that, but being close to him was better than anything she’d imagined. Looking up at him brought back in an almost painful rush all the girlish daydreams she’d had about this man. As she’d grown older they’d become more sensual, which was probably why she had always been strongly attracted to big, dark-eyed men like him. She had enjoyed sex in the past, but now suspected it would be a very different thing with Darro McKeran. All that intensity, and the careful yet covetous way he touched her… Why didn’t it scare her? If anything she wanted him even more now.

“Do you have a wife here, or a girlfriend?” she asked, allowing the tartan to drop so she could brace herself against his arms. When he shook his head she let out a silent shout of Yes! before she leaned a little closer. “Do you want a girlfriend?”

Darro’s eyelids lowered, and for a moment he looked almost dangerous. “’Tisnae seemly to speak of such matters, lass.”

She barely heard him, she’d fallen so deeply into his gaze. “I don’t know what you mean. You can’t talk about having a girlfriend?”

“’Tisnae proper that you ask me such questions.” His voice grew tighter as he added, “We’ve only just met.”

Esme dimly remembered her vow to play it cool, but that didn’t matter anymore. Couldn’t he tell how much she liked him? The only way she could be more obvious would be to rub herself against him. What was wrong with this man? It was almost like he wasn’t sure what to do with her, or maybe she made him nervous. He liked her, or he would have handed her off to someone else. That much she was sure of.

I just need to flirt with him enough to make it clear that I like him.

“I know it’s too soon, but when two people are attracted like this it’s really easy, you know. We want what we want, and I never like waiting for what I want.” When he said nothing in response Esme pursed her lips. “Do you like what you see, Chief? Do you want what you see, I mean?”

“Aye,” Darro said, and brought up one big hand as if to touch her face. Just before he did he snatched it back as if the contact would burn him. He cleared his throat before he said, “Give yourself more time before you choose a lover, my lady. Here you may take your pick, I promise you.”

What he said made sense, of course, but it didn’t fit with how he was behaving. Was he afraid of her? Did she disgust him? She couldn’t tell. She only knew he was having some kind of strong physical reaction to her that was like a phobia of some sort. In fact, now she could see that in his eyes—aversion and fear. Had she scared him by being so pushy? Although she really wanted to kiss him Esme understood that might be too much for a man from the twelfth century. She actually knew very little about how men and women behaved in his time, and compared to medieval women she probably might seem cheeky, maybe even outrageous.

No matter how much I hate waiting, he’s worth it.

“Okay.” She turned her face to surreptitiously brush her lips against his palm before she stepped back. “Do you want to–”

The rest of what she wanted to ask him never made it into sound, for Darro snatched her up off her feet and carried her to the nearest wall. There he pressed her against the cold stone while staring intently into her eyes, looking like a completely different man now. The ferocity in his expression should have scared her, but instead it made her go instantly, completely wet. This was what he had been hiding from her behind that fear. Maybe he was afraid of himself, not her.

There you are, Chief. I can see you now.

She hung there, parting her lips for him, hoping he would kiss her until she saw how he was looking at her. The chieftain was giving her all of his attention, as if no one and nothing else existed for him—far beyond the response she’d expected. In fact no one had ever looked at her that way, and it rendered Esme almost helpless, for she didn’t know how to cope with such intensity. This was completely outside her experience, and now she was questioning why he’d be like this with her, a girl he’d only just met.

Maybe it’s…no. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t know me.

He leaned in, dragging in a deep breath, as if he wanted to fill his lungs with her smell. Was she sweating too much? That was his fault. Why didn’t he kiss her? Did she need to give him permission? His scent had grown stronger and darker, too, as if a deep and lovely forest had begun to burn. As her head filled with anxious, endless questions his hands shifted down to cup her buttocks without any hesitation at all. Darro pressed her hips to his, making her aware of just how much he wanted her. This was no shy man. He knew women, how to use his hands on them, and what he could do to make them crazy for him. He wouldn’t settle for some sweet, gentle lovemaking, either, Esme suspected.

If I go to bed with him, he’ll own me.

Her astonishment plummeted down into a swirling abyss of dark, liquid heat that began pouring through her, making her sweat now. That made perfect sense, for he was her warrior, the man of her dreams, and she had been waiting all her life to find him. This is what she had always wanted and never found in her world. He’d been waiting here for her all this time, trapped in a different world. That scared her a little, too. But her panties clung to her body now, so soaked with her arousal she might have already had an orgasm. She also suspected that if he kept rubbing that lovely long erection against her she would climax.

Why is it him? It can’t be the painting.

As they stared at each other Esme had a sense of knowing him, somehow, which made the memories of every other man she’d been with fade away. She had never accepted her grandparents’ superstitions that everyone belonged to ancient enormous tribes, and would only be happy if they fell in love with someone from a huge extended family. It seemed to her almost racist. Yet with the way she reacted to Darro, now she wondered if she had been wrong all this time. How else could he reduce her to this shivering, helpless pile of longing?