Angie Fox: Love Bites

“Why?” she asked, the simple question stark against the quiet of the night. “You’re not one of my father’s subjects. Why do you have to follow his rules?”

“It’s my job,” he said, as if that answered it all. It did in Finn’s mind. He’d been a soldier all his life and he was good at it. He had the power to fight war and aggression and he’d be damned irresponsible not to use it. “It’s my life.” He heard his voice go husky. “This is what I do.” It was the only thing he did. If he didn’t protect people, keep the peace, well, then he was nothing.

“You don’t even play cards, do you?”

It was finally sinking in just how much he’d deceived her.

“No.” He didn’t have time for frivolity.

He reached a hand out to touch her and stopped just short of her shoulder. The memory of her soft, delectable skin was bad enough. He didn’t need to feel it again – even through his leather coat. He curled his fingers into a fist at his side.

Princess Katarina didn’t understand the sick creatures that were out there in the world, which was how he wanted it. It was his duty to safeguard her and other innocents. Sometimes duty came with a price tag attached. “Your marriage contract is final,” he said, willing her to understand, to accept. “It’s the way of your people. I’m not about to open up you or your kingdom to an altercation with Vlad and his family. Do you remember what his cousin did the last time a king double-crossed them?” The History Channel still did specials on that one.

“I can’t give you your freedom. You’ll have to convince your fiancé, or your father,” he said, knowing at the same time that she couldn’t. He closed his eyes. It was a bad situation all around. But it wasn’t his fight.

She turned to face him, her arms in his bulky jacket folded over her chest. “So I go back and marry the crypt keeper and you spend the rest of your life saving the world.”

He wanted to sigh in relief. Finally, she understood.

She considered him carefully. “So we’re both trapped.”

He blinked. “I’m not trapped.”

She ran her hands along her sides, over her hips, down to where his jacket barely covered her backside. He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. He knew the Princess wouldn’t go down without one last fight.

It wasn’t right. She shouldn’t have to marry a cold, conniving vamp. But there was nothing either one of them could do about it. It was the way of her race. Feeling sorry for her wouldn’t help.

Katarina lowered her hands and shifted so that his jacket hung open in the front. He swallowed hard, but kept his composure. Barely.

“You live for your duty—” a flicker of sadness crossed her face “– and it seems I will have to do mine.” The candlelight threw shadows under her breasts, into the hollow of her belly. “But we should live first.” She smiled at him like a goddess of old. Only a slight trembling at her collarbone gave her away.

He opened up his senses, readied himself for battle. Immediately, he felt her nervousness, but more than that, he almost staggered sideways at the brunt of her sheer, unadulterated hunger for him.

Oh hell.

“Be careful, Princess,” he warned, his throat tight.

She lifted a slender shoulder. “You said it yourself. I can’t escape you. I can’t glamour you. In two hours, I’m going to be taken away, forced to live out what could be the rest of my life locked in another castle.” She took one step towards him, then another. “You’ll go back to your job.” She toyed with the waistband of her downright addictive black leather pants. “Tell me, Fionnlagh MacLaomainn, what can we do with our last two hours of freedom?”

His mouth went dry.

She shot him through with a look that practically brought him to his knees. Her next words were mere whispers, but he heard her clear enough. “No one ever has to know.”

Sweet heaven.

Maybe he couldn’t change the way either of them lived, but they could have a night to remember. He specialized in keeping secrets. None of the vamps could read him. And she had no reason to provoke even more ire from her father. Besides, she and the King would have little or no contact once she was shut away in Dracula’s Castle. By MacLeod’s lock, was he actually considering this?

He gripped the hard leather belt at his waist. The mere thought of touching her had fire coursing through his veins. “This isn’t going to change anything,” he warned. He wasn’t going to go soft. He wasn’t going to let her go. He wasn’t going to go off mission just because she let him touch her.

She tilted her chin up. “I know,” she said, challenge blazing in her eyes. “At least give me a memory to last the next 800 years.”

Her back smacked against the cool stone wall, as for her pants, well, she didn’t really care what he’d done with her pants. Somehow the gold belt still rested on her hips, shimmering in the candlelight.

“Eager much?” she asked, wiggling her hips.

Finn stared at the flickering gold band snaking across her belly button. His gaze moved lower and he about choked. “Let’s just say it’s been a while for me too.”

He growled most deliciously and swept her into a crushing kiss. She felt lavish, wanton, alive. And when Finn’s hands trailed up her sides and cupped her breasts, she darn near bit him. She couldn’t help it. This was all so new, so fresh, so utterly perfect.

She drove her fingers through his hair, revelled in the way her bare body scraped against his. He twined her legs with his, the wool of his kilt rubbing her in the most delightful place. Still, she wanted more.

Hadn’t she said she was going to find out what Scotsmen wore under their kilts?

While his mouth did exquisite things to her upper chest, Kat drew her fingers down his back, pressing small circles along his spine. Down to where the tartan clung to that groove of muscle at his waist.

“Oh my,” she said, as she observed how the evidence of his desire made the rough wool fabric stand on end.

He chuckled low in his throat. “You don’t know the half of it,” he said, spreading his legs for her.

Fingers shaking, she touched his knees, drew her hands up his legs, all the way to his “Bicycle shorts?”

He swallowed hard, as if the wait was killing him.

“It’s . . . ” she began, wondering just how much bigger he’d be if he wasn’t crushed into the shorts. It was an enticing, almost intimidating thought.

She lifted the tartan to get a closer look. Sure enough, his powerful thighs were encased in matching cloth bearing the Royal Arms of Scotland.

She lifted a brow.

“Trade secret,” he hissed through his teeth. “It’s the only way I can ride a Harley in a kilt.”

“It’s not a very good secret,” she informed him. And with that, she liberated his kingdom once and for all.

Yow. The Scotsman did not disappoint. As she paused for a moment, trying to decide exactly what to do with her new find, Fionnlagh MacLaomainn took things into his own hands.

He kissed her cross-eyed before devouring her collarbone, her neck, that little spot behind her ear. He nibbled, he sucked, he trailed his hot mouth all the way down to her – Oh my.

Finn used his tongue on her breasts, his teeth, and she darned near slid down the wall, undone by the pleasure of it all. Only one thing kept her standing – she wanted more. She held the back of his head, raked her fingers through his hair and willed him to go on for ever.

She almost climbed the wall when his fingers found the very centre of her. She was soaking wet with need and she gasped with surprise. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before. He caressed her, parted her, rubbing her in ways so that she thought she might burst. All the while, he kissed her breasts, her belly button, her . . . “What in the world are you doing?”