Free Knight of Love by Catherine LaRoche Page A

she’d trained for all her life. But once he’d revealed his true colors and turned her into a virtual prisoner in the castle, she’d been unable to make any choices of consequence—until her escape.
    She lifted her chin. “What if I choose to kiss your mouth? You will let me do it as I please?”
    His blue eyes shone brighter. “You may direct me entirely. I am at your will.”
    Something stirred in her. Some sense of revenge? Of a way for a woman to have power in this world of men?
    She traced a finger along the top line of his lip. A full upper lip, almost too lush and sensuously curved for such a large-boned and masculine man. She had to admit, he was oddly beautiful, in a fierce and rough way—wide jaw, high cheekbones, and those blue, blue eyes. She stroked the planes of his face, considering him.
    He held still under her touch. She felt the tension radiating from his big frame. Her touch aroused him, and yet he made no move to grab her or rush the moment. He sat unmoving, holding himself in check, seemingly willing to allow her to control their play. He brought to mind the cavalry’s powerful warhorses, superbly trained to hold their ground even when guns exploded nearby, but with coiled power ready to spring forth at the merest slacking of the reins.
    With this stallion, she must be sure to hold the reins very tightly, indeed.
    She lowered her head and touched her lips to his, brushing her mouth lightly against him, as he had done to her.
    Heat.
    Softness.
    And wet, when she pushed in to deepen the kiss. Still, he let her direct the pace, merely opening his mouth to her. He tilted up his head, and she moved her hand against the nape of his neck. It had been covered in blood and matted hair earlier, but now lay naked and exposed. A hard pulse beat in the vulnerable curve where muscles corded up from his shoulder. Her own pulse beat faster. A tiny spark of unfamiliar heat kindled low within her.
    It scared her enough that she pulled sharply back.
    Although this man and she had a common enemy in Kurt, that did not mean she could trust him.
    And yet here she sat, on his lap, in his arms.
    He traced his fingertips over her brow, light as a feather. “You’re frowning, Liebling . Not happy with your kiss, perhaps? You strike me as a woman with high standards. You may try again, if it pleases you.”
    Her mouth tightened. How could he joke? “I believe we have done quite enough.”
    He nodded in a conciliatory way, looping his arms lightly around her waist. “All right, then. Let’s agree that what you felt in this experiment was not the loathing or shame that you felt at Kurt’s hands.”
    She swallowed. “There is a big difference between a kiss and”—how did one express this? Even with all Kurt had put her through, she lacked vocabulary—“a wife’s full marital responsibilities.”
    â€œIndeed—very true.” He nodded again. “Your full marital responsibilities will bring infinitely greater pleasure. I will see to it.”
    Despite the situation, she couldn’t help but laugh. Were all men so cocksure and arrogant? “Rather certain of your appeal, aren’t you, my lord? What if your wife’s desire is simply for you to leave her alone?”
    â€œPrivacy and solitude are important for all of us at times,” he allowed, his smile dimpling. “I would certainly respect and understand that. But here’s something else I understand, Lenora.” He leaned his forehead against hers and slid his hands up to her shoulders. “Your body is designed for pleasure.” His hands slipped inside her jacket to cup the undersides of her breasts through her shirt. Before she could quite grasp what he was about, big thumbs brushed across the peaks of her nipples.
    Her sharp intake of breath curved a smile across his lips. “It’s supposed to feel good, Lenora—that’s how God and