Unlacing the Lady in Waiting. Amanda McCabe

to give him even deeper access to her mouth.

      Helen arched back her neck and tangled her tongue with his. His other arm moved to her waist and pulled her into his body until she felt the unmistakable proof of his desire through her clothes.

      Damnable clothes! Why did people wear them anyway? She wanted to feel his bare skin.

      As if he also felt that hot, primitive urge, his fingers released her hair and swept over her bare shoulder to caress the swell of her breast above her bodice. Helen whimpered at the hot touch, and one of his fingers dropped beneath the beaded brocade to rub over her aching nipple.

      She was so startled by the rush of pleasure she nearly bit his tongue.

      His lips slid from hers and his head reared back. “So the wildcat has teeth,” he muttered.

      “And claws,” Helen whispered back. She dug her nails into the back of his neck and laughed when he growled. Oh, this was fun!

      “You’ll pay for that,” he said, and tugged her head back again. His open, hungry mouth trailed over her jaw and along the arched line of her neck. He nipped at the pulse that pounded at the base of her throat and Helen gasped.

      His hand moved from her waist up the length of her torso until he grasped the top of her bodice and tugged it down along with the thin chemise. For an instant she felt the chill wind on her bare breast, but then it was surrounded by the heat of his mouth. He drew in her nipple between his teeth and suckled it deeply.

      Helen cried out and cradled the back of his head as she pressed him closer. The close-cropped black strands felt soft in her hands, and her head fell back in giddy pleasure.

      Then something unpleasantly cold hit her fevered cheek. A raindrop, then another. The threatened storm had arrived.

      That cold seemed to snap her out of the hot, sensual dream the stranger wove around her so effortlessly. Her hands tightened convulsively in his hair before she let him go. She gave her head a hard shake to try and clear it.

      He seemed to sense it, as well, the end of their too-brief fantasy. He released her nipple slowly from his mouth, and she nearly wept with the sudden bereft feeling that swept over her. He blew on the dark pink, puckered flesh lightly, making her shiver, before he drew her bodice up over her and stepped back.

      He turned away from her and ran a shaking hand over his head. Helen also trembled, and had to fight back the tears that prickled at her eyes. What a foolish, foolish girl she was!

      He swept his cloak from the ground where it had fallen, but he didn’t look at her. She was glad of that. If she saw his beautiful green eyes, she might do something even more foolish. Like run into his arms, cling to his strong body and beg him to take her away from the nightmare her life had become. Ask him to let her feel not alone for just a little while longer.

      “Who are you?” he said hoarsely.

      Helen just shook her head. The rain fell in earnest now, soaking her hair and the fine gown. She spun around and ran, disappearing into the maze before he could look at her again.

      But she knew she did not run from him. She ran from herself—and what he had awakened within her.

      “I canna believe you ruined your new gown!” Helen’s maid Mairie fussed as she pushed the last of the pearl-headed pins into Helen’s upswept hair.

      Helen sat numbly under Mairie’s ministrations. She hardly knew what the servants did to her, or heard the noise of the party floating up from the grand hall below. She didn’t see the chamber around her, the room that had been hers all her life and which she would soon leave forever. She couldn’t hear the rain that lashed at the window.

      She could only see him, feel his mouth on her lips and her breast, smell the scent of him that seemed to linger on her skin.

      Would that one kiss haunt her forever?

      She twisted away from Mairie, suddenly weary of the fussing. “It is of no matter. This gown is perfectly fine.”

      Mairie smoothed the blue figured silk over Helen’s shoulders. “But ‘tis an old one! You’ve already worn it.”

      “I doubt a McKerrigan would notice if I showed up in sackcloth,” Helen said. She pushed away the thought that one man in the McKerrigan party had assuredly noticed what she wore.