Читать книгу The Conqueror - Kris Kennedy - Страница 2

Raven reached out and her fingertips brushed his mailed forearm. “Don’t go yet. Please.”

And like that, deep inside of Griffyn, something that hadn’t moved for a very long time suddenly shifted.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the night air, propelling her behind Noir, using the horse as a shield between them and the huts. His intention was clear and he barely dared breathe, waiting for her refusal. Let her pull back the slightest bit and he would step away, forget the whole thing, interpret her unsteady breathing as fear, her trembles as exhaustion.

But God, he prayed silently, please let her move not so much as an eyelash.

Why was his blood hammering so? Why was it hard to draw breath? He had barely touched her on two occasions, touches so innocent he could have performed them in a crowded room and barely brought a gasp. Why?

Because something about this small, courageous wisp of a woman was plunging into recesses of a desire he’d never known existed and his arousal pulsed hot and hard.

She let her breath out slowly. Her hand came up, brushed his armour and stopped.

“Raven…” he said, his words low-pitched.

“Aye,” she whispered back, her eyes locked in his.

Without a thought for custom or destiny or anything other than the green-eyed angel before him, he bent his head to taste her trembling lips…