“If you touched me now you wouldn’t have to wonder,” he said.
Hesitantly she lifted the hand that he had so recently been holding, and touched his hair.
“I’m glad you cut it again,” she said. “I like it short.”
“Then I will always keep it short.”
She touched his cheek, and quickly pulled her hand away. Then, with a self-conscious little laugh she touched it again, rubbing the back of her knuckles along the roughness of his day-old beard.
“Centaurs don’t have facial hair,” she said.
“I know. I’ve told my father many times that I envy the fact that he doesn’t have to bother with shaving.”
“It feels strange,” she said. Her eyes lifted hastily to meet his. “Not bad strange, just different strange.”
He smiled. “You’ve already told me that I don’t repulse you. You’re not going to upset me by telling me that there are things about my body that seem strange to you. I don’t want you to be afraid to tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Agreed. But you have to tell me what you’re thinking, too.”
“Right now I’m thinking that your skin is so soft and smooth that it feels like water-hot water. I can feel the heat of you from here. Logically I know that’s because you’re a centaur and your body generates more heat than mine. But when I get this close to you, logic leaves my mind and all I can think is that I want to be consumed by your heat.”
She knew he could feel how his words made her pulse leap under his fingers. His voice was as seductive as his touch and she couldn’t stop her hand from moving to his chest. He was wearing a simple white linen shirt and a kilt made of the familiar MacCallan plaid, the end of which was thrown over his right shoulder. Her hand strayed to the plain round brooch that held it in place. Before her skittering thoughts could stop her, Brighid took her other hand from his and unpinned the brooch. Carefully, she pulled the plaid from his shoulder. Then she unlaced the front of his shirt, so that it fell open, exposing his muscular chest.
Except for the thumb that continued to caress her neck, Cuchulainn held very still as she splayed her hands over his bare chest and up to his shoulders where she lifted the shirt. In a few quick flicks of her hands, he was naked from his waist up. He shivered.
“Are you cold?” she asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
“No!” He half laughed, half moaned the word.
She met his eyes and saw that their turquoise depths had darkened to the azure of a turbulent ocean. “I like the feel of your chest. It’s hard and powerful.” She paused, running her fingertips purposefully over his puckering nipples, which caused him to suck in a quick breath. “Ah.” She breathed the word. “Your centaur blood is showing. Did you know-” she continued to circle his nipples with her fingertips “-that a centaur’s nipples are one of the most sensitive parts of his-or her-body?”
“No, I-” His body jerked and his words broke off in a moan when she bent and flicked her tongue across one of his nipples.
When she raised her face he met her lips with his own, surging up on his knees so he could press his naked chest against her. She opened her mouth willingly and welcomed his tongue. He had said that the heat of her body drew him to her, and his bare skin felt alluringly warm and hard against hers, too. She explored his broad back as they learned the secrets of each other’s mouth. Then the roughness of his palm was under her vest and pressing against her naked breast, and it was her turn to moan and fight for breath as he teased the sensitive bud of her nipple. When his lips moved to her breast she arched against him, closing her eyes and thinking of nothing except his lips and tongue and teeth.
When their mouths joined again she shrugged out of her vest, pressing her hot breasts against his chest. Both of their bodies were slick with sweat. By the Goddess, she wanted him! More than she’d wanted anyone in longer than she could remember. He made her feel alive and liquid and she wanted more and more. Her hand slid down his back to his waist, and then beyond. Her eyes jerked open in surprise at the alien feel of the hard swell of his buttocks.
What was she doing? She’d actually forgotten that he wasn’t a centaur male-forgotten that there was little he could do to quench the raging fire that his touch was igniting within her.
Feeling the instant change in her body, he broke their kiss and pulled back to look into her eyes. What he saw there had him running a shaky hand through his hair as he made an obvious effort to slow his breathing.
“I’d forgotten that you’re not…that you can’t because you’re only a…that we’re…” She sputtered to silence at the clear look of hurt that flashed over his face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” he said, his voice as flat and expressionless as his face had suddenly become.
“No, Cu. I meant-”
He didn’t let her finish. Instead he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his shirt from the ground, pulling it on with quick, jerky movements.
“The fire’s almost out. We’ll need more wood. I’ll get it.” Without looking at her he turned and walked into the forest.
Brighid pressed her hand against her chest where her heart battered itself like a caged bird against her ribs and cursed herself sincerely and fluently. Wonderful. As if the situation wasn’t difficult enough-now she’d insulted him.
Cuchulainn took his time in coming back to camp. He felt like a fool. Worse than a fool actually-a randy, frustrated fool. What, in all the levels of the Otherworld, had he thought he was doing? Had he thought he was going to actually make love to a centaur Huntress? No. That was the problem. He hadn’t thought at all. Her skin…her heat…the taste and scent of her…it had all worked on him like a hypnotic spell and he’d stopped thinking. He’d only meant to get her used to his touch-like she was a wild filly that had needed to be tamed. Fool was too simple a word for what he’d been. Brighid was no filly. She was a passionate Huntress and she needed the power of a centaur male to match that passion.
But he was just a man, as she had made abundantly clear.
Now what? The only thing he knew for sure was that he wouldn’t leave her. He searched his heart. He wasn’t staying with her only because he’d given her his oath before his mother, their clan, and the Goddess. He wanted to stay with her. Truly. Beyond his physical desire for her was a loyalty that had been founded in friendship and respect-just as he’d told her-and that had grown into something more…something richer. He loved the Huntress. It was that simple. And that complicated.
And it was so different from what he’d had with Brenna.
Brenna…The thought of her still had the power to sadden him. He had loved her-he still loved her, but it was a different feeling than his love for Brighid. The physical part had been easy with Brenna, at least it had been easy once he had overcome her shyness. But, he admitted to himself, it had never been as easy to talk with her as it was with Brighid.
Compassion had drawn him to Brenna. Respect had drawn him to Brighid. Respect and passion. From the first the Huntress had fired something within him. Even when he used to mistrust and argue with her, she always drew him. He just never let himself think of it-admit it. And now he was handfasted to her and he could think of little else. And do nothing about it.
Brighid had called their relationship impossible. Maybe she had been right.
If he had been gone any longer she would have gone after him. Instead she felt sick with relief as he tromped back out of the forest with his arms filled with firewood. She’d been pacing nervously, trying to figure out what she was going to say to him. Then when he was finally there she felt her mouth grow dry and her words evaporate. Without speaking, he fed the fire and then stacked the rest of the wood not far from where he’d left his saddle and packs. Silently, he dug through the larger of the saddlebags and retrieved a woolen blanket, which he wrapped around himself like a cocoon. With a sigh he settled onto his side, facing the fire. Unbelieving, she watched as he closed his eyes.