The Captive by Joanne Rock

he’d carried her in his arms before, this was the first time he’d allowed himself to dwell on how she felt. He’d purposely not thought about the womanly shape of her hips before, unwilling to torment himself like that before he could do anything to ease the desire. Now, he pressed her to him and felt the soft give of high, full breasts beneath his chest.
    He reached for the shoulder of her gown, searching for a way into the garb so he could feel her skin. But she twisted aside, eluding that touch even though he still held her.
    “Release me.” She whispered the request so softly he almost didn’t hear it until she told him again, louder. “Release me.”
    He had every intention of following the request. He’d spoken truthfully when he told her he’d not taken a woman against her will. But making his hands follow the command of his brain took time.
    “In a moment.” He dragged in harsh breaths, trying to ignore the scent of honeyed mead and female desire. “First tell me, why do you deny us both something we want?”
    “Now.” She wriggled against him with a roll of her hips that would have brought a lesser man to his knees. “Let me go now.”
    “Woman, you do not help your cause,” he gritted between clenched teeth. Still, he managed to relax his grip if only to save himself from the torment of her undulating form.
    She scrambled to her feet in the dim lodging. She tried to hurry away from him, but the hem of her skirts caught on the hilt of his sword and she had to wait until he freed her.
    With any other woman, he would have enjoyed the moment to tease a caress up her bare calf, but he heard Gwendolyn’s rapid breathing and saw her tense stance. He would retreat, for now.
    “You must eat,” he ordered, pointing her back to the pallet as he moved away from it. “I will feed you fish while you explain why a widowed woman kisses like an untried maid.”
    The words were a cold splash on her overheated body. Gwendolyn wished to evade the inquiry altogether.
    In Richard’s keep, none of the other widows—not even Margery—would have presumed to question herfirst marriage. But if ever the other women took their criticism to an uncomfortable level, she knew if she ignored them long enough, they would cease. And in her husband’s home, she’d simply disappeared from his sight, avoiding the hall and locking her bedchamber.
    Now, with her thoughts scattered and her skin tingling from Wulf’s kiss, she couldn’t begin to think of an answer to his query. Here, in this tiny space with just the two of them, there was nowhere to hide and no way to ignore him.
    He had her dinner, after all.
    Her legs trembled as she walked toward the pallet where she would sleep tonight. There was no fear in her quivering this time. Any man who could pull away from the kiss they’d shared—that was a man with serious self-control. As much as she wanted to hate Wulf for taking charge of her life like it was his right, she no longer feared him.
    “If you did not enjoy my kisses, it is just as well.” She dropped to the pallet in a billow of skirts and rushes, then tucked the hem of her dress about her legs to keep it secure. “I am no camp follower to entertain you in that way.”
    She peered up at him expectantly, ready to eat. Her belly growled.
    “I did not say I didn’t enjoy it.” He retrieved the fish from the bed of fresh grasses where he had laid it. Now, flaking off a bit from the center, he steered the morsel toward her lips. “I will never forget the feel of your mouth.”
    Gwendolyn had no intention of discussing it. She simply nipped the fish from his fingers, careful not to graze his flesh.
    “Mmm.” The rich flavor surprised her. “It is very good despite the lack of spices.”
    Safer to speak of the meal than the interlude that had preceded it. He stared at her for a moment as if deciding whether to press the matter, then seemed content to let her change the subject.
    “Spoken like a Saxon,” he