Vision of Light [The Renegades 1] by Amanda Hilton Page A

fantasized about someone who she believed did not exist. Until now.
    Despite their adversarial situation, as she looked at the man facing her, Aislan knew the inevitability of what they would become if she remained in his company. She should be ashamed of herself, this sinful desire for a man who, in reality, represented the violence she abhorred in men. No matter what she should feel, if he touched her now, she would welcome him. Just the thought of him in her body made her wet and aroused. No wonder the Church thought her unredeemable. She wanted what she should not and rejected her roles as an obedient daughter and a dutiful wife.
    Aislan touched the dagger. It burned hot now, and she tossed it on the ground in shock.
    "I—I...” She stared at it, and then looked at Lucien. Picking up his weapon, he reattached it to his belt, his gaze still on her. She looked away, desperate to maintain some semblance of propriety. After a while, she glanced his way. Aislan gave a small start and came to attention. A faint glow outlined him, lasting merely a glance. She blinked to clear her vision, but nothing seemed amiss. What had she seen? Confused, Aislan turned away to gather her composure. The slow and steady thud of her heart rang in her ears. She had seen the same flicker of light the moment before the ambush this morning. Sensing immediate danger, she had tried to lead Hayton in the opposite direction, but the forewarning had come too close to the attack.
    "What could you be thinking?” he asked almost too softly. His gaze moved over her body, and she licked her dry lips again. He wanted her. Lust burned in his eyes and etched on his face. It had been a day full of violence, and she sat here thinking about rutting like an animal.
    The day seemed unreal, and she could be in a dream. Aislan's imagination had been active enough for her to live in it most of her life. Cold, tired, and confused, she could no longer think clearly. She tried hard to remain proper, but she felt more like a hypocrite pretending. Wanting to weep for her lack of conviction, she jumped to her feet, and he got up also.
    "Aislan."
    Not wanting to get close to him, she walked away.
    "Aislan.” He caught her by the arm.
    She looked back at him, unable to pull away, not wanting to. “I must go. Please, let me go."
    Pulling her into his arms, he held her, and she capitulated immediately. He was so big, his arms steely and yet gentle. Pressing her cheek against his broad chest, she closed her eyes at the feel of his face against the top of her head, his mouth brushing back and forth across her hair. Oh, how good it felt, wrapped in his powerful arms. She should remember who he was, but she did not care. The scent of his maleness swept over her until she wanted to open his tunic so she could press her nose and open her mouth against his skin. Dizzy with want, she fought hard with herself to maintain some semblance of hypocritical propriety.
    "Milord, let me go,” she whispered weakly, not even sounding convincing to her own ears.
    "Where would you go?"
    She was inordinately grateful he did not take the matter out of her hands. If he chose to overcome any meager resistance she gave, she would not have been able to resist. When she pulled back, he loosened his hold, but his arms remained looped about her waist. His bulging erection pressed against her stomach, making her breathless with the knowledge of what was to come. Aislan looked at her hands, one on his chest, the other on his muscled arm, her fingers splayed, her palms rubbing against him. Stopping her movement, she struggled to right her unbalanced mind. A man of flesh and blood held her, not a phantom. Anything she did now, there would be no going back.
    Aislan made one last attempt at propriety. “The convent will take me."
    It was a normal course for women with some status who had nowhere else to go. Never mind that they would refuse her. He did not have to know. The Church had damned her soul for