Nothing could have been further from her mind.
Petra’s hands slid up Morwick’s torso absorbing the warmth of the skin beneath the rough work shirt. Her fingers found the hills of his ribs, ran along the ridges of hard muscles sculpting his chest. Morwick was strong and solid. Vibrant like the leaves in the tree above them.
Beautiful.
“Petra.” He murmured against her lips as he moved closer, effectively pinning her against the tree. “You should run as fast as you can and as far away from me as possible.”
“No,” she murmured, allowing her fingers to sink into the folds of his shirt. “Stop warning me. I already know how horrible you are. There’s no need to go on and on about it.”
An amused chuckle came from deep in his chest even as his mouth slanted over hers. The press of his lips became more insistent, pulling Petra’s very soul from her. This was not the hard, almost angry kiss he’d bestowed upon her at Rowan’s wedding. This kiss spoke of longing. And hunger.
She moved into him, like a tiny vine wrapping around a much stronger, sturdier tree to survive. A spool of desire slowly made its way down between Petra’s breasts, her nipples peaking to chafe against his chest. A dull ache, demanding and pleasurable coursed between her thighs. Petra arched against him, grasping the rough cambric of his shirt. She rubbed herself against him like a cat, begging for his touch.
Morwick complied, moving his big hands from the curve of her waist to wind around her back.
Petra could feel the hard length of him even through her skirts, thick and heavy. He wanted her. Desired her. As Morwick’s arms tightened and the kiss deepened, a tiny whimper came from her lips.
One hand moved down to cup her backside, lifting her and pushing her more firmly against his arousal. His other hand wound through Petra’s hair, keeping her mouth captive. Nipping at her bottom lip, he coaxed her mouth open, his tongue flitting out to touch hers.
Petra trembled at the unexpected invasion, clinging to his shirt as her knees buckled. Unsure what to do, she moved her tongue in unison with his, matching his movements.
A low growl erupted from Brendan at her response. He kissed her with a lazy sensuality, drawing out her surrender to him until Petra sagged against him. Her hands moved up to touch the silken curls tangled against his collar, sinking her fingers through the strands to trace the curve of his skull. Petra had never felt so…intoxicated in her life.
When he pulled back, Petra bit out a low sound of disappointment. He pressed a small kiss to the corner of her mouth before dropping his arms and releasing her. Lust, irritation and resignation were all stamped across his handsome features. His passion was swiftly replaced by his usual annoyance—Morwick’s way of dismissing her.
Petra didn’t consider herself to be particularly intuitive or experienced, but even she surmised this was his way of shutting her out.
“Morwick—”
“Come along, then,” he demanded, voice curt, cutting through the haze of desire she’d felt only moments before. “The sky is darkening, and I’ve no desire to be caught in a storm.” Morwick stooped to pick up his discarded leather rucksack. The stomp of his boots kicked up leaves as he took several steps in the direction of Somerton.
Stunned by his mercurial change in mood, Petra stared at his back. “That’s it?” she stammered. How could he kiss her senseless and then calmly walk away? Hadn’t hefeltanything? Didn’t he have the decency to at least pretend…something? “Can you not atleastslow down?” Her voice raised an octave. “Your legs are quite a bit longer than mine.”
His steps slowed but did not stop.
Leaves churned up beneath her feet, as she struggled to keep up with his longer strides. It was no use. He was moving too fast in his haste to get away from her. It hurt that he could dismiss her so easily. Finally, out of breath and angry, Petra came to a dead stop. “I do hope you aren’t going to apologize for kissing me.”
“I won’t apologize. I wanted to kiss you.” Morwick stopped to glare back at her. “Does that please you?”
“What?” Good Lord, he could be snide. Right now she didn’t like him at all.
“Hearing me admit that I wished to kiss you.” A slight curl appeared on his lips. “Now, come along.”
“I’ve a pebble in my boot,” she lied. Actually, his admission would make her happy if he weren’t busy scowling at her.
He slung the rucksack higher. “You don’t. You were walking fine a moment ago. Must you always play the damsel in distress to gain my attention?”
Petra was so flummoxed by his words it took her a moment to make sure she’d heard him correctly.Played a damsel— “I’veneverintentionally garneredyourattention. Youkissedme. Both times, as I recall. I’ve never so much as flirted with you. Don’t you dare pretend I’ve acted improperly.”
“Haven’t you?” The accusation was thick with sarcasm. “What about Pendleton? Haven’t youpromisedyourself to him?”
“Ihaven’t,” she spat. What a perfectly awful thing for thing for him to say.
“I suppose you want to muck around a bit before marrying the illustrious Simon. Something for comparison purposes, I’m sure.”
Petra sucked in her breath at his insinuation. “Howdareyou imply such a thing? I’m only apea-wit,of course, Perfect Petra and all of that.” Her chest heaved with anger at him and herself, maybe because there had been a hint of truth to his accusation. “Except I’m notperfect. I never have been.” She blinked back a tear. “I’m only a dressmaker’s dummy Mother clothes in proper gowns and flounces to be dangled out to gentlemen seeking a suitable match. Rather like fishing, I suppose. She seeks to catch a fat trout. I suppose that makes me a worm.” Tears gathered in her eyes. He’d no idea how horrible it felt to be paraded around like a prize sow at a country market, knowing your only value was in whom you married. She’d been foolish to assume he might actually like her.
“Petra—” He set down the rucksack, all smug mockery gone.
