Forbidden Night With The Warrior. Michelle Willingham

of pain. Though he wasn’t surprised at the betrothal, it was her response that startled him. She genuinely appeared upset.

      He held her close, breathing in the scent of this woman. Nothing in the world would please him more than to have Rosamund de Beaufort at his side. He would have slain a thousand demons if it meant awakening beside her each day.

      But he lacked everything her father wanted. He was not the heir, and though he was of noble birth, his wealth paled beside a man like Alan de Courcy.

      Her green eyes held dismay, but he leaned in and kissed her. ‘I would want nothing more than to marry you, Rosamund.’

      But both of them knew it was impossible.

      He tasted the salt of her tears, and she kissed him as if she never wanted it to end. The embrace shifted until he couldn’t stop his own response. He needed to be closer to this woman, and he pulled her onto his lap with her legs around him. She let out a soft moan, trembling in his arms.

      ‘Warrick,’ she whispered. And then she moved herself against him, mimicking the sexual act. She let out a soft gasp, and her fingers dug into his arms.

      He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back his body’s needs. This was about her, about pleasuring this woman and stealing a forbidden moment.