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wanted these things with the man who had jailed Ada—a spiteful part of her reveled in the danger, the sick game of it.
    As when the scent of food only whets a hungry appetite, Meg wanted to feast. She pressed the sensitive tip of her tongue to his skin. Salt and spice enveloped her tongue, soaking her senses in raw male essence. A steady, wicked fire gathered in her blood. She shifted against the wet pleasure of her arousal, ready to take more.
    Strong fingers clutched her backside, squeezing her flesh. She moaned.
    So did he.
    “Stop now, Meg, or I’ll slide into you without one regret.”

Chapter Five
    Stay thee, Will Scarlet, man, stay awhile;
    And kindle a fire for me.
    “Robin Hood’s Flight”
Leigh Hunt, 1820
    Meg raised her mouth from his belly. Lips swollen and parted, eyes lowered and in shadow, her expression rushed between surprise and smug control. She smiled and licked those lips, her mouth forming its customary half smirk. An enigma. Frustrating and tempting.
    “I have no intention of stopping,” she said, her voice husky.
    Blood raced wild circles through Will’s body and hardened his shaft. He wanted inside this strange woman—either that or oblivion. That he might find such oblivion between her thighs taunted him and kindled a swift need. His shoulder blazed like dancing in a bonfire, but the rest of his body hummed, aching with anticipation. Waking to such confusion mashed his brain.
    Illuminated by pale remains of the fire, Meg sat and straddled him like a wanton goddess. Dark curls splayed over her shoulders, her bold hands still moving, still scraping his skin. Panting breaths puffed into the frigid night air.
    He tightened his grip on her thighs, enjoying the firm female flesh yielding to his touch. She gasped and arched, but he wanted more. He wanted to climb into her mind and keep searching until he learned her secrets. He wanted to intimidate her, to dominate the implacable girl, but he could not find a chink in her armor. Greedy, mindless, he settled for her body.
    He stroked a finger along her jaw and gratified in her sharp gasp. She leaned into his hand, her eyes closed. An unknowable expression replaced her smirk, enshrouding her pale features in an arousing mystery.
    “Kiss me,” he said, hearing a plea buried in his command.
    “Where?”
    “By the saints.”
    He closed his eyes, hammered by the thrill of her question. A shuddering breath did not douse his ardor. Pain and pleasure blurred the boundary between waking and dreaming, but the idea of Meg’s teasing, smiling mouth on his shaft cut through the confusion.
    “I was right, girl,” he said. “You are mad.”
    She flinched. “I am not mad.”
    Good sense said she would pull away. She had taken offense before, and the tight, bunching tension in her body revealed as much again. But she did not retreat. Her fingertips curled into the muscles of his chest and scored him with blunt fingernails. Tipping up her chin, she brought her mouth closer. Their breath mingled, the only heat in the forest, until she claimed him with a brutal kiss.
    He intended to absorb the drunken sensation of her mouth on his, slowly, but a rush of need urged complete surrender. His and hers. Will abandoned his useless qualms and gave himself to the surprise of their joined lips. She opened her mouth and invited him deeper. Tongues touched in an exploratory dance. She tugged his lower lip with her teeth, soothing the sharp sting of her bite with another sweep of her tongue.
    Power surged through him. He used his good arm to pull her into a full embrace. Belly to belly, legs layered over legs, she nestled her pelvis into the valley of his hips. She rocked against his straining erection. Their groans vibrated together. He returned her thrusts, demanding the release she promised.
    When Meg threaded slender arms around him, grasping his arse, he could take no more. He grabbed at the fabric of her skirts. She lifted her hips and took hold of his hard rod,