Highlander Unchained (18 page)

His arm slid around her waist. The way it had been when they’d danced. That dance…She shivered. He could put any courtier to shame. Who would have thought a warrior of his size would dance so beautifully? Graceful, but strong. When he lifted her, she’d felt as light as a feather. It was different dancing with him. She’d never been so aware of a man’s hands on her. She’d never noticed how seductive a dance could be. How each little touch could shock with tiny tremors of awareness.

She’d never wanted a man before. Not like this. Not with every fiber of her being. The truth hit her square in the chest. She cared for him. He
was
different. He had to be. She wouldn’t feel like this otherwise. That was what had held her back from trying to escape.

“Where, Flora?”

The dark promise in his voice made her tremble. His mouth was so close. She wanted him to kiss her again. But he knew that. “Bed,” she said softly. “Out of bed.”

With a growl, he kissed her. Nay, not kissed—he devoured her. His mouth was hot and hard, and his lips demanding, as he took her in his arms and kissed her as though he would never let her go.

She wanted to believe it. Wanted to think that the wave of emotion swelling inside her meant something. That the passion between them was special. Because it was to her. No man had ever made her feel this way. Made her blood heat and her limbs go weak with the press of his lips against hers.

All she could think of was getting closer to him. It felt so good, it almost hurt. To be in his arms again. Kissing him. Feeling the familiar hard press of his body against hers and the rapid beat of his heart that did not lie.

His warm masculine scent surrounded her, engulfing her senses. He kissed her harder and deeper. His mouth moved over hers, branding her, searing her with his heat. But it wasn’t enough. Wrapping her hands around his neck, she leaned her body closer, dissolving. Moaning as the passion welled inside her. She opened her mouth, wanting the wicked press of his tongue against hers. Wanting the dark, rich taste of him filling her mouth.

With a groan, he complied, sinking his tongue deep into her mouth. She opened to him, returning the sensual thrusts of his tongue the way he’d taught her. The subtle erotic rhythm increased the strange restlessness rising inside her, struggling to break free. He bent her farther back, taking her even deeper as his hands slid down to her bottom and he lifted her firmly against him.

She melted in a pool of heat, feeling the power of his erection pressing against her, hot and demanding. He was big and hard, just like the rest of him. She shivered, this time not with fear, but with desire, and felt a wicked urge to rub up against the solid length of him. She might be a maid, but she was well-enough versed in the details of mating—courtesy of the more profligate women at court.

He pressed against her again, this time more insistently, setting off a thousand little explosions of awareness. Unconsciously, her legs opened around him, wanting to feel him closer.

He froze, every muscle in his body taut. She could almost feel the blood surging through his veins under her palms. “Do that again, lass,” he whispered against her mouth, “and having care for your innocence will be the last thing on my mind.”

Heat stained her cheeks. “I’m sorry—”

But he pressed his finger over her mouth, stopping her. “Your instincts are perfect, my sweet. I just want you too much.” His eyes were dark and stormy. “I want to give you pleasure.”

He already was. Unimaginable pleasure.

She relaxed, closing her eyes as his warm mouth trailed down her neck, making her shiver. His hands were on her breasts, squeezing gently as his mouth slid over the sensitive flesh of her chest. She didn’t know what he was doing, but she didn’t care. Deftly he worked the fastenings of her gown and kirtle loose enough so that with a gentle tug her breasts popped over her stays. He didn’t move, staring at her until her skin flushed pink under the smoldering intensity of his gaze.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said hoarsely. He glanced up at her, perhaps sensing her embarrassment. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, lass. Your breasts are perfect. Big and round. I can’t wait to taste you.”

She shivered.

He weighed her in his hands, sliding his thumb over the taut tip of one nipple, and her legs turned to jelly.

She grasped his broad shoulders to prevent herself from collapsing, savoring the feel of the hard, bulging muscles in her hands. God, he was strong, every inch of him as tightly wrought as steel. Just touching him sent a thrill surging through her. Though the linen of his shirt was fine, she felt a violent urge to rip it off him and splay her hands across his hot skin, recalling all too well the hard, sculpted ridges of his magnificent chest.

When he began to caress her breasts with his big rough hands, she lost all coherent thought. He pinched her nipples lightly between his fingers, and heat spread between her legs.

Scooping up her breasts with his hands, he sank his face into her, nuzzling her skin with the scratch of his beard. God, it was amazing. His mouth was hot and wet as he kissed her nakedness, sliding his tongue achingly close to the very tip of her. Her nipples throbbed, aching for the soft press of his mouth.

She moaned when his tongue flicked out to tease her.

“Do you like that?” he asked softly.

She arched against him.

“God, you’re hot,” he groaned. “So lush and responsive.” And then he was sucking her, his tongue circling the hard tip as he took her nipple deep into the warm recesses of his mouth. A cry of pure pleasure escaped from between her lips as a needle of white hot heat surged through her.

Her body was on fire. She was pressing against him, moving, unable to release the building tension. Wanting more. Wanting the friction of his body. Frantically, her hands roamed over his back and her hips circled against him.

She felt the change. Felt as he succumbed to the heat. He sucked her harder, using his teeth to gently nibble and pull as his hands moved over her bottom and down her leg with clear purpose. He was done teasing. Done talking. He wanted this as badly as she did.

His hand was under her skirt, sliding up her leg as he increased the pressure on her breast, laving her with his tongue and sucking her deep and hard. The warm spot between her legs began to clench.

She didn’t understand what was happening, her body felt so strange. She was trembling and quivering all over. His fingers skimmed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She tensed, embarrassed by the sudden gush of dampness near his hand. She tried to close her legs, but he stopped her with a stroke, the barest graze of his finger against her core.

She froze in shock and wonder.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said soothingly, lifting his head from her breast. “I promise this will feel good.”

His finger reached out to sweep against her again, this time lingering to cup her and massage her gently. What was he doing? And why did it feel so incredible? No one ever told her it would be like this. So warm and silky and overwhelming. Her shock abated as she succumbed to sensation. Wallowing in the wet heat building where he touched.

Sensing her surrender, he caught her lips with his, sliding his tongue in her mouth just as his finger slid inside her. Oh God, it was perfect. She’d never felt so wanton, so free. He was cupping her, his finger sliding in and out, faster and faster, until her hips started moving against his hand. She couldn’t breathe. Her mind focused on the pulse between her legs that was concentrating and building in intensity. She was frantic, writhing against him. Something magical beckoned just out of reach. She wanted desperately to leap, but something was holding her back.

A knock on the door shattered the fragile moment like glass. The flood of heat turned to shards of ice.

He swore, stepped back from her, and struggled to control the primal lust she saw raging in his gaze. Every inch of his body seemed tense and rigid. No man had ever looked at her with such raw desire. She felt as though she’d unleashed a lion, a lion that would not be tamed. A twinge of unease fluttered in her chest.

What had she almost done? The truth hit her hard. The ramifications of what had nearly happened poured down on her in an unforgiving deluge. She’d almost given herself to him. Her captor. The man who intended to use her for his own ends.

But it had seemed so right.

Flora moved to the other side of the room, trying to get as far away from him as possible, and adjusted her gown as quickly as she could manage with shaking fingers, giving thanks that the simple gown could be easily slipped back over her shoulders and tied at the front. But there was little she could do about her swollen lips and mussed hair.

In a rough voice, Lachlan bade the intruder—or perhaps her savior—enter.

The door opened, and she recognized the man who entered as one of the laird’s young guardsmen. His gaze flickered between the two of them cautiously. Flora’s cheeks heated as she realized he’d guessed what he’d interrupted. No doubt she looked as if she’d just been ravished—which she had. Nearly, anyway.

After a heavy pause, he cleared his throat and spoke. “My laird, I’m sorry to disturb you. But it’s important.”

The change that came over Lachlan was instantaneous: All vestiges of passion disappeared, and his expression was once again hard and impenetrable. Remote. The air of invincibility once again surrounded him, and too easily, she’d been forgotten. She felt a hard pang in her chest. The commanding chief had returned with a transformation so complete, it shook her.

“What is it?” he asked in clipped tones.

“A letter, my laird.” The messenger gave Flora an uneasy glance. “From Duart.”

Chapter 8

Flora’s heart plummeted to the floor. She couldn’t breathe. Here it was, the response she’d been waiting for. Dread crashed over her. Not because she feared that Hector would not exchange her, but because she feared he would. Would Lachlan let her go? Would he trade her for his castle?

Her pulse raced as she awaited the answer.

Wrapped in her own jumble of emotions, she almost missed the fleeting look of surprise on Lachlan’s face. He took the missive from the man, broke the seal, glanced at it briefly, and slid it in his leather sporran. His eyes turned black and cold as onyx. Clearly, something had angered him.

“That will be all,” he said, dismissing the guardsman, who, from the awkward way he shuffled his feet, obviously couldn’t wait to leave.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Flora turned to him. Fists clenched at her side, she took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. “What does it say?”

His jaw clenched forbiddingly. “We will discuss it later.”

There could be only one explanation for his anger. “Hector refused?”

The look he shot her made her take a step back. His expression was as fierce as she’d ever seen it. He’d never looked at her with something akin to…resentment. “I said not now. Return to your chamber”—his hard gaze fell to her breasts and then lowered—“unless you’d care to resume where we left off?”

She flinched, his words as effective as a slap. The crude taunt after the intimacies they’d just shared stung. Something was wrong. Why was he lashing out at her like this? She’d thought him hard and forbidding, perhaps even ruthless, but never cruel. Was it something Hector had said? A lump settled low in her belly. Or had she done something wrong?

Mouth trembling, she stood her ground. “Why are you treating me like this? I deserve to know. Tell me what the letter says.”

Hard blue eyes bored into her. There was something raw in his gaze that made her heart tug. She made a movement toward him and then stopped self-consciously. His shoulders were so stiff, she yearned to put her hands on him and rub away the tension from the thick slabs of muscle. Only moments ago she’d been in his arms, and now he seemed untouchable. An insurmountable fortress had sprung up between them; she wondered if she’d only imagined the moments of intimacy.

“Please,” she urged.

He stared at her for a long moment, looking as if he were going to explode in rage; then, inexplicably, the fight seemed to leave him. “Damn you,” he swore.

She reached for him then, placing her hand on his chest, feeling the tension under her palm. “What did he say?”

“I don’t know.” His voice sounded oddly hollow.

Her brows furrowed. She didn’t understand. She’d seen him open it. “But why…?”

All of a sudden, it hit her.
He couldn’t read it
. She nearly sighed with relief. He wasn’t angry with her. But he’d wanted to hide it from her. God, did he think she would ridicule him? She cringed inwardly, realizing that she might have—at one time. But not now. Not since she’d grown to know him. And respect him.

Having to fight for his clan rather than attend Tounis College in Edinburgh, as most of the Highland chiefs’ sons now did, including her brothers, in no way diminished her opinion of him. Though she couldn’t deny that many would feel differently. Her mother, for one. One of the things Janet Campbell had deplored in the men she’d married had been their lack of education. Learning had always been important to Flora as well. But Lachlan had made her realize that schooling did not necessarily equate with intelligence. Any man who could defend himself against attack from her powerful brother for so many years had more than proved himself in that regard.