Highlander Unchained (10 page)

“Is that what you think?” she asked. “That court is corrupting? How would you know? I’ve never seen you there.”

“Like every other Highland chief, I travel to Edinburgh yearly to present myself at court and account for my ‘good behavior.’” Leaving as soon as he could.

“In your case, it doesn’t seem to have worked,” she said dryly.

He chuckled. She froze, staring at him as if he’d just parted the Red Sea. Their eyes locked, and he felt a strange jolt—a charged connection.

He knew by the way she held his gaze that she felt it, too, but not wanting to acknowledge it, she shifted her gaze, started to fumble nervously with the leather gloves she wore to protect her hands, and finally removed them. “Did you want something?” she asked. “Has my brother responded?”

“He has not. But after you have cleaned up this mess, you will dine with me tonight.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”

He fought to contain his irritation. “I thought you might enjoy some company.”

“No. I’m quite happy taking my meals in my room.”

He bit back the angry retort. With what she’d done to his swords, he was in no mood for her defiance, but he had a job to do. He’d never had to woo a woman before—women came to him. And wooing this one was like extracting a tooth. “I’ve arranged for some entertainment.”

She crossed her arms, digging in. “I don’t wish to dine with you. The circumstances of my being here hardly make for friendly conversation.”

Her mulish expression did it, sending his good intentions right out the window. He took a step closer. She stood tall before him, not giving an inch. He had to admire her fortitude, given that the top of her head barely reached his shoulders and he was at least twice her weight.

He lowered his voice. “It wasn’t a request.”

“You can’t force me.”

“The hell I can’t.”

He could see the rigid, uncompromising set of her chin and recognized that he’d made a mistake. Flora didn’t like to be ordered or forced to do anything. It might be the wrong approach, but right now he didn’t care. He was a man used to giving orders and to being obeyed. They might be destined to clash. But he would win.

“You are a brute. A gentleman—”

That was it. He snapped. He’d heard enough of her opinions on Highlanders. Before she could get out the offending words, he pulled her into his arms. His body reacted with swift force, stirring hard against her. He savored the erotic sensations coursing through him as he looked deep into her eyes. Eyes that widened apprehensively as his arousal pressed firmly against her.

Good. He wanted her to feel him. To know what she did to him. To know just how far from civilized he really was.

“How many times must I tell you that I am not one of your damn gentlemen?”

“Please—”

His mouth fell on hers, covering any objection with the force of his kiss. This was what he’d wanted to do from the first. The relief was so intense, he nearly groaned. Heat welled up inside him, threatening to erupt. His mouth moved over hers hungrily, possessively. Tasting.

He felt her shock. And then, blissfully, her innocence.

God, she was sweet.
Her lips were so incredibly soft and warm. Her skin smelled of roses, and her mouth tasted like heaven. He wanted to devour her. To slide in his tongue and delve into the honey recesses of her mouth. To unleash the maelstrom of his desire and force her to acknowledge the heat sizzling between them.

He was hard as a rock, every inch of his body taut and primed for passion. He should be ravishing her, kissing her hard and thoroughly. Giving way to the lust that had been straining inside him from the first moment he’d seen her. Lust such as he’d never felt before.

But something held him back. It wasn’t just the knowledge that he couldn’t force her. Never had he so wanted a lass to respond to him—at a base level that not even she could deny. He wanted it with an intensity that should have troubled him. Enough to tame the fires of his own desire. All he could think about was the vulnerability of the innocent young woman in his arms.

He forced his blood to cool and ignored the aching pressure in his loins.

The kiss that was intended to punish turned soft and coaxing. His mouth brushed against hers, demanding a response with gentle persuasion, not force. He brought his hand to her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb, stunned by the velvety softness of her skin. His fingers cupped her chin, gently urging her lips apart.

She opened for him, making a tiny sound.

A primal roar of masculine satisfaction swelled inside him. She did want him. He swept his tongue inside her mouth, feeling her surprise and then her response. She stretched against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and returned his kiss with an innocent fervor that nearly undid him.

An unexpected wave of tenderness gripped him. He’d never felt like this before. Protective. Possessive.
Moved
. By a simple kiss.

Flora’s heart hammered in her chest. He was kissing her. She wanted to pull away, should have pulled away, but God help her, she could not. She was awash in sensation, drowning in his seductive masculine heat. Nothing else mattered but the exquisite feel of his mouth on hers.

His lips teased and implored, coaxing her response with a gentle caress that was so achingly sweet, it almost hurt. His mouth was so soft, the dark spicy taste of him intoxicating. She melted against him, savoring the wicked sensation of her body molded against the hard wall of his broad chest and the strong muscular arms that held her so protectively.

How could he do this to her?
It was all wrong. He should be savage, rough, forceful. But he was none of those. This powerful Highlander kissed her with more tenderness and finess than she’d ever dreamed possible. And with a poignancy that frightened her. Men had stolen kisses from her, but no man had ever kissed her in a way that made her want to weep, her heart slam against her chest, and her knees go weak all at the same time.

He was everything she’d ever dreamed of and nothing he was supposed to be.

And if it didn’t feel so perfect she would stop him. But it did feel perfect.

His kiss grew more insistent. More demanding. When his tongue slid in her mouth, her heart seemed to stop beating. She was shocked but also deeply aroused by the long, languorous strokes of his tongue. Strokes that set off wicked sparks in her body and made her heart tug with longing.

She silenced the roar of questions in her head and allowed herself to feel. He tasted her deep and slow. Delving into the farthest reaches of her mouth. Her body flooded with heat, building with an urgency that she could not describe and a hunger that would not be denied. So she gave herself over to his kiss, to the raw sensuality. Responding the only way she knew how, with eagerness and enthusiasm.

She kissed him back. Entwining her tongue with his. Tasting him as deeply as he did her. Soon, the gentle touch of his mouth was not enough. She wanted it harder. Faster. Deeper. She wrapped her hands around his neck, wanting to get closer. Wanting to feel the hard strength of his body under her fingertips. Wanting to press her body against him. Wanting to dissolve into his heat.

He moved his arousal firmly against her. Big, bold, and threatening. A dangerous reminder that shattered the brief spell of insanity. She felt a flicker of excitement before the cold splash of reality. And fear.

Oh, my God, what am I doing? He’s my captor.
She pushed him away in horror, as if she could push away her own treacherous desires. “Stop!”

They stood in silence, both breathing hard, staring at each other. It was all there between them in that one glance. Everything she was feeling in the look that stretched between them. For a moment his implacable expression shifted, revealing a flash of surprise.

She covered her mouth with her hand, feeling the heat and gentle throbbing of her lips.

When he finally spoke, his expression had again become unreadable. “You will join me tonight.”

Whether it was a request or an order, she was too overwhelmed to notice. Her entire body pulsed with a strange sensation. All she could manage was a nod.

He turned and left her without a backward glance, his stride as determined and powerful as the man himself. Leaving Flora to stare at the door, wondering what had just happened. And why she felt as though everything had just changed.

Chapter 5

By time she’d returned to her room, Flora was ready to collapse. Exhausted from the struggle of removing as much of the pungent oil from his swords as possible. If she wasn’t sure that he would come up to her room and drag her down himself, she would beg off from the evening meal.

She started to remove her clothing, eager to sink into the tub that had been filled with steaming hot water and sprinkled with dried lavender. The soft floral scent floated through the air, drowning out the stench of fulmar oil that had seemed permanently lodged in her nose.

Despite the apron she’d worn to protect her gown, the residue from the oil had penetrated the linen into the wool. She sighed, recognizing that it was her own fault. But it had been worth it, even if the skirt of her only gown smelled a bit. Perhaps Mary would be willing to lend her another?

Or maybe she should leave it be, in the hope that the smell would keep him away.

She’d driven his kiss from her mind while she worked, but the memories returned the moment she sank into the warm, soothing water. Her fingers went to her still tender lips.

Had he really kissed her like that?

And had she really responded so completely, melting against him in a soft pool of heat? That, of course, was the far more troubling question. Thank God she’d caught herself in time.

It was difficult to believe that the fierce warrior who’d abducted her could kiss her as if she were a fragile piece of porcelain. Evoking feelings she’d never experienced before. Deep feelings of longing and contentment. In his arms, she felt protected, cherished, cared for.

She tapped the water with her hand, scattering the dried leaves like dust to the wind. She was being ridiculous. It wasn’t like her to be so fanciful, though neither was it like her to fall into the embrace of a barbarian.

No,
she corrected. He wasn’t a barbarian. If she’d learned anything since the night he’d upset her elopement, she’d learned that. There was an inherent streak of nobility and strength in him that could not be denied. He was hard and uncompromising, but he could also be thoughtful and considerate.

She slipped under the water to clear the soap from her hair, wishing it were as easy to erase the memory of his mouth on hers. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the feel of him or the rich masculine taste of him.

But it didn’t matter. She’d made a mistake in allowing him to kiss her; she would not make it again. She was his prisoner. And she’d do best not to forget it. To him, she was simply something to leverage over her brother. A means to an end. She could never care for a man who saw her as such. A kiss, no matter how sublime, wouldn’t change that. Flora knew her worth, not as a prize of marriage or to end a curse, but as a woman. And she would accept nothing less from a husband.

She’d thought Lord Murray different. Instead he’d served as a powerful lesson in trusting the wrong man. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

She stood up and stepped carefully from the tub, wrapping the drying cloth around her shivering body. Where was Morag? She’d promised to return to light the fire and help comb out her hair. Flora drifted to the small window, seeking the last amber rays of sun to warm the chill on her skin.

A soft knock at the door signaled the woman’s arrival. She bade her enter, thinking that if she did one thing before she left, it would be to make the humorless old woman smile—a laugh would undoubtedly be expecting too much.

She heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a muffled curse. Slowly, she turned around.

The blood drained from her face. It wasn’t the maid.

Lachlan Maclean stood stone still in the doorway. His eyes bore into her with an intensity that made her every nerve ending stand on edge.