Highland Heat (12 page)

“Ye smell good.” His lips landed on her cheeks next, directly on the spot that flushed hot in response to his first kiss. “And ye taste delicious.”

“Stop this nonsense.”

He lifted his head, and she stared into his eyes once more, but this time, they had turned dark blue, passion narrowing them. She stiffened, her body responding to that look without any conscious decision. It was pure response, her flesh yielding to the touch of the man holding her.

It felt delicious…

“We mustn’t, Quinton.” Her words were a softly spoken plea, torn from the last shred of rational thought she possessed.

He leaned down, his breath brushing against the delicate skin of her neck before she felt the press of his lips. She found herself anxiously waiting for the touch of lips. Her heartbeat accelerated as she stopped attempting to push him away. Instead she spread her fingers wide over the hard expanse of his chest, delighting in the feeling of his body.

“Are nae ye tired of shunning every touch because men in sackcloth robes tell ye to?” He placed twin kisses behind her ear before capturing her earlobe between his lips. She gasped, pleasure flowing down her body. “What happened to the lass who went after what she wanted?”

She laughed at him, and his arms slackened. She moved away from him, turning to face him with her hands propped on her hips. “Ye understand me well enough. I agreed to this charade because I want a place that is my own, and the queen promised me one in exchange for helping her.”

He grunted. “I believe ye, but that was nae the topic I was discussing with ye.” He curled one finger at her. “Come back here, Deirdre, and admit ye want me to be yer lover because my touch makes ye burn and ye recognize I would give ye as much as ye give me.”

“I do nae doubt ye’d be a good lover.” She gasped when she realized what she’d said aloud. “Oh… do nae start smirking at me like I shined yer ego with that comment. It meant nothing.”

He chuckled anyway and closed the space between them with one long step. “I disagree; it meant something to me.”

She moved away. “Well… enjoy it, then, for it is all ye shall have. Men are no’ the only ones with honor, ye know. Securing myself a place with the queen will make my father proud.” Her gaze returned to him once more, and passion tormented her with ideas of how good it would feel to go back to his embrace. “If I take another lover, even a titled one, that will only shame my sire more.” She forced herself to look away from him, and her gaze touched the meal that was laid out on the table.

“I am hungry,” she announced.

Quinton muttered an obscenity in Gaelic. “Aye, ye are, but no’ for food.”

She sent a hot look toward him before sweeping her silk velvet robe aside and sitting down. “Yes, for food. It’s little wonder yer contracted bride ran off, if ye were this crude when talking with her.”

One of his dark eyebrows rose. “Ye think ye know something about that because ye heard the tale?” He pulled his sword off his back, untying it at his waist so that even the scabbard was removed. She shivered in response, because that action meant it would be much easier for him to make use of the bed.

Oh stop it!

She had to gain control of her thoughts, or she might as well walk herself over to the bed and be done with it.

“The truth is she was a calculating bitch, raised by her mother to find the highest bidder for her favors like any whore.”

His voice had turned harsh, and she stared at him and the pain that flickered briefly in his eyes.

“I contracted her, but the moment a higher-ranking man rode into court, her mother sent young Mary Ross off to charm him.”

“Is that why ye are still unwed?” she asked before considering the personal nature of her question. “Because ye do nae trust women?”

“I’ve been kept busy trying to keep the Highlanders from fighting with each other so we do nae find ourselves invaded by the English.”

Quinton sat down and moved a freshly ironed cloth aside to reveal a round of bread. He picked up the bread and tore it in half with ease.

“I could have pressed her father to honor my contract with Mary, but I have no desire to be watching me back for daggers every time me kin is near.”

“Most nobles wouldn’t care much about the feelings involved.”

He extended his arm, offering her half the bread. “Is that how ye see me, lass? A man who has a heart so hard, I cannae understand love?”

She took the bread, finding the moment strangely intimate. “Ye seem to be set against allowing the queen to wed the man she wishes.”

He sent another linen fluttering toward the floor with a flick of his fingers and uncovered a small dish of butter.

“Ye are making assumptions, Deirdre. Just because I sent me men after the queen does nae mean I am no’ in favor of her wedding.” He used a knife to spread some of the butter on his portion of the bread, but his eyes remained on her, and there was a hard promise lurking in them. “Save yer accusations for crimes ye know for certain I’ve committed.”

“Such as the fact that I am here, sir, and unable to depart by yer command?”

He opened his mouth and bit off a chunk of bread. He watched her while he chewed, making her wait for his response. It was a tiny torment, because she discovered she wanted to know what his reaction was going to be.

“So ye are, Deirdre, but if I were a blackhearted knave, I never would have allowed ye to lower yer robes.” He propped one elbow on the tabletop. “Unless ye want to accuse me of lacking the ability of being able to stroke yer passions.”

“Stop it.”

He leaned closer. “Stop what, madam? Did ye think the place the queen offered ye would be so easy to earn? Joan Beaufort is a queen. She gives nothing away.”

“I am no’ lazy, and will earn my place, sir. Now ye are the one thinking ye know me, when it is clear ye underestimate my determination to be something my father can be proud of. That duty has naught to do with the sordid suggestions ye are attempting to discuss.” She reached for the butter with her own knife. “Ye are attempting to trick me into challenging ye so ye have an excuse to handle me.”

His hand shot out in a motion as fast as a flash of lightning. He captured her wrist, and she lost her grip on the knife. It fell into the butter without a sound.

“Be sure I will handle ye when I want to, Deirdre. I do nae need an excuse to stroke yer creamy skin. I’ll take credit for me own actions, never doubt that. But I can understand yer desire to escape a place where ye are considered naught but a disgraced woman.”

His eyes filled with approval, and she discovered she enjoyed seeing it more than she had anticipated.

“I understand ye better than ye think, because ye and I are a great deal alike.”

He lifted her wrist, rotating it so that the delicate skin of her inner wrist was exposed. He brushed his thumb over it, sending a torrent of sensation up her arm. Goose bumps rose in response, but what sent a chill down her spine was the promise glittering in his eyes. It was hot and solid, and she drew in a shaky breath because she began to doubt her ability to refuse him.

“Nor do ye seek my permission either.”

His thumb traveled over her inner wrist once again, more firmly this time, and she felt the touch deeper. Her belly tightened, excitement rising in spite of her attempts to drown it with reason.

“I’d have yer permission and more.” From any other, she would have been able to accuse the man of being presumptuous.

But she wouldn’t make that mistake with Quinton.

No, he was dangerous. Dangerous because he unleashed a weakness inside her that she couldn’t control. Failing to admit that to herself would only give him the advantage. She looked at the plate in front of her, trying to bring Melor’s smirking face to mind. For the first time, her memory failed to offer up her last sight of the man she’d defied her father to have.

“Do nae do that, Deirdre Chattan.” Quinton released her hand with a sound of disgust that drew her attention back to his face. He pointed at her. “Ye have more confidence than a girl who needs to stare at a tabletop because she’s afraid of her own nature.”

“It is nae a matter of confidence, but one of morality.” She spit the word out and then realized she’d tumbled neatly into his snare. His lips twitched before he stood up in another quick motion that sent the chair behind him crashing into the floor.

“Nae, it is a matter of passion.”

He looped an arm around her and pulled her out of her chair. A soft sound passed her lips, but she honestly wasn’t sure if it wasn’t born from her rising excitement or her temper. Both seemed to be combining inside her to intensity how aware of him she was. Her heart was racing, and her senses keener than ever before. She reached for him this time, enjoying the way he secured her against him. His body was harder than hers, and she made another sound of enjoyment as her breasts compressed against his chest.

She liked everything about the man too much for her own good.

His mouth claimed hers in that savage kiss he had denied her earlier. It seemed like she had been waiting for it ever since, and she opened her mouth to allow him to thrust his tongue inside. He held her neck securely as his mouth moved over hers in a kiss that stole her breath.

But she kissed him back, her hands holding on to his shoulders while she turned her head slightly to allow their mouths to fuse more completely. His tongue speared deeply into her mouth, and she let hers tangle with it. A groan shook his chest, and she rubbed her hands down, stroking over the hard muscles that only a thin shirt separated her from.

He picked her up and moved her to a bare section of table. The candleholder shook and fell over, and the flames died in a quick sizzle. Darkness closed in on them, heightening her awareness of him even further. She couldn’t seem to kiss him hard enough, couldn’t manage to touch all the places on his body she had admired with her eyes.

She wasn’t the only one who felt such a frenzy.

Quinton cursed beneath his breath before he pushed her thighs apart and used his hands to pull her hips toward the bulge of his member.

“Ye drive me insane with the need to have ye, Deirdre.” He ground his hips forward, and she felt his hard flesh against her spread sex. Need tore through her, so hot that it threatened to overwhelm her. She gripped the front of his shirt so tightly that she heard it tearing at the shoulder seams.

“
Then have me.
”

There was no thinking, only responding. Her body wanted to twist and writhe against his, but most of all, her passage wanted the hard flesh pressing against her driven deep inside it to ease the emptiness tormenting her.

“I intend to, lass… I swear I’d kill to have ye at this moment.”

His hands left her hips, and he tossed her skirts in a sharp jerk. They settled around her on the tabletop as he smoothed his hand up the inside of her thigh.

“But I’m going to make sure ye’re as hot to have me as I am to be had.” His voice had lowered, so much so that it was only a rasp in the dark chamber. The roar of the river interfered with her understanding, but all thought ceased the moment his fingers touched the curls guarding her sex. Her clitoris pulsed with anticipation, eager and needy. Her hips pressed forward, and he didn’t disappoint her.

“Ye see, lass, ye are nae afraid of yer own passion, and that makes ye the most attractive woman I’ve ever met.” His fingers delved between the folds of her sex, until he was teasing the sensitive bud that lay between them. “I’ve dreamed of ye since I stole that embrace at the abbey.”

Deirdre couldn’t think of a reply, she failed to think at all. Her body was a twisting length of rope, knotting tighter and tighter with every rub of his fingers. Her breath became raspy, and a tiny moan surfaced from the need tormenting her so acutely.

“I’ve wanted to wring that sound out of ye.”

Her eyes opened as her pride surfaced from beneath the flood of pleasure his touch filled her with.

“Well, I—”

His arm wrapped around her hips to hold her in place when she tried to scoot back so she might regain her wits.

“I will pleasure ye, Deirdre,” he snarled softly as he pressed harder against her clitoris. She lost the battle to ignore the need roaring through her. It rose into a wave and broke with a shaft of pleasure that made her cry because she simply could not contain it inside herself. She shook with it, her hips straining toward his hand, but a moment later bitterness clawed at her.

Her passage was still too empty. She groaned, the sound rising out of her unsatisfied need.

“It wasna enough… was it, hellion?” He withdrew his fingers and cradled the back of her neck so her face was angled toward his own. “Ye crave it all… do nae ye? Partway will never satisfy ye, admit it.”

“No, it was nae enough. Ye arrogant man. Why do ye think I told ye I did nae want ye for my lover?” She shoved at his chest but only gained a chuckle from him.

It wasn’t a nice sound. It was low and almost savage.

“Ye do crave me as yer lover. Ye want me because I will nae finger ye and think ye are content.”

She felt him shift his kilt aside and then the hard head of his member was pressing against the entrance to her body.

He grasped the sides of her hips, and she shook with excitement. “Ye want me to fill ye, and I am happy to be of service.”

His words were blunt, but they also promised to feed the hunger tearing at her insides. The darkness surrounding them seemed to grant permission for her body to seek what it wanted. She reached for him, her hips lifted as his hands pulled her forward, and his hard flesh split hers.

She gasped, because the entry burned. Not as badly as the first time, but it stung as he thrust forward.

“Ye’re tight.”

His voice was full of victory and male pride.

“That does nae mean I was saving myself for ye.” It seemed ridiculous to be angry with him, considering their position, but she felt her lip curl up as she snarled at him.

Quinton laughed, low and deeply, as he withdrew. She growled at him as her body demanded more of his member. Desperation was raging through her, and her fingers curled into claws, her fingernails sinking into his shoulders.