They were standing too close now, her defiance crackling like lightning, his fury taut as a bowstring.
“Elspeth…” he warned.
“What?” she taunted. “Say it.”
His restraint tore like fabric. One moment, he was glaring at her; the next, he had closed the space between them, drawn to her like a moth to flame.
She gasped, and for a heartbeat, he hovered, close enough to feel her anger shiver against his skin.
He meant to walk away.
Instead, he kissed her.
Elspeth gasped into his mouth.
She hadn’t meant to; she had meant to keep her composure, her cool disdain, her barbed defiance. But the heat of him overwhelmed her.
Her hands pressed hard against his chest, as if to push him away, but her traitorous fingers curled, clutching at his lapels like a woman starved.
The world tilted wildly, teetering off its axis, and she with it. She was falling into space, into him, into something deeper and far more dangerous.
His kiss grew rougher, deeper. He took her mouth with wicked certainty, sweeping his tongue against hers in a rhythm that made her stomach clench and her knees go weak.
It wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t careful—it was consuming, confident, claiming.
She was aching, trembling with the intensity of it. Her body was alive with heat, flushed and needy, every nerve ending screaming for more even as her thoughts resisted.
I cannae stand this man, but why do I need him so badly?
It wasn’t a need of the heart.
No, never!her mind screamed in protest.
But her body—oh, her traitorous, longing body shivered with want.
Her lips parted, helpless against his possessive kisses. She licked him, tasting the remnants of the wine he had earlier, mingled with something darker, something uniquely him—earth and salt and desire.
She wanted to bottle the taste and sip it slowly during sleepless nights.
When he tore his mouth from hers, she was left gasping, dazed. Her chest heaved as if she’d run miles.
His lips left hers only to blaze a trail down her jaw, then her neck, burning a path to her collarbone. She moaned as he kissed her there, soft and slow, as though he were mapping her pulse with his tongue.
Her hands twitched at her sides, wanting to grab him, hold him still, pull him closer.
His hand slid from her arm, gliding down her waist in a slow, reverent stroke that made her shudder. He found her hip, cradling it firmly, then moved lower, letting his hand curve around the back of her thigh. His thumb brushed upward, where her skirts were bunched and tangled, and through the barrier of her undergarments, he pressed a touch that made her breath catch.
A jolt. Hot. Undeniable.
“You defy me,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hitching, ragged and full of barely held restraint. “Then you tempt me. You are as wicked as the whispers that follow you, Highland minx.”
The words wrapped around her, thick with danger. She should have shoved him back, slapped him, fled. Instead, her thighs parted slightly, her whole body thrumming with unbearable heat.
His fingers teased the lace of her underthings, tracing the delicate edge with maddening patience.
She whimpered, a soft sound from deep in her throat. Not quite a protest. Not quite a plea. And yet it seemed to ignite a fire inside him.
He growled low in his throat and pressed closer.
