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“Not really. Just that men have trysts and care little for the consequences.” Her brows arched as if this proved to be a plain truth.
“This man does!” he answered stonily.
“Lucky me,” she mocked.
Not even remember her name? Fingal questioned inwardly. He had not been able to rip the woman from his mind, his body, and she believed he would forget anything about her? Problem was, she did have the right of it. The trysts from his past blurred in one mass of faceless lasses in his memory. But Catriona drew from him a whole new range of steaming responses which he had no wish to consider. Not to mention she had been the woman who brought his Arab stallion to his full splendour.
“I’m still struggling to understand why you travelled incognito,” he inquired.
An annoyed expression covered Catriona’s beautiful face. Fingal observed the string of emotions playing on it.
“I wanted to see my homeland, ok?” Wistfulness came to her remarkable eyes. “I had been years away. I longed for the Highlands, and my parents would never bring me. My mother wanted us to have the best education, and for this, we must stay in London.” Her words poured out, and they rang as nothing but authentic. Her sadness reached out to him, making him wish to hold her and offer support.
“But you could have travelled to the McTavish and stayed there.” If he touched her, he would not be able to stop until they both were sated. Thoroughly, pantingly sated.
That she affirmed she did not wish to marry him chafed. That he had brought her with him without even asking whether she agreed, chafed, too. But he had travelled to London to find her, and he did. He found a Scotswoman, member of a considerable clan, whom he had— No choice other than marriage, right?
He dared not consider the alternative. Dared not even question why he spent the effort to drag her north.
“And miss the opportunity to see the fabled McKendrick’s horseflesh?” A tilt of her head and a brief grin told of temptations not resisted. “When I saw that advertisement, I could think of nothing else. I nagged my mother until she yielded.” Her eyes flew to the cool drizzle outside the carriage.
“But your mother allowed you to go home to the McTavish,” he emphasised.
“A small white lie that would have been meaningless if we—if I—” Embarrassed, her gaze lowered to her hands on her lap.
“If summer hadn’t been so hot,” he helped with a mischievous glint.
The double entendre did not escape his wife-to-be. Her delectable mouth twitched. “That, too.”
His greedy eyes drank her in, his wife-to-be, yes. And why the fact caused his chest to puff, he did not fathom. Did not even admit it. “Come here, Catriona,” he commanded in a hoarse tone, the determination not to touch her flying into the drizzle.
That appetising tongue of hers darted to moisten her lips as pink washed her satiny skin. The woman was turning him inside out and not for the first time.
Several seconds elapsed with their gazes fixed on one another. At last, she moved, aided by his strong arms that brought her to straddle him; he thanked her wide skirts for the favour. She came willing, twining her arms around his shoulders, merging her fingers in his hair, rubbing her face lightly on his firm jaw.
“Your stubble really is…hm,” she delighted in a murmur.
“You like it?” he rasped, and cooperated, grazing it along her throat.
“Oh, yes.” Her head bent to give him ampler access.
“Where?” Unfortunately, the skin exposed by her tailored jacket was insufficient.
“You have no idea.” One of her hands slid down and pried entrance through his neckline.
“Try me.” He nibbled at the pulse on her neck.
“That day in the loch…”
“Ah, there!” And he did not mean the picturesque place, but a certain spot on her person. The image of her exploding with his caresses got him on the edge.
He raised his head and captured her ripe mouth. They kissed with days’ worth of craving. It spread in them like wildfire as she rubbed on him from chest to pubic bone. Her eager fingers infiltrated through the buttons of his shirt to tease him.
“I missed you, Catriona,” he drawled.
Their mouths fused anew, hungrier, while his hands palmed her buttocks.
“Fingal,” she moaned and moved to collect her skirts.
