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In response, her arms locked around his broad shoulders, her knees bent to cradle him while she gave herself unreservedly to him. They were a splash of tartans on the faded carpet even as she arched into the wall of his muscles, demanding relief but gaining only more despair. Especially because now she felt the iron ridge of him pressing against her core where she felt famished and tortured.
“Lachlan,” she groaned as her body twisted, ground, and rolled all over him.
Her voice seemed to pluck him out of a haze. He propped on his elbows and put a horrible distance between them. The whimper she emitted said it all.
“Moira,” the softness of his voice almost soothed her. Almost.
He rained tender kisses on her brow, her cheeks, her chin, the tip of her nose. “Shh, it’s okay.” He rained infinitely more kisses.
Her entire frame sagged on the carpet with a frustrated sigh. Her eyes closed, trying to resurface to reality. They had to stop, of course they must. What was she thinking? If he had been the womaniser she believed him to be, he would have taken advantage of her, taken what was on offer without a second thought. He did not though. And that surprised her more than anything.
He stood up and extended his hand. On the floor, her eyes travelled up his hoses, his solid knees, and the green, black and white tartan that widened where the wool tented. She wanted so much to discover what the wool hid.
“If you continue looking at me like this, I won’t be able to behave honourably.” His voice was hoarse, his coffee irises blazing.
Sod honourable, her blood screamed!
Despite his honour, she allowed herself the pleasure to appreciate his flat abdomen, broad chest, and large shoulders under his white shirt, unhurriedly meeting his gaze.
At last, her hand clasped on his and he pulled her to her feet. They looked at each other and the air sizzled anew.
As if her hand burned him, he dropped it and headed for the door, nearly yanking the it from its hinges as he opened it to yell for the butler. When Murray materialised seconds later, Lachlan ordered a bath to her chambers.
“Come,” he called.
In a daze, she accompanied him to her chamber and then he proceeded to his.
What the blasting hell just happened? Lachlan wondered as he paced his chambers like a caged beast.
The moment he touched her face, he realized he’d been a fool. He wished to help her, take care of her. But his mind fobbed him with self-deceiving mastery. After that, he barely kept his mind clear, all his blood rushing down and he abjectly obeyed his impulses. His base, out-of-control impulses.
And her response, goddammit! The lass was as explosive as gunpowder. She did nothing short of inflaming him. And he would have burned to ashes had he not forced himself to a halt before any damage ensued.
No other woman ever did this to him. They mostly offered, he mostly took, choosing the ones with no strings attached. They enjoyed a good time, and that was that.
Incineration with a mere kiss? Ludicrous! Only it took place not half an hour ago, with him, no less. The lass proved to be pure fire. And the single thought that sprouted in his mind was that he wanted her ashes, all of it. As often as possible, as dark as possible. As dishonourable as possible.
But no. This temporary situation must end as it started. With no other consequences than what it intended. He must stay on the alert not to fall again, because if he did, it would be total perdition. Hell, it would be a delicious perdition.
The best way of dealing with it was to forget it. If only he could. Those kisses branded him. Thoroughly. Inexorably.
Moira and Lachlan walked side by side to the courtyard where they summoned the clan to deal with what happened in the fields.
In silence.
As they had been most of that week while they finished re-sowing the fields.
As they had been since the stupid incident in the study.
Stupid, yes. As for incident, Moira doubted seriously. Incident implied a minor event. The event proved to be anything but minor.
It was full of explosion, irrationality. Danger.
Everything she dreamed of, only amplified a thousand times. She would never forget the taste of his mouth, the bristles of his stubble, the scent of his skin, or the tautness of his body. She had merely to close her eyes to relive every single second with alarming vividness. Remembering everything she wanted to do to him and fantasised of him doing to her.
The sheer collision of their bodies astounded, and yet left a gnawing void she yearned to fill, refill and refill some more.
She was no naïve ninny, she knew what went on between a man and a woman. She dealt in farming, for pity’s sake. Heard other women who had more freedom and leisure than her. Heard of their escapades as they had no obligation to be untouched for the sake of clan intermarriage and alliances.
