She stared at him, heat rising in her chest, not the kind born of attraction but of sheer frustration. “That’s it? Saints, do ye ever use more than one word?”
Robert leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. His voice dropped low, steady. “Ye said ye wanted to ken me, Scarlett. Now, ye’ve learned something, I’m nae a man who spills his life like a book for ye to read.”
Her cheeks flushed hot. “Then what in God’s name are we doing sitting here? Ye demanded five nights from me, aye? And when I ask for something in return, when I ask for a scrap of honesty, ye shut yerself up like a stone wall!”
He stood then towered over her where she sat. He turned toward the door, ready to leave.
Scarlett shot up, “Do nae walk out on me!” she snapped, stepping into his path. “I’m not finished.”
He looked down at her. “Ye forget who commands in this marriage.”
“I forget nae,” she spat back. “But I’m nae a soldier in yer yard to take orders. I’m yer wife. And I willnae be treated like some concubine ye call on when it suits ye.”
His nostrils flared. “Ye think this is about suiting me? Lass, it’s duty. Clan before comfort. Heir before pleasure. That’s what it means to be McLaren.”
Scarlett’s laugh was bitter. “Then what am I? Nothing but a vessel for yer heir?”
He stepped in close, so close she had to tilt her head back to keep her glare on him. “A wife,” he growled. “Mine.”
Scarlett’s pulse thundered, her chest rising and falling fast. “Ye’re impossible,” she hissed. “Insufferable…”
His hand caught her jaw, tilting her face up, and his mouth came down on hers with no finesse, no hesitation, just raw need.
Scarlett gasped against him, her fists thudding against his chest, but instead of pushing him away, she gripped hard, anchoring herself. His kiss was rough, and his teeth caught her lip, his tongue claiming her with a hunger that rattled her bones.
She whimpered, half in protest, half in surrender. His other hand slid down her spine, dragging her flush against him. She felt the rigid line of his arousal through his trousers, hard and unyielding against her belly. The shock of it stole her breath, and heat pooled low in her body.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and her nails bit through his linen. “Robert–” she gasped when he broke for air, only to have his mouth seize hers again, deeper and harsher.
Her moan vibrated against his lips, betraying her. His growl answered it, the sound low and crude, sending a shiver through her thighs. He kissed her throat next, his breath scalding her skin.
Scarlett tilted her head back, eyes fluttering shut, torn between fury and want. “Ye cannae ignore me all day and then…” Her voice hitched when his teeth scraped her collarbone. “…and then kiss me like this.”
His reply was a rasp against her flesh. “I’ll take ye when I choose.”
"Ye daenae get to decide when I matter," she whispered.
Robert went still. He didn't pull back. He just stopped, his lips pressed against the heat of her neck, his breath heavy against her skin. The silence stretched, tight and fragile. He held himself there as if that one word, matter, had snagged in his throat.
Then he stepped back. One slow, agonizing pace at a time. He looked like a man pulling himself out of deep water, lungs burning, his eyes dark with a frustration she couldn't name.
Scarlett swayed where she stood, clutching at her skirts to keep her hands from reaching for him again.
His voice came out rasped. “I’ll see ye on our next night.”
She blinked, stunned. He turned, striding to the door. His hand paused on the latch just long enough to throw one last look at her lips, swollen and damp from his kiss. “Five nights for ye, Scarlett. Then five for me. Remember that.”
And then he was gone, leaving her trembling, furious, and shamefully wet with want.
Scarlett pressed her hands to her mouth, biting back the sound that wanted to escape. Her body still hummed with the taste of him, her skin prickled with the ghost of his touch, and her belly ached for something she hated herself for craving.
She slumped onto the bed, whispering to the empty chamber, “Saints preserve me. What in God’s name have I gotten meself into?”
CHAPTER NINE
Robert’s solar was littered with parchment, with maps unfurled across the desk like the battlefield of his own mind. He sat stiff in his chair, and his eyes fixed on a column of figures though he’d read the same line thrice and still could not recall it. All he could see was her face, lips parted under his, and the taste of her still clinging like a curse.
Damn me.
