Page 61 of Taken By the Savage Highlander

“Aye, I think that he was tryin’ to absolve himself from some sort of guilt,” Cameron said, moving closer to her, making the distance between them disappear inch by inch. He could see her pulling away, a flimsy attempt to shut him out. “But ye care more about me answer to yer first question, daenae ye?”

That seemed to give her pause. Her shoulders stiffened, her back straightening even further. Every single one of her senses was attuned to him. His own were a mirror, reflecting Margo’s desperate need for his words.

“Ye asked if I would still be here if there was nae a deal, not before, but now,” Cameron said, taking another step toward her. The air between them seemed to crackle with unresolved tension. Her lips parted as her breath stuttered. “Now, I would burn every page of that agreement meself.”

“Cameron…” she whispered.

It was almost enough to break him. The space between them was practically gone now. He smelled the rosewater that had been dabbed behind her ears. He felt the way the air shifted around her with each breath she took.

“Do ye ken what has tormented me since the day ye arrived?” he rasped, the force of his truth seeming to shake the walls harder than any storm ever could. If she had even a shadow of a doubt about who had demanded the heir, he had to tell her everything. “I cannae let meself disrespect ye by forcin’ ye into anythin’.”

When he stopped to swallow around the tangle of repressed emotion in his throat, Margo nodded. Her eyes were wide. She seemed to sense that if she said anything, he would not be able to continue.

“I saw the way me mother suffered in her marriage with me father. It was arranged, she had no choice in the matter, and eventually it killed her. She was a good wife, a dutiful wife. But she had nothin’ to show for herself at the end,” he said, his entire body feeling like an open wound. “And me sister… Fiona saw what our mother went through. She chose to walk into the sea rather than be damned to a life of duty with a man she dinnae choose.”

For a long moment, there was no sound in the chambers aside from Cameron’s heavy breathing and the soft crackle of the fire burning low in the hearth. Margo stayed firmly in place, not frozen by the admission, but processing what everything meant. As soon as he saw pity in her gaze, his anger attempted to flare.

“This isnae about what I have gone through,” he warned, because it wasn’t. “I have made peace with the pain of me losses. It is nothin’ like the pain me mother and me sister experienced. And I refuse to make another person, another woman, feel that kind of pain.”

“Cameron,” she said, reaching out to him.

He stopped her, taking hold of her wrist just before her fingertips brushed against his chest. Her cheeks were flushed, and he knew that he would not be able to control himself around her much longer.

Cameron’s touch burned around her wrist, but it did not feel like a shackle. Even with the swiftness he had snatched her hands; his grip was never confining. Though he had taken her from her home and agreed to her father’s terms, she had never felt trapped.

I was foolish to think he proposed the stipulation.

“Cameron.” It seemed as though his name was the only thing that she could say. Nothing else encapsulated every emotion, every thought that was running through her mind.

Her voice, her prayer, her pleading, seemed to break something in him. With an almost bruising force, he surged forward and captured her mouth with his. His hold on her shifted. He dropped her wrist, and his large palm found its new home on her waist.

Margo gasped into his mouth, her mind stilling as she registered what was happening. Half a second later her brain understood that Cameron was kissing her like a starving man; her lips moved against his. Her head tilted to the side, her arms wrapped around his neck.

Margo’s entire body buzzed with the sensation. All of her doubts, all of the tiptoeing around her true feelings, fizzled away. This was right. This was where she belonged.

When Cameron broke away a few seconds later, her arms tightened around his neck. She was panting, pressing herself against him in a way that felt shameful in its bluntness. Though his fingers twitched on her hips, he didn’t let go of her.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice ragged between his uneven breaths, “and I will. If ye tell me to leave, I will leave.”

“I am not telling you to stop,” she said, her stomach swooping with the thrill of the admission. Her desire for him, now that she had let it be truly felt, seemed to only grow, spreading like a fire through a dry forest.

“Ye should,” he growled before kissing her again.

This time, she was prepared when his lips met hers. Keeping up with him was a hopeless endeavor, but she was ready to receive him, to let him give her everything that he had to offer. She wanted all of it, even if she could not quite articulate what “all of it” meant.

She tasted the faint, woody hint of whisky that did nothing to mask the overwhelming sensation that was him. Even his kisses felt like strength and restraint all wrapped together. The contradiction was infuriating. It made her feel delirious with pure craving.

One of her hands threaded through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, anchoring herself to him. She felt as if she might float away, her chest swelling with affection, a fondness toward Cameron that she rarely let herself acknowledge and could no longer be ignored. She was sure he could tell just how deep her feelings ran.

Just as the heat between them grew into something absolutely unbearable, Margo was spun around. Cameron never broke the kiss, continuing to devour her as he walked her backward to the bed. It wasn’t until her calves hit the mattress that he stopped.

His hands began to roam, then. As his mouth worked against hers, he dragged his hand up her side, his fingertips burning through the fabric of her gown. It felt as though her entire body was lighting up from the inside out.

“Tell me ye want to be mine,” Cameron rasped, his voice so much deeper than before. “Tell me ye want me to claim every inch of ye.”

“I want you to,” she said, meaning it in every sense of the phrase. “I am yours.”

A strangled, hungry sound rumbled deep in his chest. He laid her down, fast, firm and decisive. As he pushed her skirt up, his callused palm slid against her soft, untouched skin. His free hand found the swell of her breast, squeezing the supple flesh and intensifying the subtle pressure that was building between her legs.