Page 126 of Dark Seduction

Claire’s heart ached. “I have family at home—my cousin, her two kids. Who will protect them if I don’t?” She added hoarsely, “And I make Malcolm weak.”

“’Tis yer duty to defend yer kin. But Claire? Ye made Malcolm strong t’ day.” He smiled at her. “If ye need me, ye summon me. I’ll hear.”

CLAIRE RETURNED to the hall and found it empty. Her father had gone outside for some air. Claire knew he was traveling down memory lane and that he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. She hesitated, desperately wanting to be with Malcolm now. She hated the look she’d put in his eyes and on his face. She hated hurting him, but there wasn’t any other choice.

She hurried up the stairs. The door to the chamber was open and Malcolm sat before the hearth, staring into the flames. The moment she came to the door, he looked up, smiling sadly. He stood. “Did ye have a pleasin’conversation with yer father?”

Claire nodded. “I can’t stand seeing you so sad,” she whispered.

“Then dinna leave.”

Claire wanted to cry. If ye love him, if ye truly do, ye’ll leave when it’s time. “I have a duty, Malcolm, just like you.”

“Then stay a year—I’ll teach ye t’ fight. Ye need skills, Claire,” he said urgently.

If she stayed a year, she’d never leave. “When I was on Iona, speaking privately to MacNeil, I asked about the future. He said I’d succeed.”

Malcolm inhaled. Their gazes held, locked. She heard his heart beating, slow but strong.

“I want to make love to ye, Claire.”

Claire cried out. He was telling her that he loved her, damn it. “That’s not fair.”

He walked over to her, his gray eyes reflecting anguish. “Ye’ve wanted me to say it fer some time now. I want to make love. I want to show ye how I feel with me body, in bed.”

Claire couldn’t speak. Malcolm loved her. He was wrapping her in his arms and she grasped his shoulders, laying her cheek on his strong chest. His mouth moved over her hair, her ear, slowly, softly, sweetly. She shuddered, the sorrow easing, her hurting heart racing with far different feelings instead. He cupped her face and tilted it up. That tenderness shimmered in his eyes.

Claire realized she was starting to cry. He lowered his face and brushed his mouth against hers.

Love vibrated in the caress of lips. His tongue finally touched the seam. “Open,” he whispered. “Let me fill ye, lass, all o’ ye.”

Claire wanted nothing more and she opened her mouth for him, releasing the muscles of her thighs, too. His tongue swept in, slow and soft. He bent his knees and his engorged penis swept up against the length of her sex.

He unpinned the brooch and tossed her brat aside. Her leine quickly followed. Claire was wearing only the fifteenth-century drawers. Briefly, he cupped her through the slit, gazing into her eyes. The light of his grief was still there, but she saw silver heat rising. As he slid them down, she stepped awkwardly out of her boots, looking from his strong, scarred hand up to his strained, scarred face. Desire, affection, even love were mirrored there, in every taut tendon, every angle, and in his beautiful gray eyes.

He sank to his knees and spread her throbbing lips, gently easing his tongue against her. Claire gasped, all of her anguish vanishing. There was no room now in her mind for thought. There was only need and the promise of so much pleasure. There was only love.

She wasn’t sure if it was hers—or his.

HE HAD NEVER known such intense feeling—joy, despair, affection, loyalty, love—and he knew he never would again. He lifted Claire and carried her to the bed, overcome with far more than desire. He could not find the beast he’d left chained in his chest. It felt as if it was gone forever.

But hadn’t he heard someone say, once, that love healed all wounds?

“Hurry,” Claire breathed. Her eyes were hot and bright.

Malcolm stripped off his belt and leine. “Ye said ye want me slow. I want to take ye slow, Claire, too.” It was the truth. Although he was so engorged he was close to coming, he wanted to worship her body for an eternity, if she would only stay.

“I lied,” she managed to say, restlessly shifting for him in an ageless invitation. “I want you hot and hard, and I want you now.”

A savage sense of elation began. He straddled her and clasped her hair behind her nape. “Yer so strong an’ so beautiful…an’ ye belong to me, Claire,” he said flatly. “An’ dinna think to argue now!”

Her response stunned him. “I’ll always belong to you,” Claire said thickly. Tears filled her eyes. He lurked easily and was pleased, because she meant it. “I’m glad you’re a chauvinist,” she whispered.

“Yer glad I’m a powerful man,” he returned, and the bargain done, he slowly filled her, inch by orgasmic inch, refusing to thrust quickly or deeply.

And Claire was coming before he was done.

He held her in his arms, murmuring in her ear, stroking long and slow and deep. As they made love, his excitement escalated, and as he started to reach for her, just to stroke her soul, he began to realize the black beast was truly gone. Deep inside, he touched her power, her essence, her life. There was so much beauty. All thought vanished, except for one. I love ye, lass.