Page 226 of Wicked Highland Heroes

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Rhoslyn froze when St. Claire’s lips touched hers. She held her breath, suddenly uncertain what to do. She felt like that fifteen-year-old virgin who had awaited Alec in his bed on their wedding night. But Alec’s lips hadn’t felt so...full. She shivered. The tense muscle of his arm beneath her fingers belied the gentle brush of his lips against hers—and the thick bulge beneath her buttocks. His arms tightened around her and she knew an instant of panic.

He broke the kiss and buried his face in her hair. “You need never fear me, Lady Rhoslyn. As long as I live, you need never fear anyone.”

Tears sprang to her eyes with a sting she hadn’t felt since Dougal died. Rhoslyn willed her emotions into subjection. She was being childish. What reason had she to cry?

St. Claire drew back. His gaze moved across her face and he gently brushed aside the wet locks that clung to her cheeks. His eyes then locked with hers.

“Am I so terrible? Can you not forgive me for what my brother did, or is it that you will never be able to stomach an Englishman touching you?”

His fingers rested on her left cheek, warm, gentle...

Rhoslyn could only shake her head.

His gaze sharpened. “Are you saying you cannot stand my touch?”

“Nay,” she blurted.

His brows dove downward.

“I mean, nay, that is no’ what I am saying.”

“Then I am not repulsive?” he asked.

She scowled. “Ye are teasing me.”

“Am I?”

“You know full well you are a beautiful man.”

Amusement warmed his eyes. “Beautiful? I have not heard that.”

“Ye are no’ a very good liar, St. Claire. You know you are a braw man.”

“Beautiful and braw,” he said. “That is a good thing, then?”

“I imagine no woman ever kicked ye out of her bed.”

His eyes darkened. “Including you?”

Her breath caught. “You are my husband.”

“Aye, but we spoke of this already. I will not force you.”

“If I turned you away, ye would go?”

“I would ask at least for a son,” he replied. “Perhaps also a daughter.”

Her heart began a fast beat.

“Would that be so terrible?” he asked.

Staring into his dark eyes, it seemed as if giving him sons and daughters would be the most natural thing in the world. Didn’t a wife want to give her husband children? She shivered.

He lifted a brow. “I am remiss in my duty, my lady. You are sitting on my lap and still not warm.”

“Nay,” she began, but he rose with her in his arms and strode to the bed. Her pulse raced. He ducked between the curtains and laid her on crisp, clean sheets.