Page 373 of Wicked Highland Heroes

She tightened her grip on his shoulders. “This—” she breathed. “I cannot think.” Victoria pushed at him, and he lifted his head to look at her. “You…you are angry.” She realized an urge to cry…and the need to have him wrap his arms around her. “You only wish to punish me.”

“Angry?” he repeated. “Aye, I am angry—angry that your foolish pride nearly took you from me. As for punishment, I am the one who has suffered these past weeks. But no more.” He looked hard at her. “You want me.” His tone, somehow so sure, elicited a shiver.

“I—I do not know.” She shook her head as much out of an effort to clear her mind as to discourage him. And perhaps deny the truth?

She opened her mouth to deny the unbidden thought, but Iain kissed her. His hands worked at the laces of her bodice. The cloth parted and his head dipped to take a nipple between his lips. Vague awareness that his hand was again rucking up her skirt rang a dull bell in her head. She moved beneath him, but escape became a muddled thought with the warmth of his knee wedging itself between her thighs.

Another instant, and his kilt came up, their bodies now in intimate contact. He gripped her legs and urged her knees up in a motion that was gentler than expected. Iain settled between her thighs, and her fingers curved into his shoulders when a wave of dizziness overtook her.

Iain groaned, shaking her from the trance, and she realized his body was seeking entrance into hers. He probed, the hard length of him pressing against her. Drawing back, he reached between them to part the moist folds that barred his way. Victoria flinched at the intimate touch. He responded with gentle kisses along her cheek and throat, then once again found the rosy bud of her breast with his mouth. Reality slipped from her, and Iain surged, seating himself firmly inside.

Victoria stilled. There had been no pain as expected. Instead, her body adjusted to the sudden invasion with ease. Iain kissed the valley between her breasts and slid his hand upward to cup her face. He captured her eyes with his, holding her there for a long moment before covering her mouth in a languorous kiss.

Iain eased out of her, then back again with practiced precision. Victoria braced against expected pain. His thrusts quickened, and when his hips banged against her she was reminded of the day before when she’d watched him crushing rocks. She sensed the control in his movements and trembled in response to the power she knew he kept at bay.

“All is well, love,” he whispered as though he understood her fear. “All is…well—forgive me, sweet,” he rasped. “I cannot—” his movements became frenzied.

His arms wound around her shoulders and he pumped wildly into her. An unexpected wave of pleasure coursed through her. Panic gripped her at the unfamiliar sensation. She tried moving, but Iain held her so tight she couldn’t move. Another wave, and she felt the quiver increase. Another, and then another, but before she could grasp the meaning, Iain gave one last thrust, emptying himself into her.

They lay, their hearts moving in furious rhythm together. What had she done? How had she allowed this to happen…and how was it possible she had found pleasure? Her heartbeat slowed. Iain lifted himself onto his elbows and stared down at her. Victoria was glad for the shadows. She feared what she might read in his face. Or was it what he might read in hers?

He brushed aside locks of hair that lay askew on her forehead. “I suppose—”

The sound of approaching horses jerked his head up. He cursed and jumped up, pulling her with him. The cold of the night engulfed Victoria, and she felt as though someone had doused her with a bucket of icy water.

“Christ,” Iain muttered, and Victoria glanced down to see her bodice still lay open.

She reached for the ties, but her hands shook so badly he shoved them aside and made quick work of the job himself. He hustled her to where the horse stood some feet away and hoisted her into the saddle.

Iain mounted even as his men arrived.

“They are long gone,” one reported.

Victoria felt Iain’s fingers tighten around the reins.

“Not surprising,” he muttered. “Seeing as they left their package behind.”

* * *

The village was abed, the excitement of the lass’s kidnapping finally abated, and Iain headed for her room in the small inn. It was near dawn, but he had no intention of waking up without her.

He entered the dark bedchamber and made his way to the table in the corner. Iain lit a candle, then crossed to the bed. Gazing down at her, hair spilled across her shoulders and onto the white cover that surrounded her, Iain’s body responded to the sweet picture. They had come a long way since that simple kiss yesterday. Iain smiled. Perhaps now was the time to teach her the finer points of a proper kiss. He strode to the corner and pulled off his boots. She stirred and he paused. When she didn’t wake, Iain unwound his breacan and tossed it over a chair.

He returned to the bed, placed a hand on either side of her, bent, and brushed the whisper of a kiss across her lips. Her eyes fluttered open and focused on him. With a small cry, she clutched the blanket to her and shrank against the pillows.

“Shh, love, ’tis just me,” Iain soothed, running his fingers along her arm.

“What are you doing here?” She scanned the room as if expecting to find a specter lurking in the shadows.

“You think I would spend the night away from you?” Iain eased into the bed beside her. “I would not have you think me a man who would take his pleasure and forget his duty,” he said, knowing full well his pleasure had been the very thing on his mind.

Her eyes widened as he drew her to him. His body rumbled at the feel of her. Gently, he brought his lips to hers, but kept the embrace feather light, stroking her with his tongue. Her mouth parted just enough to allow the entrance he desired, and Iain detected a small tremor in response to his light sparring.

He slid a hand beneath the blanket and covered a breast. Her gasp urged him to knead the soft flesh before rolling a taut nipple between his fingers. Her grip on the blanket relaxed and Iain tugged it free.

She reached for the cover.

“Nay, love.” Iain eased her back. “You need not feel ashamed, ’tis only you and I.”