Page 22 of Highland Storm

It wasn’t unheard of that a woman should expect to pay for a man’s protection with her body, and Lianae might have been willing to do so if that’s what it came down to. Maybe. That’s how cold she was! The simple fact that she had never been put in such a position was more a testament to the respect her father commanded, even from the grave… but this man had no idea who Lianae was, and still he was pushing her away—as though the feel of her somehow repulsed him. That made little sense—not after the way he’d treated her last night.

Shifting beneath the covers, Lianae turned to face her would-be captor, remembering suddenly that he had not taken the least offense to her barb about his biting pillows. “Are ye no’ fond of women?” she asked, nonplussed.

Hearing her question, Keane nearly choked.

Bloody hell. The scent of her had him so hard at the instant that he daren’t allow the girl any closer. For both their sakes, he held her an arm’s length away.

Blinking innocently, she stared at him, waiting for his answer—but nay, demanding one, if the truth be known—and Keane marveled that she could ask such a question with the evidence that lay between them.

But, of course, how could she know?

Her brows furrowed prettily. There were no aspersions meant, he realized and the look in her eyes seemed quite sincere. She wished to know if he preferred men, and he had half a mind to lean forward and kiss her senseless as his answer. But there was a certain innocence in her eyes that belied the impudent question.

Swallowing with some difficulty, well aware that his camp was now rising, and that his men were all casting curious glances in their direction, Keane found himself staring helplessly into the girl’s uisge gold eyes.

Gold, with a ringlet of green, they were the most enchanting pair of eyes Keane had ever seen. She was lovely, and unlike Lilidbrugh, with the morning light, she was twice as beautiful as the night before, with dark golden-red brows that were perfectly arched over almond-shaped eyes. Her skin… reminded Keane of rose petals… soft and unblemished. And those sulky lips… they were the color of ripe rowan berries in fall—albeit slightly chapped for the weather. It made him yearn to soothe them with his tongue. But that bruise on her cheek… it was darker now, and the sight of it successfully cooled his ardor.

She was still waiting, confusion nestled in her lovely eyes, and although Keane realized she didn’t mean to, she leaned into the hand he had splayed between them beneath the covers, testing his uncertain barrier.

“Ach, lass, I am quite fond of women,” Keane reassured her. And then it was the most difficult thing he’d ever had to say, “Now, please, get out of my bed.”

It wasn’t simply the cold he knew he would regret.

The lass blinked in surprise, and if the confusion weren’t already evident in her eyes, he saw it now tenfold. “You want me to get out?”

Keane nodded a bit awkwardly, half shaking his head, as she continued to lean against the hand he had splayed between them. The curve of her belly teased him mercilessly and he craved naught more than to slide his hand down and explore the delicious cleft between her thighs… and deeper, the soft folds of flesh he wanted to taste as urgently as he did her lips.

Nay, he didn’t want her to get up, but it was past time for both of them to rise—well past time for his old chap to lie down for a rest. Blood simmered through his veins, undermining his resolve...

Now?” she asked, and Keane groaned inwardly. Were it any other moment… had he not a company of soldiers watching… if she hadn’t sounded quite so much like an innocent—or mayhap if she weren’t gazing at him with that sweet look of gratitude… as though she might wish to repay him for his good will…

And yet, despite all his reservations, he let her ease into his space, craving the feel of her warm, sweet body pressed against his own.

He wanted to kiss her, he did.

More than anything...

And those lips, they seemed to beg for proof of his desire. Ach, god, he wanted her more than any lass he’d ever craved—even more than Meara that first day. By the stone, he could warm an entire village with the heat emanating from his loins.

She moved closer yet, leaning her face into his, and Keane cursed, if only to himself, finding his resolve weakened. He tried to will himself to speak—to warn her to get up—now, before he lost his head… but she puckered her sweet mouth just a bit, and he growled deep in his throat.

Just one kiss?

There was little chance he would simply take her here and now, surrounded by all his greedy-eyed men, and yet if the lass wanted him to kiss her… who was he to deny her?

Keane reached out to touch her cheek…

And this time, Lianae didn’t push him away.

It was in that instant Lianae realized what she must do.

The answer to all her prayers came to her as she stared into Keane’s bold green eyes… It wasn’t as though she would trap him into wedding her… The king would never allow it, for this man was but a lowly border guard, with a handsome face and a kindly disposition. And yet he was far more like the man she had envisioned losing her virginity to—nothing like the Earl. And the more she considered it, the more she realized it was the right thing to do…

She wasn’t wholly unwise to the ways of the world. Virginity was only a boon if one wished to wed a king, and even then it wasn’t all it was said to be. Her mother had certainly never complained a day in her life.

Kissing this man, embracing him to her bosom… it was not the worst thing that could happen to her by far, for then, if they should happen to catch her, she could tell the auld lecher Earl she was ruined, that another man had claimed her long before him. His prickly English pride would never allow him to accept another man’s leftovers, and he would repudiate her before kith and kin—most assuredly before his king. And then mayhap she would be free to wed no one at all.

He wanted to kiss her.