Page 26 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

The sensation shot through her like lightning. Not pain—something else entirely. Something that made her want to lean into his touch instead of pulling away. Her father's hands had only ever brought fear. Edmund's had promised possession. But David's...

David's hands feel different. Safe. Gentle. Like he actually cares.

"Stop," she whispered, though the word lacked conviction even to her own ears.

"Dae ye really want me tae?" His voice was low, intimate in the darkness.

No. God help me, no.

The realization terrified her more than anything that had happened that day. She didn't want him to stop. She wanted him to keep touching her, wanted to feel those calloused fingers work away every knot, every fear, every memory of hands that had hurt instead of healed.

She broke off as his hand moved lower, following the line of her spine. "You promised you wouldn't touch me."

But even as she said it, she felt herself softening, her body betraying every wall she'd tried to build between them.

The warmth of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of her chemise, and she had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound that would reveal just how much his touch affected her.

He paused, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Well. I promised other things. But I didnae promise nae tae touch ye at all. That would be a rather difficult promise tae keep, considerin' we're sharin' a bed."

"It’s a favor." The words came out in a rush. "I'm using a favor to make you get off this bed right now."

His hand stilled. "Are ye sure?"

She didn’t reply.

"Sharin' a bed with me is really so terrible?"

"Yes!"

"Even though I'm nae goin' tae hurt ye? Even though all I'm daein' is helpin' ye relax?"

"You're not helping me relax." She couldn't admit what his touch was doing to her. How her skin felt too hot, too tight. How every place he touched seemed to burn.

"I'm what?" His voice dropped lower, taking on an edge that made her shiver. "Tell me, lass. What am I daein' tae ye?"

"Nothing."

"That's nae an answer." His hand moved again, sliding from her back to her hip. "What would ye dae if I touched ye here?"

"David."

"Or here?" His fingers found the curve of her waist, barely grazing the skin through the thin fabric.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldnae I?" She could hear the challenge in his voice. Feel the warmth of his breath against her neck as he leaned closer. "Ye're me wife, Elinor. Me wife. That gives me certain rights."

"Rights that I'm telling you not to exercise."

"But ye havenae used yer favor yet. Nae really." His hand splayed across her stomach, warm and solid through the chemise. "Ye started tae. But then I asked if ye were sure. And ye didnae answer."

Elinor's breath caught. His hand was heavy on her stomach, his body a line of heat at her back. Every instinct told her to pull away. To use the favor and make him sleep on the floor where he couldn't touch her, couldn't make her feel things she didn't want to feel.

But another part of her, a part she didn't want to acknowledge, wanted him to keep touching her. Wanted to know what would happen if she let herself relax into his warmth instead of fighting it.

"This is yer last chance," David stated, his voice rough. "Dae ye want tae use one of yer favors just tae make me sleep on the floor? Or would ye rather save it fer somethin' that matters more?"

"This does matter."