Highlander Unchained (29 page)

His eyes shuttered, and he hesitated a moment too long. “I told you before that I cared for you.”

He swept his finger along her jaw in a soothing caress, but she turned her head away.

He doesn’t trust me,
she realized.
And maybe I don’t completely trust him.
Not enough to risk her future or, she feared, her heart.

She felt the bond they’d just shared unraveling. “No,” she said tonelessly. “I won’t marry you.”

Incredulity warred with the sudden flare of anger that appeared on his face. “But you agreed.”

She lifted her chin. “I did no such thing. You asked me if I understood the consequences. I did. I do.”

“You gave yourself to me.” The hard look in his piercing blue eyes sent a chill through her bones. “You are ruined.”

She flinched. Never had she more resented that term. It seemed to sully everything about what they’d just shared. “I hardly think my loss of virginity will be a bar to finding a husband. Not that I would mind if it did.”

Something pained flickered in his gaze before anger smothered it. The fingers caressing her jaw stopped and held firmly. “Am I to understand that you were using me for your own ends, Flora?” His voice was deceptively calm, though nothing had ever felt so dangerous. “To make yourself less appealing as a bride, perhaps?”

She couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed her mind, but she never would have given herself to him for that alone. She shook her head. “That was not my intent. No more than you were using me for your own, I’m sure.” He held perfectly still. He might have masked his reaction, but there had been one.

Had she simply wounded his pride by refusing, or was there something more? She didn’t want to hurt him, but she needed to be sure that his motives for wanting her were what they appeared—surety that so far he’d been unable to provide. But there was no denying the magic of what had just occurred between them. Magic that she didn’t want to lose in unwarranted suspicion.

She held the wrist of the hand on her face and leaned up to place a tender kiss on his lips. “Please, don’t be angry. I don’t want to let this misunderstanding ruin the beauty of what just happened. Your honor is intact. I came to you willingly, and with full understanding of the consequences. I would do so again, if you asked.”

Lachlan couldn’t believe it.
What could she be thinking?
He didn’t want her as his leman, but as his wife. He bit back a crude retort and the spur of anger unleashed by her refusal.

Did she think him simply a stud, good enough to fuck but not refined enough to marry? He’d never asked a woman to be his wife before. And never had he anticipated a refusal, let alone one that would sting so badly. Coming as it was on the heels of the most incredible sexual encounter of his life. Making love to Flora had been unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Deep. Raw. Powerful. Life-changing.

It was as though he’d waited his entire life for something he hadn’t even known was missing. And now that he’d found her, he sure as hell wouldn’t let her go. Not without a fight. She belonged to him, she just didn’t know it yet.

They’d made love. She’d given him her innocence, he had every right to expect that she would marry him. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have a choice. But he couldn’t be sure that Rory would compel her to marry him, even now. Nor did he want to force a marriage between them that way—not if there was a chance he could convince her.

And he intended to do just that.

He ran his finger down her collarbone and over the lush tip of her bare breast. Her nipple tightened immediately. He’d prove to her that despite their different backgrounds, they were alike in the only way that mattered.

“No one else will ever make you feel like this.”

She eyed him warily, the soft flush of desire working its way across her body as fingers skimmed the soft naked velvet of her belly to reach between her legs and probe her intimately. She was wet and soft and responded to his touch with a sensuous press of her hips. He loved the way she closed her eyes and squeezed her legs against his hand.

He surrendered to the sultry haze for just a moment, reveling in the completeness of her response. Leaning over, he gave her a hard kiss on the lips and slid his finger from her damp heat. His body, stirred by her response, throbbed its objection.

Her eyes opened in surprise at the swift curtailment of pleasure.

But if he had to wait, so would she. “Not again, Flora. I won’t make love to you until you agree to be my wife.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “That was a rotten trick.”

He shrugged, not disagreeing. “I would do right by you this instant. Say the word and I will give you more pleasure than you can stand.”

She turned away, her long blond hair spilling over his plaid like a silky golden veil. He wanted her so much, it hurt. Her continued refusal—her rejection—gnawed at him. As did another possibility.

He took her chin and turned her back to face him. “And what if there is a child, Flora?” he said, his voice deceptively flat. “What of that consequence?”

She let out a small gasp of surprise. Her hands unconsciously covered her naked stomach.

“Apparently you did not consider all of the ramifications.”

“I’m s-sure the likelihood is small,” she stammered.

“If there is a child, you will marry me, even if I have to drag you to the door of the kirk myself. Do you understand?” The fierceness of his tone left no doubt that he meant every word.

Eyes wide, she nodded.

He stood up, donned his clothes, and left her without a glance to ready the horses for their return. In truth, he didn’t trust himself to say another word. He was still too damn angry by her refusal.

But anger wasn’t the only emotion tying him in knots. His reaction when she’d nearly died should have warned him, and now that they’d made love…he’d gotten in too deep.

He wasn’t as detached as he needed to be in the situation. Hell, he wasn’t detached at all.

He raked his fingers through his hair, wondering how a simple plan had become so complicated. Two months ago, he’d wondered whether he’d made a bad bargain. He remembered thinking that Argyll had agreed too easily, and now he knew why. Flora MacLeod was trouble. He just hadn’t anticipated how much. Or that the trouble would impact him so personally. Balancing her feelings with his duty was no easy feat.

He’d finished readying the horses and returned to find her dressed, the plaid folded, and the remainder of the food packed away. All signs of what had transpired not a quarter of an hour ago were gone.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded and gave him a hesitant look. “Are you still very angry?”

He was, but not only at her. The situation had spun out of control. Mistakenly, he’d thought that once they made love, she would agree to marry him. He’d admitted that he cared for her, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted something more from him. More than he could give. He was a chief, he had responsibilities—too many people were counting on him.

Just looking at her, seeing the vulnerability on her face, tore at his heart—and at his conscience.

He drew her into his arms and pressed a tender kiss on her still swollen lips. Tempted to take more, but too cognizant of the danger—at how quickly the fire between them could flare out of control.

Lifting his mouth from hers, he looked into her confused eyes. “I’m not a man used to taking no for an answer, Flora. Be forewarned, I intend to convince you otherwise.” He put his mouth close to her ear, nibbled lightly on the sweet lobe, and breathed softly, savoring the way she shuddered against him. “No matter what it takes,” he whispered. His hand moved to cup her breast, rubbing his thumb over the fabric of her gown. She softened against him, her body responding to his seductive stroke.

His cock hardened, and his body flooded with heat. He wanted her, but not just the response of her body. He wanted her heart. He wanted to bind her to him, so that nothing, even the truth, would tear them apart. “I’m not a patient man, my sweet. Don’t make me wait too long.”

Chapter 14

Flora’s resistance was crumbling. Lachlan Maclean was nothing if not true to his word. Over the past few days since their return from the Faerie Pool, he seemed to have made it his mission to drive her mad with longing.

He took every opportunity to touch her, to stand too close, to whisper in her ear—his mouth achingly close, but never close enough.

And never far from her consciousness was the memory of what he’d done to her. The passion that, once unleashed, wanted to run free. He’d kissed her mouth, her breasts, her…Heat crept up her cheeks just thinking about it. She couldn’t believe he’d kissed her
there,
but neither could she forget the shattering sensation that followed. Never had she felt such pleasure, until he’d thrust deep inside her—filling her—and started to move.

He held his experience over her, teasing her with the promise of what he could do to her. Hinting at pleasure she could only imagine, but which she wanted—badly. “On edge” didn’t begin to describe her state. She felt as if she were walking around ready to explode at any moment.

Her only salvation was the mornings she spent with Mary and Gilly at their lessons. Only then did he offer her a brief respite from his seductive attentions.

She sighed, knowing her temporary peace of mind was coming to an end. Mary and Gilly had just left their makeshift schoolroom to dress for the midday meal, leaving Flora to finish tidying up. The girls had readily accepted her apology for leaving without saying good-bye and seemed to have understood her attempt to leave without demanding the specifics.

She’d just slid one of the folios they’d been using—
Songs and Sonnets,
a collection that included works by the former Earl of Surrey and Sir Thomas Wyatt—back onto the shelf when a tanned muscular arm wrapped around her waist from behind. She felt the subtle press of his hard body, the heat, and the impossible strength. His fingers gripped her hips, pulling her closer—molding her body to his.

When he pressed behind her like this and nudged his hips, it made her wonder…was it possible? She shook off the image. What had he done to her?

Like a powerful magnet, he drew her in. His touch, his scent, the warmth of his breath on her neck. The force of his presence shattered her resolve. Awash in heat, she melted against him. Her body, which had been in constant deprivation for the past few days, felt aroused to the point of bursting—reveling in any opportunity for contact, no matter how brief.

He dug his face in her hair, nuzzling along her neck, his lips as soft as a feather along her skin until she shivered, but never giving her the friction she craved.

“Miss me?” he whispered near her ear.

The warmth of his breath tickled, and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The dark, rich brogue was like molten lava that had seeped into her bones. But she heard the mockery and wanted to curse him, almost as much as she wanted to sink against him and beg him to take her again.

“N-no,” she answered, her voice shaking.

“Liar.” He let go of her, backing away. It took a few moments to compose herself and for her pulse to return to normal before she turned around to look at him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you said you would be away this afternoon.”
To give me time to recover from this morning’s teasing.

He quirked his brow, amused, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “I am. I’m leaving right now. I just came by to remind you of our lesson tomorrow.”

How could she forget another swimming lesson? She smiled sweetly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“So am I.”

She didn’t miss the naughty innuendo and bit back a giggle; she could well imagine what he had planned. But his plans would come to naught. “Oh, by the way,” she said offhandedly, “I’ve invited your sisters to come along.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Afraid of being alone with me, Flora?”

She straightened her back. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He chuckled, knowing the lie for what it was. She
was
scared of being alone with him. Of what she might agree to if pushed. And he’d been pushing hard, very hard.