Highland Surrender (25 page)

“Stop?”

“Stop fighting me.” His voice held a hint of pleading, but just a hint.

Her breath went misty in her lungs. “Why this change in your manner? You’ve barely seen me for days.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps my brother’s return has stirred in me a new understanding.”

“A new understanding. Or a jealousy?” ’Twas a bold question, but she’d know the truth. If she was to be a pawn between them, best she know now.

He shook his head and gave a rueful smile. “I have no reason to be jealous of my brother. Robert annoys me too, as often as he pleases, but if fate should separate me from him, I would suffer for it. And I wonder if you suffer at the loss of your sister’s company. I would ease that burden, were there a way.”

Tears of surprise stung her eyes. ’Twas the first time he’d acknowledged that her coming here was anything other than her honor and a blessing she should cherish. To admit she’d made some sacrifice went far toward her forgiveness of him for being a wretched Campbell.

She picked up the necklace. It was the finest she’d ever seen. Far more expensive than any item stowed away in one of those trunks. She held it up, and the candlelight bounced off its links and danced around the walls. Enchanted, indeed.

“Thank you, Myles. It’s lovely.” She could not prevent the hitch in her voice.

He smiled. “Not so lovely as it shall be upon your neck. May I put it on for you?”

Ah, she should refuse this gift bought with Campbell wealth, riches gained at the loss of lesser clans like her own. But she wanted nothing more than to put it on and gaze into the mirror. She turned in the chair, and he stood up. She pulled her hair aside and held it as he positioned the chain, bringing the ends of it behind her.

He fumbled for a moment. “This clasp is made for daintier fingers than mine.”

She imagined those fingers just then, the ones she had just stroked clean, and pressed her legs together tightly beneath her nightdress.

At last, he was successful in linking the necklace. He rested his hands briefly upon her shoulders, giving them the slightest
squeeze. She let loose her hair and it fell against his forearms in a whoosh. She heard his breath expel.

She turned to face him, running her own fingers along the fine metalwork. “How does it look?”

“Stunning. Look for yourself.” He reached over and pulled a hand mirror from the table, and then knelt before her once more, holding it aloft so she might peer at her reflection.

Her cheeks were warm, and she could not hold back a smile. “’Tis too dark in here. I wager you cannot even see it.”

“I can. It glimmers against your skin like gold dust.”

She reached out to adjust the mirror he held. Her hand brushed against his, and she felt a great jolt, as if their hearts aligned to beat in rhythm.

She glanced into the glass for a scant second, noticing the gold and the emerald and the glow of her skin. But it was the heat in her eyes that captured her own attention. They were wide and dark in the dim chamber, and it was not the necklace that made them so. She looked to Myles, and he set the mirror aside, his own eyes full of longing.

She wanted to despise him. ’Twas her Sinclair duty to do so. But she had tried, and it was too hard. His presence muddled her thoughts and clarified her desire. He had awakened in her a knowing that could not be unlearned. Her husband wasn’t cruel or harsh or wicked or any of the things she’d thought all Campbells were. Instead, he was kind, and patient, and generous, and sincere. And he asked for little more than for her to be his wife in every way.

“’Tis a fine gift,” she murmured.

Had he reached out just then and touched her, she would have slid into his arms, for she understood now how a blossom turned toward the sun. Her body seemed pulled in his direction,
primed for his kiss and his plunder. But he did not reach out. He kept his hands to himself. His pride was as great as hers.

He clenched his fists, the need to touch her like a wave pushing him in her direction. But he resisted, for he wanted her to lean his way instead.

“I meant no disrespect by keeping my sister a secret,” she said at his continued silence. “I think you would have taken care had you wed her instead. But I was frightened. I didn’t know you then.”

He pondered this a moment and saw a weakening in her defenses. “And do you know me now?”

“A little. Enough to know you are not cruel.”

A compliment coming from her.

She was lovely in the firelight, staring back at him with those long-lashed eyes. She’d left her hair unbound. He could not resist. He moved his hand and twined a lock around his finger. She did not move or voice objection. From her, that might be as much an invitation as he could hope for. And if all the sons of Scotland waited for their wives to offer, his kin would die away, and his homeland would overrun with dirty English.

“’Tis you who is cruel,” he teased gently. “To tempt me with your smiles and still refuse my kiss.”

She stared a long moment, unsmiling. “You have not offered one in days.”

His breath caught high in his throat, and his manhood sprang up with optimism.

She was sitting straight upright in the chair as he knelt before her. Her hair was silk ribbons. He twined a second curl with the first. “No, I haven’t. You must ask, remember?”

She gave a delectable sigh of impatience, and he very nearly pulled her face to his to end this stubborn madness. But she fell back against the chair’s cushion and looked to the fire, pressing her thumb against her lips. Her hair had pulled from his fingertips as she moved away. He sensed the Sinclair warrior within her battling against her woman’s desire.

He reached down and ran his hands up along the back of her calves, inching her nightgown up as well.

“Stop that,” she said without conviction, still staring at the fire.

“If I cannot kiss you, I must find some other way to pass this time.”

She pushed one of his hands away with her foot, but he caught it and rubbed his thumb against the arch. Her eyes closed for the space of a breath. He moved his thumb again and saw a telltale flutter of her lashes.

Ah, perhaps this was the way to this lass’s heart. Through her feet. And what a lovely route that would be to travel. He cupped both hands around that foot and squeezed, rubbing his palms against her skin.

She turned and frowned, weakly trying to tug from his grasp. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged and smiled. “Passing time.”

“With my foot?”

“’Tis pleasant, is it not?”

She huffed and turned her gaze back to the fire, but did not pull away. “’Tis nothing at all, but amuse yourself, if it pleases you.”

He chuckled at her transparent lie and caught up her other foot, leaning back and resting it against his thighs. Those knees of hers were clamped together, but he’d make her relax yet, and soon he’d delve between them. His chest filled with want. If she moved her foot an inch to the left, she’d know with every
certainty how she affected him. As if she didn’t know now. She was not so very innocent.

He rubbed her feet another moment, then moved his hands to her ankles and slowly caressed his way up the back of her calves until his fingers caught behind her knees. He leaned up then and pressed against her shins.

She sighed and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. The look she turned his way was full of indecision. ’Twas a far cry from her forbidding frowns of days past. He was halfway home.

He eased her nightgown up another inch or two, over the bend of her legs, but she caught the hem and held it steady.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He was too close. His hands burned like cinders as he trailed them forward along her linen-covered thighs and brought them to rest at her waist. Even through her nightgown, she felt the heat, as if there were no barrier between them at all. He leaned forward until his face was a mere breath from hers.

She clutched at her hem and felt the muscles of his stomach flex against her hand. With her other, she pressed against his shoulder, as if trying to nudge a mountain from her path.

“’Tis enough,” she said, but the quiver in her voice be trayed her.

He gave a tiny shake of his head. “No, my love, ’tis not nearly enough.”

Her heart trembled at the endearment, though she knew it to be false. He did not love her, no more than she loved him. ’Twas instinct, nothing more. But when he lowered his head and ran his cheek against one breast, making it peak and swell and lift to him, she could not stop herself. She caught the back of his head and pressed it more firmly against her. He groaned and opened his mouth against her, moistening the fabric of her nightgown and branding her flesh.

His hands were fast, much too fast for her thoughts to react. His one arm reached around her waist and pulled her forward while the other hand slid past that hem and up along the outside of her thigh until his hand cupped her bare bottom and squeezed.

She cried out at that, dismayed at her unwitting concession and yet wanting nothing more than to arch against him and move her legs so he might reach between them.

His mouth traveled upward, toward the column of her throat, leaving a hot, moist trail. Her mind called out for him to cease and leave her be, but nothing came forth from her lips save wanton sighs. God, she was a helpless traitor. As useless to her clan as a sparrow.

He ran his lips along her jaw and paused, hovering over her own lips. She looked at him then, all dark and shadows in the dim light. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She could barely breathe for its erratic pace.

“Ask me,” he whispered, nuzzling the side of her mouth with his own.

She turned her head away, not daring to speak, for nothing but permission would surely come forth.

He turned her face back toward him. “I am your husband, Fiona. Ask me, and I will show you such pleasure.”

She licked her lips. She had one last arrow in her arsenal. “You are my enemy. I want nothing from you.” But the words tasted bitter and sounded false.

He pulled her closer. “You’re a liar.”

She sighed at his accusation and could not deny it any more than she could deny him. She wove her hands into his hair and stared at him another moment. Then she kissed him, full and with abandon, welcoming the intensity of his desire.

His arm was steel around her, a welcome prison, and his other hand kneaded at her bottom. She gave in to it, to all of it. Her clan and her brothers be damned.

For delicious moments, they pressed and swayed within the confines of the chair, relief and tension building, two sides of the same coin. Myles pulled her to the edge of the seat and trailed his hand around to tease at the juncture of her legs. She pressed against his hand and felt a tremor build within.

He kissed her throat, tugging her nightgown aside with impatience, exposing her shoulder. The fabric caught on her necklace. He chuckled deep, running a finger along the gold. “God, Fiona,” he sighed, “I would have given you this jewelry days ago had I known how it would melt your defenses.”

His words penetrated the fog of her desire, dousing her ardor like the sting of autumn rain. She shoved against him and jerked back in the chair. Is that what he had done? Baited her with shiny baubles to sway her compliance?

“Melt my defenses?”

The look on his face went from confused to remorseful. He shook his head. “’Tis not what I meant, Fiona. I phrased that poorly.”

But she would not be fooled. “You think to pay me off, like some whore? Give me a pretty jewel and watch me fall onto my back?” God, and she’d let him. She’d opened to him without even the need for a bed. They were in a chair and very nearly about to couple on the floor like peasants.

“I meant for the necklace to be a gift. Not a bribe. I had no expectations.” His voice was strained. Of course it was. He’d failed in his purpose.

“Now who is the liar?” she demanded. “Can you look me in the eye and say you did not think to trade kisses for this jewelry?”

He lifted a stern jaw. “Yes, I meant to trade you kisses. But I’d have given you the necklace either way. I have not forced you, Fiona. ’Tis my earnest desire to avoid just that which has led us
to this spot. I have been patient. And I make no apologies for wanting you.”

“’Tis the trickery you should apologize for!” She pulled her nightdress up over her shoulder and worked to tie the neckline.

He ran a hand over his head. “I meant no trickery. If you’d be reasonable, you’d see that. Seduction isn’t deception.”

“Not the way you do it.” She’d had one arrow more, it seemed, and this one struck its mark. He rose abruptly and turned to the fire, running a hand through his hair.

She was a foolish girl to think he cared about her feelings. If he respected her the way he said, he’d not have baited a trap with gold and emeralds. But he was a Campbell, after all, full of desire and manipulation. She’d let herself forget. ’Tis likely how her mother was deceived and found herself alone in a glen with Cedric Campbell. Fiona would not be so gullible.

CHAPTER 26

A
SOFT KNOCK
sounded on the door early the next morning, rousing Fiona from vivid dreams full of crimson colors. In the gray light of dawn, she rubbed her eyes and opened them to see Ruby coming in, a breakfast tray balanced on one hand. The smell of warm bread and bacon wafted through the air.