Highlander's Prize (29 page)

She’d never imagined she would enjoy wickedness so much.

***

It was possible he’d refuse to come. Clarrisa tried not to dwell upon the chance of failure because it sent a shaft of pain through her heart. But it took a great deal of effort to avoid listing the reasons why Broen might refuse her.

“Is there a reason ye’re wearing a path across that fine carpet, lass?” His voice still made her tremble. Only now she smiled, freely enjoying the way she responded to him.

“I suppose I’ve been inside too long.”

He was clean-shaven once more, but the collar of his shirt lay open, just as she was beginning to expect it always to be. Indecision showed in his eyes as he hesitated in the doorway.

“A wise course of action, considering how ill ye managed to make yerself by running about in naught but silk. There is a reason that flimsy fabric is worn in Italy. The summers there are warm enough for it.” His tone snapped like a judgment, ripping through her carefully-plotted plans for seduction.

“It was not on purpose, and I do know how to dress properly for the weather, but it was a result of—”

“Of yer rash decision to leave me protection,” he finished with a slicing motion of his hand. She drew in a harsh breath, but he didn’t give her a chance to defend herself.

“If ye’d stayed here, it never would have been necessary for ye to walk through a rainy night in that fairy dress. Ye almost became one of the forest spirits, thanks to yer stupidity.”

Her cheeks were burning, but not because she was finding it impossible to resist him. “Stupidity is your thinking taking me to your bed means I consider myself your personal pet who does not think of what is best for the future. You have a betrothed.”

“I still do, and yet, ye invited me to sup in yer room.” It felt like he’d slapped her. She wanted to gasp, but her jaw was hanging open. With a hiss, she turned her back on him.

“What do ye have on yer legs, woman?” She turned to face him, irritated by the demand in his voice.

“Lace stockings—but I’m very sure you will simply tell me how impractical they are and how much of a fool I am to wear them for your benefit.” She was acting like a shrew now and didn’t really care. Disappointment was cruelly shredding her newly kindled confidence. “So… never you mind what I’m wearing, Broen MacNicols. Perhaps Argyll will appreciate them, since ye prefer your betrothed.”

“Do nae put words in me mouth, woman.”

His tone had changed, but she was too frustrated to enjoy the victory. “Do not worry. I shall be happy to see you turn and leave before I’m foolish enough to continue with the idea of seducing you.”

Surprise brightened his expression right before he laughed. The sound bounced off the chamber walls, infuriating her completely.

“Oh… get on with you! Do you think I care what you think of me? Well… I do not!” She grabbed one of the soft rounds of bread waiting on the table for their meal and threw it at him. Broen was too busy laughing, and it struck him full in the center of his chest.

He jumped and landed in a semicrouch, his hands wide and his eyes trained on her. She’d taken him by surprise, and she enjoyed the surge of satisfaction it sent through her.

“Get out, Broen. I’ve no more patience for you and your condemning nature.”

He straightened but didn’t leave. Instead he moved into the chamber and pulled the door shut behind him.

“I told you—”

“But I’ve no’ told ye, Clarrisa, how seeing ye so near to death put me on me knees.” His voice had sunk to a deep timbre that drowned the flames of her irritation. “Or that discovering ye’d left me set me thinking on just why I was so angry over yer loss.”

“You only wanted your prize back.” She was being surly, but her feelings stung. The pain was deeper and more persistent than any she’d ever experienced.

He moved close, his blue eyes flickering with heat. “Oh, aye… That’s true enough, but no’ because of who yer sire was. I wanted me lover back—me prize.” He all but snarled the last two words before rushing her.

“Broen—” She squealed as he clasped her against his body. He cupped the back of her neck as he draped his other arm across her body to bind her to him. Heat swirled through her in a crazy sensation of twisting and turning. She clung to him because it was so disorienting. He was the only solid thing in her world at that moment.

“Clarrisa… stop talking.”

He kissed her to enforce his will, but she kissed him back, feeling as though she had a year of longing trapped inside her. The dam burst, her emotions flooding over her, carrying away her irritation. Ordering him away was now the furthest thing from her mind.

She reached for him, threading her fingers through his hair. The need to touch him was so intense she couldn’t decide where to place her hands next, only that she had to feel his skin next to hers. His mouth was demanding, and she met it with equal heat.

“Show me the stockings…” He sounded like he was fighting for control, and it stoked something wild inside her. She trailed her hands down the opening of his shirt and curled her hands into talons before pushing away from him. He sucked in his breath as her nails serrated his skin, but his nostrils flared with arousal.

“Stay,” she ordered. “Do not move, or ye shall not see what you want.”

“I’ll have what I want, lass… when I come and claim it.” He was stalking her, looking as powerful and untamed as he had the first time she’d seen him. Only now, the sight sent a surge of need twisting through her belly and on to her passage. Her body knew the delights he might offer her and was eager for her to surrender. She wanted more.

“Lace stockings are for seduction, not brutish tumbling.” She stopped and wagged a single finger back and forth. “Stay… right there and wait on my whim.” She had no idea where her boldness came from, but it made her voice husky. Temptation flickered in his eyes, along with impatience, but he stopped and fixed her with an intense stare.

Nervousness rippled through her, but it wasn’t nearly as powerful as the sense of confidence she was experiencing. She fingered the end of one of the garter’s ties, drawing her hands along the silk cord to the ends before turning around and peeking at him over her shoulder.

“Ye look like an enchantress.”

She returned to facing him with the tie undone. The dressing robe was gently slipping open to offer him a narrow view of bare skin down the center of her body.

“Ye left yer chemise off…”

She turned back around and heard him snort. When she peeked back at him, he was frowning darkly at her, but there was also a hint of a boy being made to wait, which amused her.

“I did plan to seduce you… before you behaved so atrociously, that is.”

One of his eyebrows rose, a challenge beginning to flicker in his eyes.

“If ye want to besmirch me, lass, I can make sure I do a grand job of behaving improperly.” He made to act on his words, stepping toward her.

“No, no, no,” she scolded in a teasing tone as she pulled the drooping dressing robe back up. “You’ve had two nights of overwhelming me.”

“Two nights ye enjoyed full well.”

He was half growling, but she turned and pointed at him. “Tonight it’s my turn to dictate the pace.”

He looked unconvinced and ready to rush her once more. She shrugged, and the dressing robe slithered over her shoulders, baring them. She hugged the bulky fabric tight to cover her breasts, at least half of them, anyway.

Broen licked his lower lip. “Never let it be said that I’m no’ a man who appreciates it when a lass takes the time to test his nerve.”

“Somehow… I do believe I am testing your… resolve.” She turned, faster this time, so the hem of the dressing gown flared out. She rotated all the way around and back to facing the wall before allowing the garment to slither down her back and puddle around her ankles.

“I’m suddenly no’ sorry I cut yer hair.”

She jumped around, ready to argue, but froze when she realized she’d played into his hands. An arrogant grin met her stare as he began to toss aside his clothing. He never looked at what he was doing, but maintained eye contact with her.

“I care no’ if I ever see another silk dress on ye, but those stockings are something I’ll demand… often.”

He tossed his shirt as he moved to within a pace of her. Both of their breathing had turned rough and labored, and her senses were suddenly keenly aware of every sound. Her skin was ultrasensitive, begging for his touch, but what demanded his attention most was her passage. She felt empty, so much so that she ached with the need to be filled. Her heart was pounding, and she caught the scent of his skin with her labored breaths. It was heady and intoxicating, sending her spiraling into a dark storm of desire.

“I’ve reached the end of me strength, lass… Have pity on me now.”

“And on me…”

He closed the remaining distance, capturing her in his arms. She cried out, the sound primal and full of enjoyment. Words failed her, her mind overwhelmed by the rush of sensation as he lifted her and flattened her back against the wall. The stone was cool, but it soothed the raging inferno inside her.

“Ye’ve teased me too much, lass… Now I’m the brute ye so often labeled me.”

He cupped her hips, holding her up, and pressed her thighs apart with his body. It was harsh, but she heard herself let out a sound that resembled purring. He growled in response, the head of his cock probing the folds of her sex, which were slick from need and anticipation, welcoming his first thrust with ease.

“Sweet Christ… I cannae slow me pace…” He withdrew and sent his cock back into her with a hard thrust. His body slammed into hers, forcing the air from her lungs. She gasped with satisfaction, half-afraid the pleasure would burst within her before they went much further.

“I didn’t ask you to…
brute
.” She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, arching toward his next thrust. Pleasure speared through her, tightening even further as she heard him growl.

“Enchantress.”

She wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a curse—or if Broen knew himself, but it fit the moment, feeding the rising frenzy beating inside her. The tempo increased, demanding she keep pace. There was no thought, only instinct and need. Every muscle strained to perform and take her closer to the edge of release. The wall at her back felt nowhere near as solid as the man she clung to.

Pleasure ripped her in two. She was sure of it but didn’t care. There was no room for lament, only mind-searing rapture that burned its way through her body and twisted through Broen, wringing release from him as well. He pinned her to the wall as his seed erupted deep inside her. For a long moment, time was frozen.

“I did nae mean to ravish ye,” he muttered between soft kisses he trailed over her cheek, “but I am nae sorry.”

He cradled her against his chest, carrying her to the turned-down sheets she’d so carefully rubbed with new spring rosemary to welcome him.

“However, it’s yer own doing.” He laid her down and stood over her, reaching out to stroke one silk lace stocking. “These are wickedness, to be sure. Best to keep them only for me eyes alone.”

She laughed and rolled away from his reach. “I knit them, so I’ll wear them when I choose.” She came up on her knees, and his attention dropped to her breasts.

“Another merit to having yer hair short.”

She frowned, reaching up to finger her hair. “I know it had to be done…”

The bed rocked as he joined her, capturing her hands and kissing them before rolling onto his back and taking her along with him.

“I’d have done anything, lass.”

***

Broen woke in the early-morning hours while the chamber was still in darkness. Something sent a tingle down his spine, and he turned to see Argyll staring at the bed. It had been years since he’d seen the spirit, but he recognized the specter from a portrait hanging in the study. Clarrisa muttered in her sleep, clearly sensing the ghost as Argyll reached toward her.

Broen slipped an arm around her and pulled her close. She snuggled against his side as his grandfather’s ghost looked at him before fading away. In his gut, he knew he’d seen the last of the spirit, possibly forever.

He wished it would be so simple to settle the rest of his life. Daphne was still contracted to him, and the MacLeods were likely to demand he wed her, for an alliance with the MacLeods wasn’t something to lose.

He couldn’t. Every fiber of his being rebelled against wedding her.

But that wasn’t the only thing he wanted to forbid from happening. Clarrisa muttered as his embrace tightened too much. If only it were so simple to hold her. It wouldn’t be. She was coveted, and his country was dissolving into civil war. The future was bleak, so he closed his eyes and savored the sound of Clarrisa’s breathing.

Dawn would bring reality to them both.

***

A snap of someone’s fingers woke her. Clarrisa sat straight up.

“Yes, Maud, I have slept too long.” The words left her mouth before she was fully awake. She was out of the bed before she finished speaking them, because her matron was fond of using a switch when she was displeased.