Page 34 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
“You want to dance? Now?” she exclaimed. “In the middle of supper?”
“Aye,” Grant replied, his heart rate quickening. “Seems prudent. We dinnae have much time. Show me an English dance.”
“Oh, alright,” Emma said. She threw down her napkin and rose from her chair. “Hold out your arm and let me—no, like this.” She arranged Grant’s arm at a bizarre angle that would never be of any use in a fight or ride. “And let me put my hand on your shoulder while I hold my skirt with the other. Then, we twirlaround the dance floor. Keep your other hand tucked behind your back—good.”
She seemed to like ordering him around.
She told him to face her next, her eyes sweeping over him as she corrected his posture, then stepped around him, explaining the complicated steps. He let her, even though he’d learned a bit about English dances at MacCabe Castle.
Unbidden, an old memory of Laird MacCabe staring into the fire and mopping his face flashed through his mind. The blood of his enemies was splattered everywhere, while Grant panted on the floor, unsure how they’d survived. Then the old, cunning warrior had smiled and winked at him. “Even an assassin should ken how to dance, Grant,” he’d intoned.
But it had been years, and Grant admitted that as he tried to remember Emma’s instructions, he’d forgotten a few steps. Perhaps buried with all the memories of being sharpened into a dagger for MacCabe to wield against his foes—in the name of keeping him alive.
Grant was grateful to the old bastard, he was, and he and the man’s son were best friends. But he also knew that his peculiar savior was interested in gaining power.
“Focus, my Laird,” Emma chided. “And you must lead—not me. Are you paying attention?”
Grant recalled another dance he had learned, and his arm snaked around her waist as she made to step by him, pulling her close. Her hands rose to his chest, and her nails lightly dug in.
“What—what are you doing?” Emma asked.
“Ye have shown me enough puritanical English dances. ‘Tis only fair that I show ye a Scottish one.”
“No, no.” Emma tried to push him back. “No English dance allows this sort of touch, Sir.”
“They should,” Grant said as he turned them in a circle. Her warm and soft curves fit so nicely against him. Could she not see that? “Give me yer hand.”
He took one of her hands off his chest while he tightened his arm around her waist, curling his hand against her lower ribs, his thumb brushing the ribbons of her gown. Her breath hitched, and she allowed him to twirl them once more before she shook her head.
“My Laird, you might say such things, but no.” Emma tried to pull away, but he pulled her closer, so she flattened her palm against his chest. “I would hope that my husband respects?—”
Stopping them in the middle of the floor, Grant tightened his grip on her and leaned down, glaring at her. “I willnae have ye talkin’ about another man while we’re dancin’, lass.” Hisheartbeat thundered in his ears. “Or for the rest of the time ye’re here with me. I dinnae care for hearin’ such things.”
He noted then that they were both breathing hard, and Emma’s eyes were filling with fire. But she had stopped trying to get away. Grant turned his hand, interlocking their fingers, and her eyes went wide. He gave her a lazy smirk, and her lips curled into that lovely snarl.
“Unhand me,” she hissed. “Now. We both know a gentleman would never say such things to a lady.”
“Emma,” Grant said in a low voice, “I am becomin’ more and more convinced that the last thing ye want is agentleman, much less an English one.”
Her full lips parted in outrage. “How dare you? What do you think I want, then?”
In answer, Grant kissed her.
CHAPTER 15
Oh,that’s what you mean.
That thought was followed by a sense of calm even though Emma’s entire body became filled with a hectic energy, all concentrated on her lips. Then, it spread through her chest and up her neck, down her spine and into her belly, making her toes curl. Her eyes fluttered shut as he deepened the kiss and pulled her closer, pressing her against him.
You did want to kiss me.
She smiled at the thought.
She felt Laird Ronson smile back, and then he slid his tongue into her mouth. She gasped, and his grip on her hand tightened. His other hand slid up her back, before wrapping around the nape of her neck. Then, both of his hands cupped her face, and he seemed intent on memorizing her lips with his.
Emma whimpered, her fingers curling into his shirt, and that seemed to shatter the meager restraint he had. He all but snarled into her mouth, one hand catching her jaw and the other sliding down her arm, then her side, then her bum, which he squeezed.
She squeaked, and he made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat. Then, he walked her backward while still kissing her, and she felt dizzy from being desired and tasted like this. With a gasp, he let her go, and they stood there, panting for a moment.
