Page 58 of The Highlander's Auctioned Hellion
The rug hada pattern of dragons around the rim. Callum had never noticed before.
Then again, I havenae often lain on it like this.
His body felt languid and soft, the fire crackling, the room warm. He could have stayed there all day, and as soon as that thought entered his mind, he sat up. Lydia was still lying on the floor beneath him, her hair twisting outward from her head in long strands.
She looked like a fairy that had fallen from the sky, except that her wrists were still bound to the chair.
Callum kneeled down, untying her hastily and offering her a hand. He pulled her to her feet, noting that she didn’t meet his eye, her cheeks beautifully flushed.
They both froze as there was a soft click on the other side of the door, and her face flushed even darker as they heard giggles on the other side.
I just hope the wee ones didnae hear any of that.
Callum bent down for his léine, tugging it on, his mind in a whirl from what had just taken place.
For four long years, he had not taken a woman to his bed. He had long believed his brother had destroyed any hope of the fairer sex finding him desirable—and yet here they were.
He glanced at Lydia, her fingers tugging at the skirts of her dress, lips compressing together continually as if she were not sure what to say.
“Dae ye have somethin’ on yer mind, lass?” he asked.
Lydia glanced up at him, her fingers running through her hair to right it. One of the pins had fallen onto the rug and was sparkling beneath them. Callum stooped to retrieve it, handing it to her gently.
“Th… thank you,” she said, her eyes meeting his with a puzzled frown. “That was…” she looked around her at the floor and the scene of their pleasure and shook her head. “I thought you did not wish for us to be close like that.”
Callum forced himself not to shift his weight, even as the truth of her words hit home. She was right. He had told her this was a marriage of convenience, and yet he could not even hold by his own words.
We arenae even married yet, what the hell was I thinkin’?
“I shouldnae have let it go this far, lass,” he said, the words feeling unwelcome on his tongue. “I’ll see to it that it doesnae happen again.”
Lydia’s frown cleared, but her eyes grew sad as she hitched her dress up her shoulder.
“Ye look presentable, if that’s what ye are worryin’ about,” he said, trying to add some humor into his words.
The look on her face was making him want to take her into his arms again. He wanted to take her to his bed at that very moment and lie with her all day and night until they were both spent.
Callum stepped away. “I think we have been released from the room now.”
As he spoke, the door opened, and a maid entered, bobbing a curtsy.
“If you please, M’Laird, the Duchess of Bentley and her son have arrived.”
Lydia’s head snapped up, and in seconds, she had walked across the room toward the door.
“Thank you,” she said briskly to the maid. “Please tell them I will be down to greet them shortly,” she said, leaving the room without a backward glance at him.
Callum looked down at himself, noting the state of his clothing. He corrected his kilt, twisting it round, so it was facing the right direction, and tucked his léine inside.
Walking to the window, he looked out at the lake, an unwelcome shiver running over his skin.
Ye are a fool, Callum Lawson. Ye have opened the gates, and now things are floodin’ in that have no business bein’ there.
Lydia’s soft sighs, the way her body had arched for him, the cries and groans of pleasure—he could have listened to them all night. He wanted to go and seek her out, lift her over his shoulder, and take her to his bed.
But he had watched lust control his brother for years. Women brought nothing but trouble, no matter howinfatuatedhe felt right at this moment.
It is the aftermath of the pleasure. It will pass.
