Page 45 of The Cruel Highlander's Healer
But he would not. He would not ruin her. He would not soil her. She deserved so much more than that. So much more than the little bit that he could give.
Conall did not look at her again as he crossed to the other side of the bed. He turned his back to her, sitting on the edge of the straw-filled mattress.
The back of his kilt rode up, allowing his thighs to brush across the quilt's fabric. It was a bit scratchy and stiff, the odd sensation helping to bring him out of his spiraling desire for the woman he was sharing the room with.
He busied himself with taking off his boots, focusing on untying each, individual lace.
Eventually, a resigned sigh sounded from behind him, and he felt the other side of the mattress shift as Eliza sat down. Her boots made two thunks as they fell to the floor, and he felt more shifting as she pulled back the blankets and settled into the bed.
Conall stood, deliberately not looking in Eliza’s directions as he moved toward the lantern. Now that his boots were off and he was only in his socks, his footsteps made much less noise as he moved.
He turned down the lantern, the flame sputtering until it went out entirely, casting the room in darkness once more. Relief flooded him, and he used the sudden darkness to reach down and adjust himself.
He was still hard, but at least now Eliza would not be able to see it. She would not know just how much she was affecting him and how much he was craving to sink into her soft, beautiful flesh.
He walked softly back to his side of the bed, sinking into it with a sigh. Slowly, his vision started to adjust to the dark. Soft, silvery moonlight was filtering in through the large windows.
Glancing to the right, he found Eliza leaning up on one elbow, looking in his direction.
“Ye dinnae answer my question,” she purred, and Conall could smell the whisky still on her breath. “What would it take to get ye to have another moment?”
Conall shook his head. He wasn’t sure if she could see it or not, but he felt certain that she could feel it.
“It is nae a good idea, Eliza,” he grunted.
“And why not?”
He didn’t need to be able to see her face clearly to hear the pout in her voice.
“It just isnae. Now roll over and go to sleep.”
He felt the mattress shift, but he didn’t see the shadow of her form rolling. Instead, it seemed like it was growing larger – growing closer.
Her hand came up to rest on his chest, the heat of it seeping through the fabric of his shirt. And a moment later, he felt her breath on his cheek.
She placed a soft kiss to it, sending goosebumps dancing across his skin. It took an inhuman amount of strength for him to not lean into it.
He reached up, hand wrapping around her wrist once more. Turning his face away from her so that she could not kiss him again took every ounce of his willpower.
“Go to sleep, Eliza.”
He made his voice hard, made it sound cruel. It did not matter that he did not want to. It did not matter that he wanted to roll over and press his mouth to hers. That he wanted to press his body to hers.
What he wanted did not matter. Not now. What mattered was what she wanted and what he could give her.
And what he could give her was nothing.
Finally, the rejection seemed to seep into Eliza. She extracted her wrist from his hand, the bed shifting and groaning beneath her as she finally rolled over onto her side.
Thank you, God.
He sent up a quick prayer, thanking the Lord that she finally saw reason. He hadn’t been sure how much longer he would have been able to deny her.
Conall stared up at the ceiling, watching as the moonlight painted it all in shadow. A tree outside their window moved gently, likely rustled by a nighttime breeze.
The shadows that it cast danced, and Conall studied them. He focused on his breathing, trying as hard as he could to get his desire for the woman beside him to die down. But it would not.
Eventually, Eliza’s breathing evened out, her breaths deepening and then turning into soft, quiet snores. She had drifted off.
