Page 60 of The Scot Beds His Wife
“Then I need to know who hurt ye and ye must tell me the truth,” he prodded. “Once dawn breaks, there’s no stopping me from riding to Erradale and finding out myself.”
He tracked her dilated eyes as they chased erstwhile thoughts, ignoring the strange, wondrous liquid thaw in the vicinity of his chest. She was concocting something,he surmised. Which meant she believed the truth still posed a threat, despite the men she’d killed.
“Someone’s after ye?” he queried. “Ye landed yerself in a ripe bit of danger in America, and part of the reason ye’ve come back to Erradale is that ye’re no longer safe in yer adopted country.”
Her gaze darted away.
He’d hit the mark.
“Why—why are we naked?” she mumbled as if retraining her tongue to form language. “Did you… did we…?”
“We didna,” he soothed, painfully aware of the pulsing arousal resting against her hip. “But wecould,if ye think it would help.”
Her eyes rolled in a reaction to his repartee so indiscreet and honest, a delighted laugh escaped him, surprising them both. “Doona fash. If I’d ravished ye, bonny, ye’d be certain to remember the deed.”
“Then why…”
“Hypothermia. Ye were in the cold in naught but yer nightgown and my cloak for longer than was safe, it seems. I saved yer life. Och, nay, lass—” He held his hand up to cut off a profusion of gratitude that was obviously not forthcoming. “No need to thank me. Ye may, instead, answer my question.”
Her brows attempted a scowl, but didn’t quite hit the mark. “It’s hard to think with your… withthatpressed against me,” she muttered, attempting to angle her hip away from his aroused body.
“How do ye think I feel?” he teased. “I deserve a medal of gentlemanly conduct for honorable restraint in the face of unmitigated temptation. How many men do ye know that would have yer fine, naked body in their arms and allow ye to maintain yer virginity?”
“I’m no virgin,” she snorted, artlessly squirming a bitto escape their intimate proximity. “And you’re no gentleman.”
Her confession shouldn’t have shocked him. It shouldn’t have aroused his jealousy, but it did.
On both accounts.
“Aye,” he admitted, artfully keeping the strange possessiveness growling through his muscles from seeping into his tone. “Ye’ve caught me. I’m no gentleman, but ye could use that to yer advantage atanytime.” He allowed her a measured retreat, but he did not let her go.
Could notlet her go.
She made an excellent point, he ceded, that conversation became futile with his insistent cock pressed against her skin.
That particular part of his anatomy wanted to make no discoveries tonight past what it felt like to be buried deep inside of her.
But his soul… his soul couldn’t rest unless he knew who else might pose a threat to her survival.
Who else might be hunting her? For there he would find a predator worth turning into prey.
Despite the wrath churning in his gut, he reached down and smoothed a lock of her uncommonly lovely hair away from her face. He’d known she was young, as no lines branched from her eyes or bracketed her lips, but she looked like a girl rather than a woman curled as she was against him.
Lost. Alone. Afraid. All her impetuous bravado melted beneath the pinch of pain between her brows and the strain of trepidation pursing those soft lips together.
“What happened in America, lass?” He murmured the question, allowing his fingers to brush over the arch of her dark brow, smoothing the crease of tension he found there. Then he followed the hollow of her temple, still damp withrecent tears, circling the tender place in a light, kneading motion. “Maybe I can help.”
“Why would you help me?” she asked drowsily, her eyes fluttering closed beneath his ministrations.
“It is ye who decided we must be enemies, not I,” he reminded her. “I may not be a gentleman, but I’m a Highlander, and we protect our own.”
“I’m not a Highlander. I’m nobody.” Her lamented whisper tugged at his heart.
“Yes ye are, bonny. This remains yer home, even though ye left.”
She was quiet a moment as his fingers traced and massaged, learning the lovely regions of her features. The knots of her jaw, which he coaxed to unclench. The downy skin beneath her chin. The pronounced outline of her plump lips. The four and twenty golden freckles he counted on her uncommonly high cheekbones.
After a while, her breath had become so even, he thought he’d put her to sleep.
