Page 6 of The Lass Defended the Laird (Explosive Highlanders 2)

Freya sprang from the straw mattress, and faced him. “What are you doing here?” Her legs were not the only ones which sprang. Her heart, too, so loudly it might echo in the quiet night.

“I would think it quite clear.” The low silky answer came accompanied of him kicking his boots.

“You can sleep by the hearth.” Her issue produced no effect. Worse, the broad man did not even look at her as he took off his hoses.

“Under the table, you mean.” He unfolded to his full height, and she hardly drew air with his domineering presence.

Alright, so the front room did not have so much space to spare, but still… “You cannot sleep here.” Unfortunate that the pitch note of tension—carnal tension—seeped into the sentence.

With a leisure to last for the millennium, his long-lashed scrutiny sauntered over her with a steamy quality that made her doubt they had no fireplace here.

“Last I checked, man and wife can use the same bed.” His strong hand went up to unclip his tartan from his shoulder.

Irrefutable logic, of course. Except logic played no role in the scalding warmth which suffused her needy skin. “I will sleep in the front room, in that case.” She rebutted and moved to leave.

But he stood in the way and did not bulge. More than that, he directed a derisive grimace at her. “Running again for a variation.” His accusation speared her where it hurt most.

She did not run. She had removed herself from his life so as not to become a threat. The barb stayed her though. Without an uncompromising reply, she was obliged to watch him unbutton his pristine shirt. Each button revealed more inches of a muscle-ridged chest, peppered with satin

y hair. Her fisted hands tingled to touch it. Her mouth to kiss it. And run her tongue along it. And…

She tossed her auburn braid back from her shoulder in a nervous gesture while breathing stuck in her lungs. Body swivelling, she gave her back to him with a tormented expression on her delicate face. Her ears could not un-hear the swishing of clothes though. Or her imagination could not un-imagine him undressing.

“Not running, then.” The sound of his grave low comment made her pivot to him involuntarily.

Just to be dished the view of his bared torso. Which encased the power to render her mute as her eyes took in the wide shoulders, the bunched biceps, the taut chest and the defined abs wrapped casually in an end of the soft tartan. All of it covered in a tan probably gained in summer.

Surely, she did not deserve the punishment of seeing him when she could do nothing else. To break the spell, she lowered her head. Only to realise she stood in front to the candle and that the light filtered through her threadbare nightdress to delineate her curves. Every one of them. Her head shot to darkened whisky glare setting fire to her already weakened will.

Anger erupted at these conflicting emotions clashing in her. “Sleep where you want. I do not care.” She breathed impatient, and hurried to lie down and cover herself with the worn blankets.

After he sat down on the sturdy bed, she blew the candle and darkness involved the chamber. Maybe it would hide the urgent need dominating her to roll to him and catch up with four years of craving.

Exhaustion must have taken its toll because she fell asleep at once.

Middle of the night, her lashes flashed open apprehensive. Something was different, she mused as she rummaged her memory to detect what. A regular breathing in the room reminded her. Drostan.

The bed’s dimensions did not accommodate her tall husband at a distance from her. Their bodies touched, especially because he used to sleep sprawled on his back with his arm over his eyes. The heat of him transferred to her. She lay there listening to his slumber as if it was the most precious moment in her life. Years of longing, missing him like crazy, and tonight he lay right beside her. Sleep became superfluous. She wanted to be awake and delight in his proximity.

Next moment, his muscular frame shifted. To her. Unconsciously, a bunched arm banded her waist, a hand cupped her round beaded breast and a stubble mouth glued to her nape. Her entire body vibrated as their length touched. He still had his tartan around his waist which did nothing to disguise the bulge of him cradling against her. He used to hold her thusly after he took her to that sensual paradise she found only with him

The temptation to cover his hand with hers, to lean on him, to move so as his masculine lips grazed more soft skin assailed her like a rapid river rushing over her. Helpless and inevitable in its swirls and twirls, drowning her, carrying her to its depths.

Her breath caught in the struggle to stay immovable and hope he would switch to the other side soon. But he did not. Not while she was able to resist. Long minutes passed, her whole being clenched in arduous restraint. Her muscles started aching with the effort. Moving to untangle from him must have awoken him. His steel arm remained stubbornly tight around her waist.

“Freya.” He murmured in her ear before his mouth went wandering over the curve of her neck, pulling the fabric of her nightdress and advancing towards her shoulder. Goosebumps sprinkled over her together with ripples of sensations so familiar, so missed, so starving.

If she gave in to her impulses, he would know. He would know nothing had changed. Know her feelings for him still survived. No, increased. Deepened. Despaired. He would not let her go. She would not go. Not willingly. She would not have the strength. Not this time. Not ever again. Which would turn out to be a suicidal decision. Made even more serious because there was Ewan to consider now. His safety. His life.

So, in a brusque jerk, she jumped out of bed trembling like kingdom come and paced to the other end of the cramped chamber. One dainty hand clamped her mouth to stave her breathless, ragged state.

“What the blazes are you doing?” Her heated utterance came furious, channelling the cauldron of how he made her feel.

In the pitch dark without the candle, she did not see him. Jagged breaths came from the bed though. Restless movements. Hands grazing on stubble. The wooden frame creaked, feet touched the floorboard.

“You know what I was doing. We did it countless times.” The rumble of his tone neared. “Ewan is here to prove it.”

“And you think I am available whenever you are?” They had been apart for four years for pity’s sake! And time vanished when he touched her as if he had done it just this morning.

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