Page 24 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

“Ye’ve a wife!”

He shook his head and raised a finger to her lips. “What? I’ve nay wife.”

Her chest heaved. She wasn’t listening. “Ye’re more a knave than I thought. All this time, ye’ve been toying with me, ye had a wife.”

He looked around frantically. “Fer the sake of all the saints in heaven lass, Bairre mustnae find ye here with me.” He grabbed her hand and bundled her into the servants’ broom cupboard, the very place where she’d been hiding, pulling the old door halfway closed behind them. Taking great care not to disturb the buckets and mops alongside he clutched her to his chest in the tiny space available.

“Shh,” he whispered into her hair

A heartbeat later they heard Bairre leave his study, the sound of his door closing and his footsteps along the passage.

“Dinnae make a sound.”

To Dahlia’s horror, Bairre’s steps faltered only a mere hair’s breadth from where they stood.

Has he seen us?

“Goddamned careless servants,” he said, huffing loudly. The door to the recess clanged shut, followed by the sound of the wooden door bolt sliding into place. Dahlia and Arran were in pitch darkness, but too relieved to care. Then Bairre’s footsteps took off, gradually disappearing along the passageway. They both dared to breathe again.

“Ye didnae tell me ye were amarried man,”she hissed. “Or that ye love another woman.”

He gave a soft laugh, riling her, arousing her indignation to fever pitch.

How dare he laugh when it feels like my heart is breaking?

“I’ve nay wife lass. Ye’re sore mistaken if ye think me wed already. Are ye jealous?”

“Dinnae lie tae me, Mackinnon,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “I overheard ye talking about yerprecious Emilia.The woman ye love above all else.” She huffed. “And of course, I’m nae jealous. Why ever would ye think such a foolish thing?”

He chuckled again. “Aye. Ye heard right. Emilia is precious tae me. But what yer eavesdropping didnae reveal was that Emilia is me maither.”

She gasped. “Och. Yer maither?” Dahlia was silent for a moment. “And the poor lady is a prisoner of Bairre Mackinnon?” Instantly the tension she’d held in every muscle of her body leached away and she felt herself soften, molding to him like a piece of potter’s clay.

“Aye. The bastard has her and it’s because of me love fer her that I dae his bidding.” His voice quieted. “But, never fear melady, there is nae lass.”

Her heart bounced, skipping a beat.There is nay one else.

All at once Dahlia was aware of his closeness, their chests together, their hearts beating fast, their panting breath. Her senses were filled with his warmth and the contours of his strong body, the power in his arms holding her. Her nostrils breathed in his scent of leather and ale and clean washed oaten soap, and the man-smell of him.

Heat poured through her and she was suddenly aware of her body in ways she’d never experienced before. The feel of her breasts moving against him, the sensitive acuteness of her nipples tightening and puckering, the thrilling, irresistible sensations between her legs, radiating down her thighs and across her belly. Finding it suddenly difficult to breathe she pressed herself even closer to him, overtaken by a mysterious longing for his touch.

“I wish I could see ye. I wish I could gaze intae those blue eyes of yers and lose meself there.”

His arms tightened around her waist and she felt his manhood hardening, pressing against her thigh. It seemed the most natural thing for her to snake her arms around his shoulders and let her hands tangle in his long hair, pressing even closer to him as she did so.

He issued a loud groan. “Dahlia, dinnae torment me. I’m only a man and me blood runs red in me veins. Holding ye like this, feeling yer soft breath on me cheek, yer scent of roses, the soft curves of yer body leads me tae thoughts of what a man could dae tae a maid if he was free tae dae so.”

At his words the breath hitched in her throat. “I dinnae ken of what ye speak. What could a man dae tae such a lass a meself?”

Arran moved one hand to curve around her buttocks. “First off, a man could touch a lass where his hands shouldnae stray.”

“Show me,” she commanded, her pulse beating hard and fast.

His hands covered her backside, molding her, pressing her against his rigid shaft.

She gasped, wriggling a little, wishing she could see him, feeling the burn in her cheeks and knowing her face was a fiery red.

His hands moved up to cup her breasts, his thumbs and forefingers seeking her nipples, his thumb circling the hard nubs. She gave a little cry and whispered his name. The blissfulsensations travelled all the way to the place between her thighs, catching fire there, causing her to lean into his hardness.

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