Page 62 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“So the man who threw himself intae battle today tae save ye is too controlled? The same man who’s willin’ tae risk his entire clan fer yer happiness is cold?”
“That’s different–”
“How?” He stepped closer, close enough to see the rapid pulse fluttering at her throat. “How is it different?”
“Because… because…” she stammered, clearly flustered by his proximity.
“Because what, Rhona?” Ian’s voice dropped to a rough whisper. “Because ye’re afraid tae admit tae yerself that maybe yer’re grabbin’ at straws?”
Her eyes flashed with renewed fire. “How dare ye–”
“How dare I what? Point out that ye’re lookin’ fer excuses tae reject somethin’ that scares ye?” Ian was close enough now to see the tiny grey flecks in her blue eyes, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. “Tell me, lass, when yer heart goes racin’… what daes it feel like?”
“I… what?”
“When ye’re with this mythical, perfect, passionate man of yers, how daes it feel?” his voice was rough velvet, challenging and intimate all at once. “Daes it make ye feel like there’s brimstone in yer veins? Daes it make ye forget how tae breathe?”
“I…” Rhona’s voice was breathless now, and Ian could see the moment she realized her body was betraying all her careful arguments. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Ian found himself staring at them as blood pooled low in his abdomen. He could see her pulse hammering harder at the base of her throat, could feel the electricity crackling between the two of them.
She feels it too. She wants me too. She’s just too damned stubborn tae admit it.
“Because if that’s what ye’re lookin’ fer,” he continued, his eyes never leaving hers, “then maybe ye dinnae ken me as well as ye think ye dae.”
“Ian…” her voice was barely above a whisper, but he caught the way her eyes had gone wide and uncertain.
“Aye?” He reached up slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away. Then, he grazed her cheek with the back of his fingers. The contact sent a visible shiver through her, and Ian felt his own control hanging by the finest of threads.
Bloody hell, she’s beautiful.
She was looking at him like she’d never seen him before, like she suddenly realized he was more than just an enemy who had become an unlikely protector.
“Look at me, Rhona,” he commanded softly. When her eyes met his, he saw the truth there – desire warring with fear, want battling with duty. “Tell me ye feel naethin’ when I touch ye. Tell me yer heart daesnae race when I’m near. If ye can dae that – if ye can look me in the eye and lie tae me face – then I’ll walk away right now.”
“This is…” she started, but her voice trailed off as his thumb traced across her cheekbone.
“This is what,mo ghràdh?” The endearment slipped out before he could stop it, and though he didn’t think it possible, her eyes grew even wider.
“This is exactly what I was afraid of,” she whispered.
Before Ian could ask what she meant, something snapped inside him. All his careful control, all his measured constraint – it crumbled like castle walls under siege.
He swept her into his strong arms with the same decisive force he’d shown on the battlefield. One hand tangled in her fiery hair while the other pressed against the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.
“Ian, what are ye–”
He silenced her with his lips, claiming her mouth in a kiss that was pure fire and demand. This wasn’t the gentle touch of a cautious suitor – it was the passionate assault of a man who’d reached the end of his restraint. His lips moved against hers with desperate hunger, months of wanting and fighting and denying himself poured into the contact.
This. This is what I’ve been waitin’ fer without even kennin’ it.
Rhona melted against him as his tongue tested the softness of her lips. She let out a soft gasp that threatened to undo him entirely. Her hands fisted in his shirt as she kissed him back with equal fervor, all her protests forgotten in the heat that blazedbetween them. She tasted like honey wrapped in defiance, like everything he’d ever wanted and couldn’t have. He felt as if his entire world were tilting on its axis.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard. Rhona’s lips were swollen, her eyes still wide, but this time with shock and something that looked dangerously close to desire.
“Still think I’m too controlled?” he asked roughly, his voice barely recognizable.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Ian’s forehead rested against hers, their breath mingling in the small space between them. he could feel her trembling – but whether from the kiss, or from the realization of what it meant, he wasn’t sure.
“Rhona,” he whispered, her name a prayer upon his lips. “Tell me ye felt that. Tell me I’m nae losin’ me mind.”
