Page 33 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
But me heart stopped listenin’ the moment he looked at me like I was the only woman on this land.
His gaze was fire, locked on her with an intensity that made her breath catch. Her face burned, her pulse racing as if it meant to leap from her chest. His hands still rested at her waist, warm and commanding, as though daring her to step away. And she did, quickly, breaking the spell with a sharp intake of air.
“Maybe…” she said, her voice unsteady, “maybe ye should let me go.”
She backed away a step, skirts swaying as her hands shook. “Ye’ve nay need to keep me captive any longer.” Her eyes met his, hoping to see reason instead of the fire smoldering there.
Nicholas moved before she could blink. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, not roughly, but with purpose. With one pull, he brought her crashing against his chest, his voice low and fierce. “I willnae let ye go to that mad dog, Leo Rankin. Alexandra… ye’re mine.”
She gasped, lips parting as her protest tangled with her breath. “I—ye—Nicholas—” But she never finished the thought.
His mouth descended on hers with a hunger that stole every word and replaced it with fire.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was demanding, full of days of tension, fury, and wanting held back too long. His mouth claimed hers, shaping to her lips with an urgency that made her knees weak. She pushed against his chest, but it wasn’t resistance—it was need.
“Ye cannae say things like that,” she breathed against his mouth, voice trembling.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, and her thoughts scattered like wind-blown leaves.
Her hands found the back of his neck, fingers threading through his dark hair without meaning to. Her protest melted as his lips moved to her jaw, then the curve of her throat.
“Ye’re mine,” he murmured against her skin. “Say what ye will, but I feel it in me bones, lass.”
His hands slid over her back, fingers splaying wide, holding her against him. “And I’ll never let Rankin lay a finger on ye.”
Alexandra gasped, heart pounding wildly. “I’m nae some prize to be claimed,” she managed between kisses, her voice trembling with both anger and want. “Ye’ve nay right—” His mouth captured hers again, swallowing the rest of her words with heat and longing.
Her hands slid down his arms, feeling the strength there, the tension that rippled through him like a storm. He kissed her as though he could drink her in, as though she were water and he’d been parched for days. Her fingers clutched at his tunic, pulling him closer, even as her mind screamed to stop. But her body had already chosen its answer.
His hands moved lower, one sliding along her waist, the other resting at the small of her back, drawing her tight against him. She felt the shift in his breath, the low growl deep in his chest.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, brushing his lips over hers again. “Tell me, and I will.”
Alexandra’s eyes fluttered open, meeting his with heat and confusion. She wanted to say it, to end this before it spun out of control. But her voice refused to obey. All she could do was press her forehead to his, lost in the storm they’d both conjured.
“Nicholas…” she whispered, as if his name alone could ground her. But it only seemed to drive him further, kissing her with renewed fervor, slow and consuming.
His hand lifted to her cheek, thumb brushing over her flushed skin, as though trying to memorize every part of her. And all she could do was melt, undone by the very man she was meant to hate.
Their breaths mingled, shallow and hot, the air thick with everything unsaid. Every touch was a promise, every kiss a surrender. Alexandra’s world tilted, and for a moment, she let herself fall. Just this once, she let herself feel.
His hand roamed from her cheek to her neck. She gasped at his touch against her bare cleavage. A wild sensation grew inside of her as she let propriety slip away. His kiss was just the distraction to keep her from stopping him.
Lower and lower his hand went until it cupped her breast. A low growl escaped his lips.
She knew that she should stop him, but she didn't. Instead, she leaned into his hand as he fondled her breast, massaging and teasing.
"Ye’re a bonnie lass," he groaned.
His words only brought more heat to her body, especially between her thighs. Without warning, his hand moved lower down her body.
"Spread yer legs, lass. I command it," he said.
"Me legs?" she whispered with wide eyes.
"Ye heard me," he said as he ravaged her neck with kisses, going lower and lower until his lips were pressed against the top mounds of her cleavage peaking above her dress.
"Oh," she moaned. Then, as though she had no control of her own body, she moved her feet wide apart on the floor, planting them firmly, afraid she would fall over with the sensations moving through her.
