Page 56 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
But she couldn’t move.
Constantine’s eyes opened slowly, as if he’d sensed her presence rather than heard her entrance. When his gaze met hers across the room, Rowena felt the air leave her lungs in a rush. His hand stilled but didn’t move away, he didn’t attempt to cover himself or pretend she wasn’t seeing exactly what she was seeing.
He just looked at her.
His eyes were dark, pupils dilated with desire, and there was something almost predatory in the way he watched her reaction. No embarrassment, even though she had just caught him in an intensely private moment. Her met her stare with an intensity that made her knees feel weak.
Rowena’s lips parted, but no sound emerged. She felt frozen in place, caught between the urge to flee and a darker, more dangerous impulse to step closer. The sight of him like this stirred something low in her belly that she’d never experienced before.
She’d known Constantine was an attractive man, of course. The sharp angles of his face, the lean strength of his body, the controlled grace with which he moved; she wasn’t blind to any of it. But seeing him like that, flushed with desire and completely unashamed of his need, made her aware of him in an entirely different way.
This was Constantine stripped of all his careful control, all his calculated restraint. This was pure want, raw and honest and utterly masculine.
And her name had been on his lips.
The realization sent another wave of heat through her body. He’d been thinking of her. Whatever fantasy had driven him to this state, whatever images had filled his mind as his hand moved over his body, they had involved her.
The knowledge was as terrifying as it was thrilling.
Constantine’s breathing was still uneven, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that drew her eyes to the lean muscle and scattered scars that marked his torso.
She could see the evidence of his dangerous life written across his skin—thin white lines that spoke of blade wounds, a puckered mark near his ribs that looked like it might have come from an arrow.
But there was beauty in that scarred flesh too, a testament to his strength and survival that made something clench low in her belly. This was the body of a warrior, honed by years of combat and hardship, and the sight of it laid bare before her made her mouth go dry.
Constantine still hadn’t moved, still hadn’t attempted to cover himself or break the charged silence that stretched betweenthem. He simply watched her with those dark eyes, as if he was cataloguing every flicker of expression that crossed her face.
Rowena could feel her pulse beating in her throat, could hear the rush of blood in her ears. She knew she should say something, do something to break the spell that seemed to have settled over the room. But her mind felt sluggish, overwhelmed by sensations and desires she didn’t fully understand.
The firelight played across Constantine’s skin, highlighting the sharp cut of his collarbone, the defined muscles of his abdomen, the dark trail of hair that disappeared beneath his still-present hand. He was beautiful in a way that was utterly masculine, all hard edges and dangerous grace.
And he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Rowena’s breath came in short, shallow gasps as she tried to process what she was seeing, what she was feeling. The heat in Constantine’s eyes, the way his body responded to her presence even in this most vulnerable of moments, the knowledge that her name had been the one to fall from his lips.
She’d never seen a man in such a state before. Her sheltered upbringing had left her woefully unprepared for the raw reality of male desire, for the way it could transform a controlled, careful man into something primal and needy.
But there was something deeply feminine in her that responded to the sight, something that whispered of power and possibility.Constantine wanted her. The evidence of it was right there before her, impossible to deny or dismiss.
The realization should have shocked her, should have sent her fleeing from the room in a flurry of maidenly virtue. Instead, it sent liquid heat coursing through her veins, pooling low in her belly in a way that made her press her thighs together instinctively.
Constantine’s lips parted slightly, and Rowena thought she could see her name forming there again, silent but unmistakable. The sight made something clench deep inside her, a physical response to the knowledge that she could affect him this way.
This was what desire looked like, she realized with startling clarity.
The knowledge was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure. Rowena had spent her entire life carefully controlled, her desires and impulses firmly leashed by duty and propriety. But standing here, watching Constantine struggle to maintain even a semblance of composure while his body betrayed the depth of his need, she felt something wild and reckless stir to life inside her.
She wanted to step closer, to touch the flushed skin of his chest, to discover for herself what it felt like to inspire such desperate want in a man like Constantine MacLean. The urge was so strong it made her hands shake, made her press her palms against her skirts to keep them from reaching for him.
But even as her body urged her forward, her mind finally reasserted itself with a crash of mortified awareness. This was wrong. She shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be seeing that, shouldn’t be drinking in the sight of Constantine’s arousal like wine.
What kind of woman stood frozen in a doorway, watching a man pleasure himself and feeling nothing but desire in response?
The thought broke the spell that had held her captive. Rowena’s face flamed with fresh embarrassment, and she took a stumbling step backward toward the door. Constantine’s eyes followed the movement, but still he didn’t speak, didn’t try to explain or apologize or cover himself.
He just watched her with that same dark intensity, as if he was memorizing every detail of her reaction for later consideration.
Rowena’s heart hammered against her ribs as she struggled to find her voice, to say something that would restore some semblance of normalcy to the situation. But what words could possibly address what had just happened? How did one apologize for interrupting such an intimate moment? How did one pretend not to have seen what could never be unseen?
