Page 36 of Sweet Home Highlander
Sheknew, the temptress. She’d known he would ask her to remove it. And that he’d then have to govern his reaction as his clansmen looked on.
Aisla rose, regal as a queen, and took his hand. “Shall we?”
“That dress is indecent,” he hissed, his mouth watering at the glorious expanse of bosom. Aisla had been well formed in her youth, but maturity had made her body rounder, her breasts lusher. And now, they threatened to breach the embroidered edge of her bodice. Niall fancied he could see the tantalizing pink edges of her nipples.
“I chose it especially for you,” she said, all innocence. “Don’t you like it?”
Niall had the savage urge to press her palm to the swelling erection between his legs and show her exactly how much he liked it. Instead, he signaled for the musicians to begin a waltz and hauled her up against him, much closer than was socially acceptable.Intimatelyclose so she could feel the iron-hard length of him through her skirts and his kilt. Aisla gasped, her eyes going wide as everyone around them cheered.
Niall smiled. “Aye, I like it.”
“You are much too close,” she snapped beneath her breath, a gorgeous blush climbing the slender column of her neck. He wanted to put his lips to it, see if it was as warm as it looked. He wanted to strip that indecently clinging silk from her body and make her flush all over…trace her blush with his tongue.
“We are dancing,” he returned, twirling her away only to pull her excruciatingly close once more. His cock throbbed at the delightful torture, but it was worth it for every time she gasped.
“This isnotdancing, you…you…lout. This is highly improper. Everyone is looking.”
“As improper as that dress.” He spun her again as other couples joined them on the floor. “And might I remind you that we are married.”
“Not for long!”
He ignored her. “Everyoneislooking. I’m their laird, and I’m dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room.”
His perfectly poised wife lost her footing, her gaze darting to his and going wide as Niall caught her to him, lifting her completely off the floor. Everything slowed until the world was theirs and theirs alone. Niall lowered her and only by a miracle he kept up with the steps. They moved in unison, music and dancers drifting around them.
Finally, she found her voice, and he was grateful for he’d lost his. “You’ve never called me that before.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Beautiful.”
“Surely, I have,” he said. Aisla shook her head, and once more, he felt that reprehensible clench in his stomach. “Then I’ve been remiss,” he whispered, his fingers gripping her waist convulsively. Aisla swayed toward him, her eyes hooked to his and dilating with desire. In their depths, Niall saw a glimmer of the girl he’d loved and felt something deep inside of his breast start to burn. “Because I should have told ye so every day.”
For an unguarded moment as her walls fell, Niall saw a heavy longing in her eyes that mirrored his. Her lips parted and he wanted to kiss her right then in front of everyone, pride and wagers be damned. She felt it, too, he knew. Then the music ended and his wife stepped away, out of the circle of his arms with an inarticulate sound, as if a spell had been broken.
“Thank you for the dance, laird.”
Her cool gaze regarded him, that brief glimpse of the past battened up once more, and Niall felt the small spark inside wither and die. The past was gone. And so was she. This was a game, nothing more. A means to an end…and wagers to be won.
He’d seen her softening toward him a few moments ago, when he’d called her beautiful. Had practically heard the first crack in the wall she’d thrown up around herself. He’d surprised her with that compliment, and yet he hadn’t handled it as he should have. Instead of feeling guilty, he should have pressed forward. It would have been craven, but it also might have worked in his favor. He’d have to get it right next time, ruthless or no.
The present—and the future of Tarbendale—were the only things that mattered.
Chapter Ten
Aisla cursed her third sleepless night in a row and bemoaned her weakness where Niall was concerned for the hundredth time. He did wicked things in her dreams that would make a hedonist blush, leaving her frustrated and unsettled.
And those devastating Maclaren eyes of his…they’d nearly killed her. She’d been a breath away from sealing her mouth to his during that dance. The feel of his strong, muscled body had made everything inside of her turn to liquid heat.
She had worn the dress to needle him, and needle him she had. She’d felt the evidence herself. But success had been a two-pronged demon. The feel of his thick arousal between her thighs had nearly made her throw herself at him and take what he’d been so clearly offering. If the music hadn’t stopped, bringing her to her senses, she likely would have clubbed him over the head and dragged him from the hall to have her way with him.
A thought that still made her burn in indecent places.
And that wasn’t even considering his heartbreaking words about calling her beautiful:I should have told ye so every day.
Thathad been the moment she’d nearly lost everything.
The wager. Her will. Her heart.
