Page 59 of How to Heal a Highland Heart
Jealously gripped her. How could it not?
His hair shone under the bright rays of the sun, and even from the distance at which she stood, she could see his body glistening with sweat. Muscles rippled as he walked into the blue-green waters, and once he’d waded to his waist, he disappeared under the water. She rushed toward the water, fearing that if he saw her, he’d stop her. She hurriedly kicked off her gown and slippers, leaving nothing on but her léine. He broke the surface once more, but his back was now to the shore. Still, her heartbeat raced as she ran into the water and dove under the cold surface.
As she kicked her feet and glided her hands through the water, she felt almost as if she were a different person. Never would she had been brave enough to do what she was doing now. She just prayed that it worked.
She was smiling as she broke the surface but let out a yelp to find herself face-to-face with Brodee. And he did not look pleased to see her. At all.
“What the devil are ye doing here?” he growled, his tone unfriendly but his eyes devouring her.
A shiver of wanting ran through her at his look. It was a new experience for her to feel desirable, and God help her, it made her feel powerful, as well. Now, if she could wield some of that power to break through her husband’s shields, so they could have a chance at something wonderful…
His hair was slicked back from his forehead, accentuating his strong jaw, and the sun glinted off his broad shoulders. The drops of water beaded there enticed her to do something more daring, and a feeling of recklessness filled her. She swam toward him, slid her arms around his waist, and trailed her tongue along the top of one of his powerful shoulders. She could feel him instantly harden. Triumph filled her, but then he pushed her gently away, and an acute sense of loss took the place of her momentary triumph.
“Why are ye here?” he repeated, his voice thick. Thick with the desire for her he was fighting, the stubborn man.
“Dunnae it seem obvious?” she asked, heating with embarrassment at the boldness of her words and actions, yet she refused to retreat.
“Lass,” he said, swimming backward to put space between them.
She could hardly believe a man known as the Savage Slayer was retreating fromher. She almost said so, too. Almost. But she did not think it would help.
“I already told ye that in the daytime, my duty is to the clan.”
If she’d had a pot from the kitchens she would have knocked her husband’s thick skull with it. Maybe then he would have been sensible and realized what she had: what they had before them was a gift. One she’d never dared to hope for. “I am a member of yer clan,” she said, swimming toward him, and almost giggling when he swam backward once more. She smirked at him. “At this pace, we will be at land soon.”
He scowled at her. “I kinnae afford to be distracted by ye. I’ve duties.”
“Is swimming one of yer duties?” She did not care that she sounded flippant.
“Lass.” The single word held warning.
They could go on like this all day. She needed a different tactic. Either he was too stubborn to succumb to the charms she was offering, or now that he’d joined with her once, he was not nearly as interested in doing so again. She gritted her teeth, determined not to allow doubt.
“Are ye afraid of me? Of what I made ye feel?” She prayed that questioning him, his bravery, which she knew well he prided himself on, would prompt him to take what she wanted to offer, and then that would hopefully lead to him simply relenting to what was brewing between them.
“Afraid of ye?” He stilled in his backward motion, as if he’d just realized how he was making himself look. “Of course I’m nae afraid of ye.” He swished his hands through the water, the cords of the muscles in his shoulders moving in sync with each stroke.
“Prove it.” She hardly believed the words she’d said.
“Prove it?”
“Aye.” She swam toward him until she was so close that she could see the droplets of seawater clinging to his eyelashes. “Kiss me.”
He looked as if he would deny her. Frustration radiated from the thin line of his lips to his dipped brows. She was certain he’d simply swim away from her. Instead, his hand snaked around her neck so fast and she was tugged to him with such force that she only just registered her little victory when his mouth covered hers as she exhaled. He tasted of salt and bridled desire. She’d never tasted anything so sinful in her life. Her toes curled, her belly tightened, her heart fluttered.
His kiss was ravishing, possessive, intense. He claimed her mouth with hard pulls, nips, a swirl of his tongue. The kiss held an urgency that left her mouth burning with fire. Then his hand slid to her breast. He circled her nipple, which strained against the wet material of her léine. Her breast grew immediately heavy, and despite the cool seawater, her skin burned and ached. God, the ache. Only he could assuage it. He trailed his fingers lower, skimming down her belly and between her legs. He touched the place he’d brought to life the night before, and she dug her nails into his shoulders, unsure how much longer she could keep herself afloat.
“Brodee,” she moaned.
He responded with a growl, and then he was swimming toward the shore, tugging her along with him. It seemed they reached shallow water much faster than it had taken her to swim out to him earlier, and as she stood, he swept her up into his arms. Water splashed around them as he carried her to an area of the shore that was smoother than the rest. He laid her down gently, then came over her, his powerful thighs caging her in at her hips, his hands splayed against the sand beside her shoulders.
Water dripped from his hair onto her chest as he leaned nearer. He brushed his lips over hers, one of his legs coming between her thighs. His fingers trailed over her breasts once more, before he sat up and stared down at her. “I’m nae scairt of ye,” he said. “I believe I’ve proven it.”
With that, he scrambled off her, gained his feet, and stalked toward her gown in the distance. Disappointment filled her as he picked up her gown and brought it back to her to thrust it at her. “Get dressed, Wife. I’ve training to see to today. Tonight,” he said, his hand cupping her neck, “I’ll see to yer needs.” He claimed her mouth in a final kiss that left her breathless and more determined than ever to break down his defenses.
She refused to see this encounter as a total failure. She’d gotten him to kiss her. Clearly, the man needed a greater push. She didn’t know what that might be yet, but maybe some of the women in the kitchens who had husbands could give her some advice.
