Page 48 of The Outlaw's Bride
Adaira broke into a run. Her legs were still weak after her incarceration, but she pushed herself on nonetheless. Rage gave her feet wings.
She’d nearly reached the top of the hill when he caught up with her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her up short.
Adaira swung round, her right fist balling, and punched him in the neck. However, the blow just seemed to glance off him.
“Let me go!” she shouted.
But Lachlann didn’t. He held her firm, fending off the blows and kicks she now aimed at his chest and shins.
“Stop it, Adaira,” he commanded, his voice tight. She ignored him, writhing in his grip like a landed pike.
“Filthy whoreson,” she shrieked. “Get yer hands off me!”
But he didn’t.
Instead, Lachlann pulled her roughly against him. His mouth slanted over hers, and he kissed her.
Adaira was so shocked that she momentarily went limp in his arms. She gasped, her lips parting. His tongue slid into her mouth. His kiss was savage, devouring, and hot. It turned the frosty morning into a steam bath. Adaira was helpless under the onslaught.
She’d almost forgotten what Lachlann Fraser’s kiss could do to her; that it could literally scatter her wits to the four winds and drain every ounce of will from her body.
The rage drained from her, replaced by a different kind of madness.
His kiss demanded, took, and gave all at the same time. And as it deepened, Adaira melted against him, her fingers splaying across his leather vest. She felt the hammer of his heart against her palm, and a thrill went through her.
When Lachlann ended the kiss and pulled back, he was breathing fast. His skin was pulled tight across his cheekbones. His gaze burned into her. Adaira stared up at him, the spell he’d cast over her slowly drawing back. She started to tremble.
Lord … no.
“Ye asked me why I did it, and I’ll tell ye,” he rasped. “I did it forye, Aingeal.”
Chapter Twenty
Everything In My Power
LACHLANN CLOSED HIS eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He wasn’t even sure where the words had come from.
He opened his eyes and saw that Adaira was still staring up at him. She’d looked shocked at first, but now her face softened. His chest constricted. The lass had such a pure, good heart. She put him to shame.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
Lachlann drew in a slow, steadying breath. Suddenly, he found it impossible to speak. He released his hold on her shoulder and, reaching up, stroked her face. To his surprise, he noted his hand trembled slightly.
God’s bones, what’s wrong with me?
Lachlann’s fingers trailed down Adaira’s cheek, and he felt her quiver under his touch. He watched her lips part, her pupils dilate. He’d wanted her before, on that evening during their journey to Talasgair, but the sensation paled in comparison to how he ached for her now.
He wanted to pull her to the ground, tear off her clothes, and lose himself in her soft, sweet body. The need was so strong it felt like a kind of insanity. But the heavy frost that sparkled around them, and the surety his father would have discovered both their disappearances by now, kept him in check. They couldn’t linger here.
Wanting her like this was selfish. She deserved better than the likes of him. Self-loathing welled within Lachlann then, filling his mouth with a bitter taste.
“I couldn’t stand by and watch ye wed my father,” he finally managed. “I couldn’t let him destroy ye.”
She gazed up at him, her hazel eyes as wide as moons. “Really?”
Lachlann managed a smile. “Aye,” he murmured. “I’m a selfish cur, but not completely without a heart.” He paused a moment, before he reluctantly released Adaira and stepped back. Frosty morning air filled the gulf between them. “I can’t let ye travel alone. It’s not safe. Will ye let me escort ye to yer sister’s as planned?”
Adaira swallowed, before she nodded.
