Page 2 of Wed to the Highlander
“Mind your tongue,” he reproved, cutting her off smoothly. “I’ll give you the world if I can, Maggie, but I’ll no’ tolerate disrespect from my wife.”
“Since I’d sooner wed the village dung collector than let you put your greedy Highland hands on me, respect—or lack thereof—won’t be a problem.”
She swept toward the door but made it no more than two steps before those same Highland hands closed around her waist and hauled her off her feet.
“What are you doing?” Maggie gasped, wriggling in his hold.
“What has been a long time coming,” he drawled, carrying her to the settee as though she weighed nothing.
She yelped as the room tipped, and she found herself facedown over his lap.
“You wouldn’t dare!” she sputtered.
“Watch me.” Her skirts and petticoats were flipped up, and before she could kick free, he tugged on the ribbon of her drawers and slid them to her knees, the cool air biting at newly bared skin.
“Stop this minute. If Andrew finds out you’ve taken liberties, he’ll force us to wed.”
“Will he now?” he asked, his tone making it clear he’d planned for precisely that.
His hand smoothed over her, warm and broad, before delivering a sharp smack that cracked through the paneled room.
“You…you…barbarian!” Maggie squealed in helpless outrage, heat blooming where he’d struck.
“Not something I haven’t heard before,” he murmured, two more stinging swats landing on each cheek.
“Stop this at once!” she ordered as if by some stretch of the imagination he might listen.
“I’ll stop when I’ve made my point.” Another swat then another, deliberate and slow. They continued while he lectured. “You’re mine, Maggie. Tae wed, tae protect, and to skelp should you get flown on brandy in the middle of the day. You just don’t ken it yet.”
“Ikenthat I will never marry an arrogant Scottish laird like you,” she declared, breathless and furious.
“We’ll see.” He punctuated his response with one last stinging swat before setting her on her feet.
She yanked her drawers into place and smoothed her skirts with shaking hands. “Prepare to be disappointed, my lord.”
He rose to his full, imposing height, looking far too satisfied. “Oh, lass…disappointment’s never been in my plans where you’re concerned.”
Before she could retort, he was on her—his arms wrapping around her with a possessive certainty, lips hot and firm as they claimed hers.
Maggie gasped, hands braced against his chest, mind a tangle of fury and disbelief. This was madness. He was arrogant, insufferable, impossible. And yet—his mouth was warm,demanding, and achingly familiar because she’d dreamed of this moment far longer than her pride would admit.
She should push him away. She meant to. But when his tongue swept inside and his body pressed to hers, something inside her unraveled. Her resistance faltered then melted entirely. Her arms crept up around his neck, fingers threading through the thick hair at his nape, anchoring herself to the man who had haunted her girlhood dreams and stolen into her grown-up longing.
Her world tilted, and she felt every inch of him, every heartbeat, every unspoken promise in the way he kissed her as if he already knew she was his.
And then, too soon, he tore his mouth from hers.
“I’ll do many things,” he said, voice rough with restraint, “but I will nae precipitate our wedding vows. It will happen soon, though, lass. So, prepare.”
“I won’t,” she insisted, breathless and dizzy. “But you should prepare to wait at the altar—for eternity.”
“After that kiss, do you really think the choice is up tae either of us?”
He set her away then took her hand. “Before this goes any further—and before the prime minister arrives—I’ll see you tae your room.”
“Prime minister?”
“Aye, which is why Andrew was so incensed tae find both of you blootered.”
