Page 33 of To Serve a Laird
“What if I don’t want to go?” Claire asked.
Her voice was calm, and this infuriated Iain, who whipped around to face her, his eyes were dark with anger, darker than Claire had ever seen them before. She stood her ground unflinchingly, however, meeting his gaze without a blink.
“I do not have the time nor the inclination to play with you today, Claire,” Iain said furiously. “Please leave. I have business to attend to.”
“Have I said or done something wrong?” Claire asked. “If I have, please tell me what it is and I will put it right.”
Iain leaned back and let out a long breath of frustration. “Claire, you have not done anything wrong except for getting on my last nerve with your persistence,” he replied, trying to sound calm even though he felt as though a thunderstorm had begun inside him.
He tossed back the rest of his whisky and thumped the glass down on his desk, almost breaking it. However, he found that he felt no better; if anything, the tempest had intensified.
“I do not believe you.” Claire’s voice was firm. “I have done something to displease you.”
Iain straightened up, pulling his shoulders back, thrusting his chest out so that he looked even bigger than he already was. He took a step towards Claire, expecting her to take one step back, but she did not move an inch. She was stubbornness personified, he thought, but it was one of the qualities that made her so desirable.
“You have done nothing except to be yourself,” he answered at last. His face was so close to Claire’s now that their lips were only inches apart. “And I find you almost impossible to resist. I kissed you once before, but this time I may find it impossible to stop, Claire. I am afraid… of myself.”
“You might harm me, then?” Claire’s voice showed the faintest trace of fear. They both knew what kind of harm she meant.
“No, Claire,” he answered. “I told you before that I would never, never harm you, and I meant it. I would harm anyone who tried to hurt you, but that someone would not be me.”
He turned and walked away from her to lean on his armchair again, leaving Claire feeling completely bereft.
“For the last time, Claire, you should leave,” Iain told her without looking at her.
But once again, she didn’t move an inch, only stared at him.
In a moment, Iain turned rapidly and covered the distance between them in two long strides. He cupped Claire’s face in his hands, and their eyes met for a second before he kissed her. It was not gentle as their lips collided with each other forcefully, hungrily, igniting a storm of passion inside both of them that neither wanted to contain.
Claire felt the hard ridge of Iain’s arousal against her belly, and he relished the feel of Claire’s full breasts against his chest. After a few moments, they drew apart reluctantly to recover their breath, only to look into each other’s eyes and kiss again. This time it was equally rapturous as they ravaged each other’s mouths, tongues tangling, bodies pressed together forcefully.
Claire could never have imagined anything like it. This must be like heaven, she thought as she drew away from Iain and looked up into his ice-blue eyes, now dark with desire. He was so strikingly handsome, the epitome of male beauty, and everything that was feminine in her called out to his sheer masculinity.
Iain, drowning in the warmth of Claire’s honey-gold eyes, he felt almost powerless to resist his attraction to her. This woman had the ability to reduce him to the status of her slave, but strangely, he had no objection to that.
When Iain smiled at her, a slow, wicked smile, Claire laughed softly. “My Laird,” she said, her voice low and suggestive. “That is no way to look at one of your maidservants.”
Iain laughed, his eyes twinkling. “I think we both know you are more than my maidservant now, Claire.”
“What am I then?” she asked, feeling a stab of apprehension.
Iain pulled her close. “You are my special,” he replied, his voice low and husky. “And if you let me, I am going to show you how special you are.”
For a moment, Claire was puzzled, then she felt the shaft of his manhood pressing into her even harder than before, and realisation hit her so forcefully that her knees weakened. He wanted to make love to her.
The notion was thrilling, but terrifying. She tried to step back, but Iain’s arms had too tight a hold on her, and when she looked up into his eyes, she saw that the expression in them was warm and gentle.
“Don’t be afraid of me, Claire,” he whispered. “I will never hurt you. All I want to do is give you pleasure. Will you let me?”
Claire looked at him for another moment, feeling something wild rise inside her. “Yes,” she breathed.
Iain smiled as he let go of her to shrug off his shirt, and she could see his chest, which was lightly dusted with dark hairs, moving up and down with his panting breath. The sight suddenly gave her the urge to touch him.
When she spread her hands across his hard, flat muscles, she felt a pleasant rasping under her palms as the bristly strands rubbed against them.
Iain moaned with pleasure as he felt Claire’s hands on his flesh, hands that had once been soft and pampered, but were now rough and coarsened with hard work. He did not mind, though, as her palms skimmed over his chest; she had no idea of the pleasure he was about to give her.
“Turn around,” he whispered.
