Page 25 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
Kian’s voice softened ever so slightly. “I like seein’ ye flustered, bunny. It suits ye.”
Abigail’s eyes met his, a spark arcing between them. Despite herself, she felt drawn deeper into the dance of words and unspoken desire.
She lifted her chin defiantly, refusing to back down. “Ye think just because ye’re the Laird, ye can say whatever ye like, dinnae ye?”
Kian lowered his face to hers, closing the gap between them. “Aye, I’m the Laird, and I’ll say what I please. Ye will obey me, lass. Ye’d better get used to it,” he taunted, his voice low and confident.
Abigail’s heart flipped, but she was determined not to let him see how much his arrogance affected her.
“I’m nae likely to be intimidated by a madman with an eyepatch.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
She caught the flicker of surprise in his gaze. Yet, he only growled—a deep, rumbling sound that made her pulse quicken.
“Mad, am I?” he said with a crooked smile, cocking his head. “Maybe. But I’m the madman who’s set his sights on ye, bunny.”
Abigail’s breath hitched at the boldness of his claim, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks. She looked away, inwardly scolding herself for getting flustered by his words.
“Ye’re daft,” she muttered, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face.
This dance between them grew sharper, more heated, and despite every attempt to resist, Abigail felt an unexpected thrill.
There was something intoxicating about his arrogance, the way he challenged her, as if daring her to stand her ground.
“Daft, am I?” Kian’s voice dropped an octave as he stepped even closer. “Ye like it, dinnae ye? That fire in yer eyes when ye argue back. Ye cannae hide it, lass. Ye think I cannae see yer… ample bosom heavin’? Beggin’ for me touch?”
Abigail swallowed hard, unable to deny the truth, though she refused to admit it aloud.
“Ye are filthy,” she whispered, her eyes locked onto his.
Kian’s smile widened, and she wondered if he was pleased by her choice of words, instead of offended.
“There’s nay reason to be jealous,” he said, his voice deep and thick, like smoke curling up from a chimney. “Though I ken it is because ye want me.”
Abigail’s eyes narrowed on him. “Dinnae forget, Laird McKenna, that I dinnae want ye. It isyewho want me. Ye are the dangerous beast that took me from me home.”
Kian’s face darkened. “Aye, I’m a beast—and ye’re about to see why I am so dangerous, lass.”
In one swift motion, he seized her by the waist. Before she could utter another word, his lips crashed onto hers, full of heat and power.
Abigail gasped against his mouth, stunned by the hunger in his kiss. Her fists curled against his chest, ready to shove him back. Instead, her fingers curled into his warm tunic as her knees buckled.
He tasted of lust and whisky, wild and free, and yet something inside her leaned into it. Her thoughts splintered, scattered like ash in the wind.
The kiss deepened, and her breath hitched as his hand slid up her back, pulling her closer until not a sliver of air remained between them. The heat of him engulfed her, his body hard like carved stone beneath her trembling fingers.
Her heart thudded furiously against her ribs, and her senses were spinning, caught between anger and something far more treacherous. Her lashes fluttered, and for a moment, she gave in to the rush, to the burn, tohim.
Kian groaned low in his throat, pressing her harder against him. She felt it—the tight restraint, the storm he kept leashed beneath his skin.
He kissed her like he meant to claim her, as if she were already his. And her body—traitorous thing—was responding.
CHAPTER TEN
“Use both hands, damn ye! Twist yer hips! Go low!” Kian barked.
Sweat glistened on his chest as he pivoted, dodging his opponent’s blade and countering with a hard strike to the side. The other man staggered backward, bracing himself, but Kian gave him no reprieve.
