Page 25 of The Cruel Highlander's Bride
10
“Stop,” Ciara mumbled against Magnus’s lips. “Stop,” she repeated louder as she broke their kiss.
The words were like a bucket of ice on the lust between them.
Magnus immediately pulled away from her, and the sudden lack of support sent her tumbling off his lap and back onto the picnic blanket.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Magnus rushed to say, reaching out to steady her, but she brushed him off.
Ciara didn’t think she could have his hands on her again so soon. The moment may have passed between them, but she knew all too well how easy it was for that passion to spark again.
Just a look from her betrothed had her blushing. And she needed her head clear. Which meant she probably shouldn’t look him in the eye right now either.
“I’m all right, Me Laird,” she muttered as she scrambled a little further back from him. Her eyes were firmly fixed on the lake beside them.
What was that?
That kiss, which seemed a woefully inadequate word to describe what had transpired between them, was unlike anything Ciara had ever experienced. It was her first kiss. But still, that was something else.
And what did it mean? She had been feeling far too much when their lips were connected, far more than she’d expected to feel so quickly.
Was Magnus courting her now? They were already betrothed… was that a thing he could do? She supposed the better question was whether that was something she wanted from him.
The attraction between them was clear and… potent, but Ciara had not expected this marriage to become anything more than a way to end this war. She’d imagined something like this, of course, but now that it had happened, now that her lips still tingled from that kiss, she didn’t know how to feel.
She certainly didn’t know how to act. How did one behave around their very attractive, very dangerous betrothed, whom they had no relationship with but they had just passionately kissed? Because it was more than just a kiss. It was staking a claim, for both of them. Which made absolutely no sense.
“Ciara…?” Magnus prompted, and she could hear the confusion in his voice.
She was sure he wanted to know what had happened, why she’d pulled away from him. But she could no more explain it to him than she could herself.
Her head was spinning, and the feel of his eyes on her was not helping.
The fresh air was no longer enough for a level head. No, Ciara needed not to be in Magnus’s vicinity. It was impossible to get her thoughts straight when she could feel the warmth of his presence.
Still averting her gaze, Ciara mumbled, “I should head back inside.”
Not waiting for Magnus to disagree, she scooped up one of the lanterns and held up the hem of her gown in her other hand.
Then she was off, swiftly heading back to the castle. Her pace was as quick as she could make it without breaking out into a full run. This dress didn’t allow for that, and she didn’t want to give the Laird any more reason to worry.
Thankfully, the lights from the castle beckoned, and she soon approached the doors they had left from.
So much had happened in their short time at the lake that Ciara could hardly wrap her mind around the sudden changes. One minute she had been pacing the hall alone, and the next she’d been kissing her betrothed.
She still didn’t know why the Laird killed his father, but she knew, intimately, how his lips felt. So, that was something.
It was not something she’d be forgetting any time soon either. Already, she was feeling the ghost of his hands on her skin. The memory was a poor imitation of the real thing. Still, it caused a shiver to race through her.
As Ciara approached the doors to the castle, Magnus’s man-at-arms stood waiting with the guards, surveying the grounds and keeping them all safe.
He gave her a once over before he asked, “Are ye all right? Do ye need anythin’?”
She wondered if what she was feeling was plain on her face—the lust and the confusion and the longing. So much longing.
Before Ciara could reply, she felt the heat of Magnus’s body at her back. It certainly hadn’t taken long for him to catch up. She cursed his obscenely long legs and tried not to think of how they’d felt underneath her. How strong and steady he’d been when she sat on his lap.
It wasn’t just his legs either. It had been far too easy for him to pull her onto his lap, and his hard chest felt like that of a warrior.
