Page 42 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
She did not back down. “More than brutal truths. Ye dinnae want me in the slightest. With another man, I could at least pretend.”
Their gaze locked as they stood in crackling silence in the center of the room, Doughall’s hand still hovering above the dip of her waist. His fingertips yearned to touch her, to rip away the blanket and tear the seam of whatever she had on beneath until he could feel her skin against his.
Just one caress…
Like an inebriate, he had a feeling there was no such thing. One little taste would only make him ravenous for more, but if he denied himself a single drop, it would drive him mad. To be mad or to be starving… he could not decide which was better.
“What ye’re offerin’ me is empty, Doughall. It’s nothin’,” she said, her voice cracking. “A wife in name only. A husband who willnae even hold me hand on a cold day to keep it warm. Although, if I am to marry ye, I imagine every day will be a cold day.”
“Ye could do worse than lifelong protection, a promise of nay harm or cruelty, and bein’ free to do as ye please,” he replied nonchalantly, eager to discover just how far she intended to push him. It was almost as if shewantedto be punished.
Her eyes flashed. “We’ve already discovered what ‘being free to do as I please’ actually means. It means ye chargin’ in like a bull, ragin’ over the heinous act of—heaven forbid—readin’ a book.Och, and interruptin’ a perfectly enchantin’ dance.”
A pinch of regret caught him under the ribs, a reminder of what he had done in that sacred library, and what he might have continued to do if he had not collected himself in time.
“And, of course, the fact that I wouldnae be able to touch ye,” she added. “How isthatdoin’ as I please? How would ye be a real husband? Ye might as well be a statue.”
Catching the edge of her blanket, Doughall raised his hand to cup her chin, the woolen fabric between her skin and his. “Soon enough, Iwillbe yer real husband,” he said, his voice a rumble in the back of his throat. “And ye would do well to watch that smart tongue of yers if ye dinnae want a punishment unlike any I’ve given ye before. Unless…”
He brought his lips so close to hers, pulling back as she tried to rise on tiptoe—a movement that would surely mean a kiss. He did not finish his sentence, leaving it to mature like potent liquor in the air between them, certain that she would need to hear the end of it.
“Unless?” she murmured.
He nearlysmiled, relishing the satisfaction of hearing that word. “Unless that is exactly why ye came to talk to me—toprovokeme.”
“Yecan be provoked?” she replied with a quiet snort. “I thought ye were supposed to be immovable. That’s what I heard, at least.”
I was… before ye stumbled into me life, and almost got yerself killed or worse.
Just the fleeting memory of that night by the loch made him want to pull her to him and hold her as he had held her in the courtyard—possessively, entirely, as if he never meant to let go. Not in the face of her brother, not in the face of anyone who might threaten to take her away. He would shield her with his body, take a thousand arrows for her before he let a single scratch mar her smooth skin.
“It’s nae wise totryand provoke me,” he said.
She tilted her chin up, a new confidence in her gaze. “But, Doughall, what can ye possibly do now?”
“Ye ken what I can do.”
She shook her head, the movement somehow taunting. “That was before.” Her teeth grazed her lower lip. “But ye just promised me braither that ye wouldnae touch me. How can ye ‘punish’ me if ye cannae lay a hand on me?”
Clearly, she thought she was being exceedingly clever, thinking she had some kind of upper hand. Doughall was almost sorry to disappoint her.
“Ye’re forgettin’ somethin’.” He leaned down, his breath whispering against the shell of her ear. “What did I tell ye on the night that we met?”
A soft gasp slipped tortuously past her lips. “That… ye dinnae make promises.”
“I rarely keep ‘em either,” he growled, letting his tongue follow his breath.
Enough was enough. He needed a taste of her, and the Devil Himself would not have been able to prevent him from taking his fill… but that did not mean he could not toy with her a little more, to make her all the sweeter.
He brushed his lips against her neck, down to where it curved to meet her shoulder. Her body went still, her breath hitching, as if anticipating what he was about to do.
He bit her soft flesh and dragged his teeth up slowly, drawing a sharp gasp from her throat. And as he dipped to bite again, he did not let his teeth sink in too deeply, sucking that sweet skin into his mouth instead, leaving his mark so that if any other man dared come too close, he would know to whom she belonged.
She moaned, the vibrations making his lips tingle, urging his mouth to capture the sensation. He kissed and tasted the column of her throat, edging closer to her lips before pulling away again. She would not get what she wanted that easily.
Her hands moved up to grasp fistfuls of his shirt, the sudden motion causing the blanket to drop from her shoulders. The feel of her ripe breasts against him and the rustle of flimsy fabric made him step back, his hungry eyes roving over her, taking her in.
“What a naughty, little lass ye are, comin’ to me in yer nightclothes,” he said in a silky voice, bringing his gaze back up to hers.
