Page 25 of The Highlander's Dare
“I am. Why would I not be?”
“The last time we spoke, ye were worried about Baston’s retaliation. Ye think I’m going to just sit back in the comforts of my makeshift tent and drink the night away when ye might need help? We are friends, are we no’? Friends dinna let friends suffer.” He leaned in now, inhaling deeply of her scent.
Lord, was he suffering without his lips on hers.
She let out a shuddering breath and eased nearer to him, close enough he felt her heat and sense the shape of her body only inches from his.
“I told you that you need not worry.” She didn’t sound as convinced as she had at his tent.
“I tried,” he murmured. “Good God, did I try.”
And then, he couldn’t hold back anymore.
He dipped low, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that stole away his breath and hers. Hands to her cheeks, he resisted the urge to thread them in her hair, to unravel the ribbons coiling her locks, to run them all over her body.
Mouth to mouth, a kiss was all he could take from her. All heshouldtake. Clara sighed into his mouth, followed by a whimper when his tongue slid between her lips to dance over hers. Delicate hands touched his waist, tugged at his tunic, encircled to his back, pulling him flush against her.
Graham walked her back toward the arrow-slitted wall, pressing her against it, shielding her should anyone open the curtain, and caging her in at the same time. If she wanted to leave, he’d let her, but God, he hoped she didn’t want to.
He wanted her there with him always. Touching, kissing, gasping. No woman had made him feel the intensity of desire that burst in his veins. And certainly, he’d not chased a woman the way he had her. Taken the risks he did with her. This was not about coin or revenge any longer, but something deeper, more terrifying. Graham was becoming emotionally involved—emotions that were foreign. Aye, he’d experienced desire before, want, need, but there was more at stake here.
He cared about Clara. He cared about what happened to her, and he was damned jealous that right now, there was a contract cleaving her to another man. It didn’t matter that the man was his enemy. It could have been any man, and he’d be ready to call them out on the field. He wanted the barrier of Baston gone; he wanted her for himself.
The realization was stark and startling. Shocking enough that Graham leapt backward, breaking the kiss suddenly enough that they both groaned in torment.
“What’s wrong?” Panic edged her voice.
“No one has come,” he said, quickly assuring her, but how could he tell her the fear was all from the inside?
She sighed audibly in relief. “Then why did you…stop?”
“I shouldna be kissing ye.”
“Ye keep saying that.”
“Because ’tis true.”
“Then why do you keep doing it?” He could hear the other question in her voice, though she didn’t ask it—why do I keep letting you?
“I canna help myself. Whenever I’m around ye, all I can do is think of kissing ye. Of touching ye, of having ye close to me.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from her, and it only made him want to press his body, his mouth, back on hers, to taste every inch of her skin and hear that gasp over and over, until she was crying out his name and no other.
CLARA COULDN’T SPEAK.His words echoed in her mind over and over again.All I can do is think of kissing… And she wanted to shout, “Me too,” and “Do not stop.” But her throat wasn’t working, and she couldn’t form words. She reached out a dozen times to pull him back against her, each time letting her hand drop back down. They were both panting, the heat of their breath, their want, filling the tiny space until she was certain it was going to steal away any capacity she had left to think.
Was it possible that Graham felt the way she did? That he wanted her for much more than friends? That he was battling the same internal voices that told him to kiss her and to run away at the same time? Because she couldn’t decipher which voice was louder. Clara knew what she wanted, and it warred in stark contrast with what she should do.
Doing what she wanted was a new concept she’d started in England—started with Graham. For getting rid of Baston as her betrothed was what she wanted. And she also wanted to kiss Graham until the sun came up. Perhaps now she could keep indulging in the latter as if England were a hotbed of claiming her own desires. Making memories that she could take back with her to Normandy.
With those thoughts in mind, she reached forward, gripping his tunic and tugging him back to her. Graham let out a low groan as their bodies collided, their mouths crashing together in delicious relief. Before, his kiss had been enough to make her shiver, but now it made her toes curl. His hands at her waist rose up until he was cupping her breasts, and instantly her nipples hardened, a shiver of potent pleasure coursing through her veins. Clara arched her back, wanting more of his touch, and moaning when his thumbs brushed over the taut peaks.
Goodness, was it supposed to feel so… good? Nipples were supposed to be functional. Women had them to feed their children, yet right now they seemed for an entirely different purpose no one had ever told her about. Rapture…
Graham stroked her until she could barely breathe. Even concentrating on his kiss was difficult, and her head fell back, a heady gasp escaped her lips. He kissed her neck, slid his tongue along the column of her throat, dipping the tip into the little hollow at the base.
Clara shoved her fingers into his hair, pushed and tugged at the same time. He kissed his way over her chest, the heat of his breath going through the fabric of her gown near her breast. Was he going to…? Oh, he did. His mouth clamped over her nipple, and she wanted to tear away her gown to give in to the feel of his wicked tongue on her bare skin.
He slid back up her body, mouth on hers, and a rigid part of him pressed against the crux of her thighs. Clara’s desire ramped up, and she felt her hips push forward, wanting more of that breathtaking hardness.
