Page 17 of Pretty in Plaid
“Ye mean ye dinna think I sound like a donkey?”
“Ye are anything but a jackass.”
She laughed again. “Well, I will take that as a compliment.”
“Definitely do.” He grinned at her, and Kenna had that incredible urge to kiss him again.
Her gaze dipped to his mouth, and when she looked back into his eyes, she found that his gaze too had dropped to her lips.
“I have a confession,” he said in a whisper. “I want to kiss ye again.”
She should tell him no. Climb from this cot where their limbs were tangled in such a way as to be beyond propriety. But she didn’t want to. She liked it just fine where she was—warm, excited.
“I will no’ deny ye, for I want ye to kiss me, too.”
“Och, lass, I wish ye’d no’ said that…”
Kenna parted her lips to ask why, but his mouth was brushing over hers then, soft, warm and sending shivers of a different kind racing through her. She clutched the front of his shirt and returned his kiss, reveling in the exhilaration that his lips on hers brought.
A fire ignited within her when his tongue teased her lower lip and then eased between to toy with hers. His touch on the small of her back increased in pressure as he brought her even closer, his mouth claiming hers.
Desire, passion, intrigue melted into that one kiss and threaded out from there, flames on dry kindling. Every part of her seemed to come alive when he was kissing her, touching her, and she didn’t want it to end. Wished that this tiny paradise was theirs to have forever. A place safe from dragoons and enemies that meant to destroy them.
But it did have to come to an end. They parted, both panting, and not a thought of cold in either of their minds.
“Och, but I liked that too much.” Sorley pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing heavier than it had been before.
“Is there such a thing as too much?”
“Aye, lass. Ye make me forget myself. My duty.” Guilt riddled his tone, and she felt bad for having caused him distress.
“Then I suppose I am also in trouble, Sorley MacLeod, for ye seem to have been sent to retrieve me for safety’s sake, but instead, I find I am in danger of losing myself.” She couldn’t believe that she’d just admitted that aloud. Couldn’t even blame the whisky she’d had while they supped, as it had been hours before.
“Saints, lass, but ye have no idea.”
She wanted him to kiss her again, to feel that spiral of passion ready to burst. But thankfully, for both of their sakes, he eased off the cot and held out his hand to her. The coolness of the nighttime air sank into the skin and chilled her heated thoughts as she stood. That, she supposed, was a good thing as they both needed to have their wits about them on the road. And the only thing that wicked thoughts seemed to do was make her mind muddled.
6
While he might have retrieved the lass, Sorley was failing in his other mission, which had been to keep himself from kissing Kenna again.
It seemed just being in her visceral proximity made his mind wander and do strange things. And when she had been close to him, wrapped in his arms all the night through, he’d been completely hopeless to his desire. Kissing her had been wonderful, a little dream away from the violence and danger.
The lass had no idea how much danger they were in. Her Uncle Duncan, siding with the loyalists to King George, would have given her a much-sheltered life compared to the one Sorley had led. Sorley felt he’d been running from dragoons since he could lift his feet as a wee bairn. So, he decided that kissing her was merely a way to distract her from any endangerment. And to keep himself in a delusional state and wave away all the other feelings that seemed to flood him when he looked at her, touched her.
Perhaps he should kiss her every time the enemy was near? Then again, that would be quite mad, considering they’d be in mortal danger if he lost himself in their embrace.
Bloody hell…
Sorley had never been the sentimental type, nor the kind of man who wanted a woman to divert him from his responsibilities. He was a warrior, a hunter. It was what he did so well, what had gotten him a name within the clan, and the reason why he’d been sent on this particular mission. He was very good at what he did—an expert. In fact, he’d never met anyone better.
And he couldn’t let a little infatuation screw that up for him.
“Oh,” Kenna’s soft moan of irritation pulled his gaze, and he watched her swat a small branch from where it had caught in her hair.
“Do be careful,” he teased. “I’m fairly certain Laird MacLeod wanted ye delivered with your head.”
There was a huff of her breath that he was fairly certain was accompanied by an eye roll.
