Page 8 of Claimed by the Clan Chief

“A lass I’d like to kiss.”

“Kiss?” Her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ of surprise.

“Aye, would that be okay?” He smiled, just a little. At himself as much as anything. All this talk of witches and he felt thoroughly bewitched by her.

“Why do you want to do that?” Her concentration was very much on his eyes. Now it seemed she couldn’t look enough.

“Because it’s been a long while since I was this close to a person who fascinated me as much as you do.”

“I… I’m just a maid, not even a senior one.”

“Justa maid.” He moved closer still, so there was connection between the lengths of their bodies. “No, you’re more than that.”

“Sir.” She placed her hands on his chest. “Please, I…”

“What?”

“You said you couldn’t see into my soul.” She glanced away.

“I promise I only see what is before me, yet I can deduce from the way you were with Broc, with these cats, and how you move that you are a woman with many qualities and a sharp mind.”

She looked up at him again. “Is that what you see?”

“Aye, and now I’d like to stop seeing, speaking too for that matter, and kiss you. May I?”

She hesitated, then. “Aye.” She slid her small hands upward, to the base of his neck.

McTavish’s belly tightened, more blood rushed to his cock. Damn, but she was the sweetest thing. He could resist no longer and dipped his head and pressed his lips against hers.

She tasted of sugar and butter, petals too, all laced with a spring breeze carrying the heady scent of meadow flowers.

Her mouth parted and he gently stroked his tongue against hers. A very primal male part of him wanted to drag her closer, hoist her skirt, and sink his cock deep. But his brain told him that was not the way to handle this little deer. If he wanted her, truly wanted her, he’d have to bide his time.

She pulled back and stepped away, bringing her fingertips to her lips as if still feeling him there.

He’d only held her for a moment but felt weirdly bereft without her in his arms. “Isla,” he said, adjusting his sporran to make his groin more comfortable.

“The laird might not like it. Me with you.”

“The laird said I could have anything I want as his guest.” He glanced at the empty doorway. “And I want you.”

“I have to go.”

“Where?”

“Back to the kitchen, to help Mrs. Humphrey and Diane. I shouldn’t really be out here. The cream was leftover, see, and the cats love it so.” She stooped and retrieved the now empty saucer and jug. “I have to go.”

“I’d rather you didn’t go.”

She rushed past him, her hair flicking out behind her. “I have to, sir. I really do.”

Chapter Three

Isla spent the next hour in the kitchen helping with the enormous task of tidying. She then flopped exhausted into her small bed with the light of the waxing moon spilling onto the covers. She’d cast a curse on Broc morrow, she had no energy for it this eve.

‘I may have to tip you over my knee and spank the information from you.’

McTavish’s words came back to her. For the love of the fairies, what would it be like to feel his huge hands swatting her rump? To be over his knee, bent double on a table, trapped against a wall and taking the punishment he’d deemed appropriate?

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