Duncan’s green eyes were nearly black right now, and his expression did not change during any part of her answer. He only studied her, as thoroughly and unsettlingly as he had before, his eyes dipping more than once to her lips.
“Very general, lass, your observations. I fear you’ve learned little, or you are tenaciously meaning to keep this impersonal.”
Right again, on both accounts. This was one of those situations where she knew what she wanted—him to kiss her, to consummate their marriage—but she knew it would be wrong. She was not who she pretended to be! And yet, she already knew she wouldn’t do anything to stop what might happen now between them, that she might have gotten in bed with him so that itwouldhappen.I’m an awful person, she told herself.
And yet, they were connected now, somehow and in some manner more solidly than they would have been if they’d merely had sex. She couldn’t explain it, why she felt that way, but there it was. Maybe it had something to do with enduring, surviving a traumatic experience together. There was some teaching about that, wasn’t there? In the lone psychology class she’d taken? That shared trauma acts like a bonding agent in social settings, between the people who shared them?
Still, she wouldn’t discount it, either the bond or his offer to know him better, to acknowledge that.
Essentially, he was all that she had in this world, the only personshecould trust.
“What...well, did you learn anything about me during the ordeal?”
He chuckled, the rich sound music to her ears.
“Sure and I’ve just learned that your idea of an ordeal and mine vary a wee bit.” He lifted his hand and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.
“From what I’ve seen so far of this—in the last few days, I’m not surprised.”
“Whatever I ken now of you that I dinna before only made me want to kiss you again,” he said, clearly meaning to make this extremely personal. “The kiss we shared makes me want to lay with you, wed or nae. At the very least I want to explore more.”
With some fear that if she opened her mouth, she would only invite him to take her—please!—Holly clamped her lips tightly.
“I believed you were nae suited to be the wife of a laird,” he went on. “I’ve since revised my opinion. I ken your mother must have cuckhold your father; you are nae kin of Malcolm or Black Hugh, nae that weasel, Wedast. I would nae have thought you would have kissed me, ken I’d have to hold you down to touch your lips, so you’ve surprised me on many accounts.” He lifted his hand again, this time tracing his forefinger along the ridge of her bottom lip. “And aye, now I’m hoping you’ll kiss me again, lass.”
His voice had taken on a husky quality that sent a tingle down her spine and did nothing for her resolve.
“Duncan, I’m...I’m a little afraid.”
“What frightens you?”
How to explain this to him without revealing too much to him.
“I...I think you’re wrong about me. I’m...I’m a fraud, Duncan, not who you think I am.”
“Are you Holly, the brave lass who did nae hide when came the fight, despite my command? The same Holly who boldly kissed me in a field of flowers, who tore the tunic off a dead man?”
She nodded, knowing these things at least were true about her.
“Just one kiss, lass,” he whispered, having leaned incrementally closer so that his breath was felt against her lips.
In her mind, she heard,I’ll only put it in a little bit, which brought back some pretty horrible memories of her first year of college, and Eric Stone, and his dorm room that smelled like a gym locker, also known as the place where she’d lost her virginity. Even if Eric had talked to her after that night, she was pretty sure it would have remained a memory she’d rather not recall. Luckily, her first serious—real—boyfriend had taken the time to show her how good it could be. Unfortunately, after a couple months, she learned that he’d apparently been showing several girls at once how great he was in bed. She knew, she just knew, with every fiber of her being, that no one’s touch or kiss would ever compare to Duncan MacQuillan’s. Come what may, nothing could ever possibly rival the exhilarating thrill, eye to eye with the man of her dreams, who was asking now for a kiss.
And yet, guilt fought for equal recognition inside her.
Swallowing, she met his resolute gaze and nodded weakly, advising as one last ditch effort to exonerate herself later, “Just remember, I warned you. I’m not who you think I am.”
He ignored this, moving as soon as she’d nodded. Sliding his fingers into her hair, he dipped his head and caught her last word in the start of his kiss. He brushed his mouth over hers in a coaxing caress, as if he thought more persuasion was needed. Holly lifted her hand and smoothed it over the hard contours of his upper arm. He ran his tongue along her lips, and she opened her mouth to him, her pulse racing instantly at his touch. Their tongues met again, dancing their duet once more. As hungry and hot as had been their first kiss, this one now was slow, an exploration, but just as dizzying as the first.
She was enveloped in the scent of him, one that lingered in the room as if his bath water had been scented as was hers, his with hints of sandalwood and lemon. He shifted with ease, rolling her onto her back, leaving her lips to trail kisses along her jaw, around to her ear, where he pulled at the lobe with his teeth.
He wedged a thigh between the legs Holly eagerly parted, as far as her long shift would allow for now. His cock pressed against her pelvis, and she moaned at this, her core clenching involuntarily.
“You have stitches in your arm and leg,” she reminded him, panting already. “I don’t want to be the reason they need to be resewn later today.”
“There’s a piper I’m willing to pay, lass,” he rasped against her ear before dragging his mouth across her cheek and back to her lips.
He did not stay there, however, did not devour her with a kiss, but lowered himself, sucking at spots along her neck and the column of her throat. He’d bathed but had not shaved. His whiskers were rough, decadently so, rousing to life every inch of skin they touched.