My Fair Highlander. Mary Wine
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doesn’t matter what sent me out, only that I realize now that it was foolish.”
One of those dark eyebrows rose. “I hear ye started riding when yer father died. Do ye think that I can nae understand what grief does to a person?”
“I can’t fathom why you would think I might share such a personal thing with you. We are strangers, sir.”
He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. The motion made his arms bulge, the muscles pressing against the fitted sleeve of his doublet. “Strangers, aye we are but that does nae mean that I have never done something I regretted while in the midst of grief.”
“Fine. As you will, sir. If that pleases you and softens your judgment of me then so be it.” She discovered that her hands had planted themselves on her hips like an angry wife, and she jerked them off only to fumble with them while she attempted to compose herself. “Somehow I doubt that riding is an escape for you since you do it so often.”
His face transformed into something that was wickedly handsome. His lips curved, and his eyes held a gleam that was full of male satisfaction.
“Well now, there’s riding and then there is riding that pleases a man. I admit to enjoying a good, hard ride. Often.”
He was talking about bed sport. His eyes shimmered with mischief, and his lips curved in mocking display.
Her cheeks heated and her jaw dropped open. She snapped it shut with a click of her teeth. But she had to fight the urge to look at the bed. Her mind was suddenly full of just what the Scot might look like in it.
What might it feel like to have those lips touch my own . . . ?
“You have no place judging my actions, sir.”
“You mean, I should nae be handing out my opinion when I’m nae perfect myself?” He crossed the room, closing the distance between them with a stride that held her fascinated. He grew larger and more imposing with each step, but she was frozen in place, too hypnotized to move. He had to angle his head down to keep their eyes connected now that he was so much closer.
“Well now, lass, aren’t ye judging my riding habits right now, too?”
Jemma slapped her hands down on her skirts, unable to remain still any longer. “I wouldn’t be if you weren’t so coarse as to bring up the subject. I do assure you of that, sir.”
“Ye assure me? Is that so?” He reached out and captured one of her hands in the blink of an eye, his larger fingers curling and turning her wrist up so that he could see its delicate skin.
“Release me and go, we should not be alone.”
“No just yet. I’m thinking that it’s high time we did more than look at each other across a distance.”
Her breath froze in her throat, and her jaw dropped open once more in shock. “You . . . you are behaving abominably. Release me now, I tell you.”
“Well now, lass, and that takes me right back to pointing out to you how reckless riding out near sunset is.” His fingers tightened on her wrist just enough to give her pain, but only for a brief moment. When her eyes widened with the discomfort, his grip eased, giving her release. It was strangely intimate, the way he read her emotions off her face. Such knowledge sent uncertainty surging through her.
“Ye see, now that ye have left the sanctuary of yer brother’s protection, ye have to deal with whatever comes yer way. The rules and etiquette of proper behavior often crumble when ye ignore them first.”
“So I am to blame for whatever you choose to do with me?” She pulled on her wrist, but it was a wasted motion because he held her securely.
“Aye, lass.” His voice held a rich tone that made her heart increase its pace. In his eyes was more heat than she struggled to ignore within herself. It shone there, staring at her while tempting her. But there was something else about him that she noticed, the difference between him and the English knight that had done nothing to temper his grip.
Trust me . . . Jemma heard the words rise from her memory, and she realized that she did in fact have faith in him.
“You are not so coarse.”
Her words affected him. She witnessed the flare of pride that lit his eyes, almost as if he enjoyed knowing that she did trust in him. But his lips also curved in a sensual motion that sent a shiver down her back. There was a promise lurking in his eyes, too, one that assured her he was not a man who would let conversation deter him from gaining what he truly desired. He would not hurt her, but that did not mean that he would not follow his desires.
“If I was coarse as ye say, lass, I’d not bother to temper my grip.”
“I know that.”
Jemma felt her eyes narrow. The man was teasing her. Well, he was not the only one who knew how to annoy another. Lifting her foot, she aimed for his toes and stomped down as hard as possible. She felt the leather of his boot give beneath the force of her strike, but the man only laughed one moment before he lifted her arm and twisted it behind her, binding her against his body.
“You rogue.” Jemma sneered her insult into his face, wanting to make sure he heard her. But Gordon stared right back at her, his eyes snapping with fire.
“Ye are a wildcat, and a man is wise to keep yer claws contained when he’s close enough to be reached.”
Her throat felt as if it were clogged and that even a single breath might not pass through it. She was pressed against him from thighs to breast and only managed to keep her shoulders separated from his wide chest by arching her back away from him. Her muscles ached from the strain, but Gordon granted her no mercy. He kept her bound against him.
“This is completely indecent.”
His lips twitched up once more. “Aye, it is, lass, but I find it rather enjoyable.”
She used her free hand to shove against his chest. “Of course you do. You enjoy riding, as you so shamelessly informed me. Well, I have no such fondness for carnal activities, sir, so unhand me this moment.”
Before I go insane from the urge to stop struggling and allow you to show me what a man’s embrace feels like . . .
“Are ye sure about that, lass?” His voice had deepened, becoming husky and alluring. “Or is it possibly more a fact that ye have never had a man who rode out after ye and tried his hand at seeing if ye enjoyed his kiss?”
She looked back into his eyes and gasped when he angled his face to press a kiss against her startled lips.
It lasted only a moment before she jerked her head away. But he followed her, releasing her hand so that he might frame her face with his hands and hold her steady for a longer kiss. His mouth settled on top of hers, hot and soft while she heard a moan rise from her chest. She couldn’t help it, there seemed to be no way to contain all the sensation inside her. It was bubbling over like a too-hot pot. Only removing it from the fire would stop the contents from escaping over the sides, and Gordon wasn’t releasing her.
Jemma pressed her hands against his chest, but that became more of a reason to remain when she discovered she liked the way his chest felt beneath her fingers. His lips closed over hers, gently at first, teasing her with a delicate press of his mouth against her own, only applying enough strength to keep her head in place while his lips began to slip along her own.
Slowly, softly, in a motion that sent trickles of delight down her body. The sensation was not confined to her lips; it flowed down her torso and into her belly where that flutter of excitement fed off it. Another moan rose up from inside her, and her hands slid up to his collarbones and over the top of his wide shoulders where she gripped him. The kiss changed immediately. Increasing the pressure against her mouth, Gordon pressed her lips apart wider with his. But instead of finding it harsh, she enjoyed feeling his strength. There was something perfect about knowing that she was soft compared to his hardness. Behind her stays, her breasts felt very delicate, and she noticed how simple it might be to press