Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(24)

“Katherine.”

She turned on him, her eyes wide as she realized he’d caught her.

“Ye’re a bloody hellion, woman!”

Her eyes narrowed in response. She reached out and picked up a pitchfork used to move hay.

“Yes, and I am more trouble than you need.”

“On that we agree,” Rolfe stated.

“Your lesson is well learned,” she argued. “Now, leave me be. I do not wish to hurt you. I am simply set on going home.”

His lips twitched into an arrogant grin. “Put that down so I do nae have to hurt ye.”

“You said you would not risk me being turned over to the Earl of Morton.”

That made him stop edging toward her. “I did.”

“But your father is laird here.”

He drew in a deep breath. “He is.”

Katherine felt a much-needed breath of relief fill her lungs. “Good. Go back the way you came.”

He shook his head. “As ye have learned, lass, the McTavishes are no’ the worst ye might run across. I will no’ allow ye to leave alone.”

“I will go straight back to MacPherson land,” she offered. “I promise, no more rides at night.”

Katherine tightened her grip on the pitchfork, but she was loath to use it.

“Ye’ll have to trust me, Katherine.”

Her name came across his lips in a deep tone that send a shiver down her spine. It mixed with the way her heart was racing, producing a very unexpected sort of excitement.

“You owe me a debt,” she reminded him.

“No’ at the expense of yer safety.” Rolfe stepped closer, eyeing her weapon. “No honorable man would let ye take the risk of crossing all the clans between here and MacPherson land.”

She lifted the pitchfork, shooting him a clear warning. Rolfe didn’t back down. He was edging toward her, backing her into a corner. She twisted away, bringing the pitchfork up before the wall behind prevented her from using it. For a moment, she hesitated, wishing things might be different between them.

That was her undoing. Rolfe launched himself at her, pushing her back, and claiming her weapon in a motion that knocked the breath from her. But she went with it, turning back so he stumbled past her. He took the pitchfork away with him, while she gained a few steps of freedom.

It wouldn’t be enough. She knew that. She’d have to disable him or submit to his will. She lifted her foot and kicked the back of his knee.

He let out a curse and hooked his hands into her skirt as he went down. He twisted and turned, tumbling her as she tried to get her feet braced beneath her.

“Curse and rot this dress!” she exclaimed as it trapped her legs.

“I preferred ye out of it meself.”

Rolfe landed on top of her in a hard, panting mountain of muscle that she was powerless to move. She flattened her feet beneath her and tried to heave him off her. All he did was roll over and take her with him, until she was beneath him once more with her wrists held captive in his hands as he pinned them to the ground near her head.

“However”—his breath was close enough to tease her lips—“I believe it’s better that ye have more than a shirt on right this moment.”

“Get off…me…” She was breathless and panting, her heart hammering as she shuddered.

He seemed to feel it, suddenly lifting a bit of his weight off her as he stroked the insides of her wrists with his thumbs.

She shuddered again, this time twisting away not because of any conscious choice but because the sensation was too deep somehow, too purely intimate to endure.

“I should,” he rasped, drawing her attention back to him. There was something in his tone that stroked another place inside her, one she hadn’t known might be touched by another human being.

In his eyes, she caught a promise that made her belly twist. It was so deeply personal that she withered, straining against his hold on her wrists.

“No’ just yet, lass,” he said. “I’ll be claiming a prize from ye first.”

She knew he was going to kiss her before he angled his head and fitted his mouth against hers. She moaned softly, unable to remain silent as sensation went flowing through her as if a dam had ruptured. She’d never realized what it held back, and now it swept her up in its grip, tumbling her with its power and rolling her completely within its current.

The kiss was hard, just like his body. He didn’t allow her to keep her mouth closed, but pressed her lips open with the motion of his own as he moved his mouth over hers. It was overwhelming, like a clap of thunder directly overhead. She was left with her ears ringing, off balance as she reeled, and all the while, the storm continued.

And then she was free.

One moment, she was full of the taste of him, every inch of her body prey to the sensation of his contact, the bite of his hold on her wrists confirming how much stronger he was than herself, and then the air brushing over her was cool because he’d withdrawn. She rolled over, frantically trying to recover her poise, and found him facing her as he balanced on his haunches just a foot away.

They stared at each other for a long moment. She thought she saw uncertainty in his eyes, although she wasn’t really sure her mind was working. But the stall where they’d landed was full of the raspy sounds of their breathing.

“Has no one ever kissed ye before?”