Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(41)

She shifted away from Rolfe and the contract. Her heart was thumping hard beneath her breastbone, pushing her blood through her veins too fast. That made it hard to concentrate and form calm thoughts.

Katherine pointed at the contract. “That is not an answer to anything.”

Rolfe slowly grinned, giving her a glimpse of his teeth. It made him both menacing and delectable. He stepped toward her and she retreated, earning a soft sound of victory from him.

“It’s an answer, sure enough,” he offered in a soft tone edged with promise. “I want to take ye to bed, and by Christ, I will wed ye first. For I will no’ act like a brute who sees ye as a prize.”

Was it so simple?

Katherine scoffed at her own thoughts. Life was never so easy.

“We cannot do any such thing,” she told him firmly.

He crossed his arms over his chest and faced her with his feet braced shoulder-width apart. He was only two paces from her, making it necessary for her to look up to lock gazes with him.

“And why no’?” he asked seriously. “Are ye contracted to another?”

She shook her head.

“Promised?” he pressed her.

“I am English,” she argued. “And your father detests me for it.”

Rolfe closed the distance between them, and her breath caught. He reached out and gently tapped her on her chin. So simple a touch, and yet she jerked because it felt as if lightning had just struck her.

“Are…ye…promised? By the MacPhersons’ word or yer own?”

He had that sense of purpose, the one he’d so often used when dealing with her. Part of her was melting in response to it, the need to just sag against him and allow him to shelter her nearly overwhelming.

She drew herself up straight instead. “You would respect a private promise I may have made?”

“I respect ye enough to insist we take the Church’s blessing before I take ye to bed.” He tilted his head to one side and offered her an arrogant grin, with no apology for how personal his words were. “I’ll be happy to allow ye time to pen the man a letter explaining why ye chose me over him. If he does nae have the blessing of the MacPherson, the man has nae the courage ye deserve in a husband.”

“That is not funny,” she exclaimed. “And you are too sure of yourself by far, sir.”

“I’m sure I crave ye.” His voice had deepened, stroking something deep inside her. He reached out and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

She shuddered, sensation flooding her. The simplest of things, such as breathing, had becoming difficult with him so close.

“And very sure ye want me to touch ye.”

He moved close, slipping his hand around the back of her head to cradle her nape.

“So,” he muttered, just a bare inch from kissing her, “I am going to wed ye.”

“But your father—”

Rolfe sealed her protest beneath his lips. It was a firm kiss that pressed his will upon her. She shifted but honestly couldn’t say if what she felt was the need to get closer to him or to move away. They were twisting against each other, her hands on his chest as she tried to use his clothing to pull him closer. She rose onto her toes, pressing her mouth against his as she kissed him back.

Heat flared between them, stealing her breath and turning her thoughts into vapor that dissipated in the flames of need. There were so many new sensations, things she’d never associated with passion before. Such as the way her nipples contracted into hard little points. It wasn’t from a chill and they didn’t hurt, but there was a definite ache that had her pressing forward, seeking out some sort of comfort from his body.

Rolfe tore his mouth from hers and kept control of her nape to keep her from following him.

“Sign the contract.” His voice was raspy, his eyes glittering with hard purpose. He released her and backed away, as though he doubted his own control. He paused at the door and sent her a look that left no doubt about how determined he was.

“I will have ye,” he declared. “And I will no’ do so without giving ye the respect ye have earned.” He looked past her. “Sign it.”

“And if I do not?” She questioned him, or maybe her own need to quarrel with his will. Honestly, she did not know for certain.

“Ye are a coward.” He pulled the chamber door open. “For I will stand firm in the face of me father’s displeasure because ye are a woman of rare spirit, and I willingly admit I want to bed ye nearly more than I want to continue drawing breath. Refuse to meet me in church, lass, and ye are afraid of yer own body—and that is a solid fact.”

He closed the door, the sound like a stone dropping in the chamber. She flinched, wrapping her arms around herself because she felt chilled without him against her. The surface of her lips was tingling and still moist from his kiss. Her heart was racing, and she felt more aware of her body than she ever had been. Wave after wave of sensation was washing over her, and as her thoughts returned, she faced the hard truth that Rolfe had awakened something inside her.

It was rare.

Perhaps it was also wicked.

For certain, she knew the way lust was spoken of in church, and yet she couldn’t help but feel elated over the sheer intensity of the feeling. To think she might have gone through life without ever feeling it horrified her, making her sure she would have missed out on something very special.