Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(48)

She wasn’t sure she’d thought about her answer, only that the words were very true and they pleased him. She watched his expression change to one of enjoyment. Not the same as when he’d been laughing—no, this was a deeply personal sort of satisfaction.

He’d sat down to work his boots off. The fire popped, a log shifting and sending up a spray of crimson sparks while Rolfe finished getting out of his boots. He stood and faced her, contemplating the way she’d come to stop in the shadows between the bedchamber and the arched opening that led to the receiving portion of the chamber.

She likely looked frightened.

Well, at the very least, nervous.

Even admitting that wasn’t enough to get her feet to move toward him.

It would be best.

Courageous.

And yet, she lingered in… Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what to call it. Part of her was caught in a rush of anticipation, while the other seemed to be embracing doubts about what she was doing.

“Are ye hungry?” he asked. “Ye did nae eat very much.”

Katherine shook her head. “The corset was snug.”

He cast a glance at the dress where it was draped over the chairs.

“I hope ye did nae mind that the dress was nae made for ye.”

“That sort of life was lost years ago when Morton stole me from England,” she answered. “I have not longed for it.”

“No’ even now?” he asked quietly.

She ended up smiling. “Especially not now. There are some things that Scotland and England have in common, and one is the expectation of children wedding whom their parents choose.”

Rolfe joined her in grinning. He was moving toward her, leaving the light behind, which suited her well. Of course, she had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact with him as he neared, and his size made her heart accelerate.

“Ye do nae think I would be yer kin’s choice of groom?” he asked, a single step from her.

“No more than I am your father’s.”

Rolfe reached out and settled his hand against the side of her face. She shuddered with the contact, so intensely aware of him.

“Ye’re mine.”

He spoke in a raspy whisper before pressing his lips against hers. He’d intended it to be a soft kiss that wasn’t too startling, but she rose onto her toes so she could kiss him back, and it felt as though something snapped inside her. A leash that had been holding her back, because now she reached for him, hooking her hands into his shirt as she tried to mimic the way he’d kissed her before.

The hard, determined way.

She didn’t want soft.

She wanted him.

Rolfe didn’t disappoint her. He took her kiss as permission to discard his attempt at being gentle. His chest vibrated with a growl as he closed his arm around her body and clamped her against him. His hand slid across her cheek and into her hair, where he closed his fingers into a fist that tugged the strands of her hair tight.

Then his mouth claimed hers in a demand that sent a jolt down to her toes. It was raw and hungry, the way he moved her mouth beneath his. There was a touch from his tongue, and then he was pressing her mouth open wide so he could thrust his tongue deep inside her mouth.

She let out a little moan.

He ripped his head away from hers in response, gaining another little cry from her.

“No, don’t let me think.”

He frowned at her, holding her head in place and keeping her from following him. “I am nae a beast. It does no’ have to be this very moment.”

But he was hard. His member was a solid length pressed against her belly. She’d seen them before, man parts, but now she felt something entirely new in regards to them. She wanted him inside her.

“I like your strength.”

She wasn’t entirely certain what she meant, but understanding flashed in his eyes a moment before he lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed. It seemed perfectly correct, in all its wickedness.

Honestly, that wickedness made it even more enticing as Rolfe crawled into the bed with her. He was hot and heavy, and that felt so very good against her flesh.

So right.

As though she’d been made just for the purpose of fitting against him.

“I do…nae…want to hurt ye,” he muttered against her neck, pressing tiny kisses against skin that was unbelievably sensitive. The kisses stirred the cravings inside her, making her writhe against him in an effort to get closer.

“It cannot hurt so terribly,” she answered him. “Not with the way the maids defy the Church to tryst.”

She slid her hands beneath his shirt, absorbing the way he felt. She had never thought she might enjoy touching another human being so very much.

“Where the devil did ye see that?”

He’d lifted his head and was glaring at her.

“You know I trained in the yard, as a boy.”

Her answer hit him, making him blink, right before Rolfe McTavish did something she’d never thought to see him ever do.

He flushed.

She laughed at him and raised her thigh so his hips slipped between her legs. It felt so very right in a way that she had never imagined carnal intimacy might.

“Would you rather I lay here dreading this?” It was an honest question. Wives were expected to perform their duty in a dignified manner that she doubted included kissing him back. Uncertainty needled her, and she let her hands fall back onto the bed, feeling as if she were being denied the best food on the table in favor of devotion to piety.