Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(37)

She shrugged. “Nothing has been formalized yet, but my brother informed me that one is in the works.”

Good. She'd not completely resolved herself to marrying Glenorchy's son. If he'd learned one thing about Elizabeth Campbell in their short acquaintance, it was that she took her duty very seriously. It would be much more difficult for him to persuade her to run away with him if she'd accepted the match proposed by her cousin. “Do you know the man?”

She nodded.

“And he is acceptable to you?”

She fumbled with the lace at her wrist. “I do not know him that well,” she hedged. “But my cousin would never force me to marry a man I could not abide.”

He took a step closer. The faint floral scent in her hair was stronger under the heat of the sun. It filled his nose and clouded his head. “Abide? Is that enough? What of love?”

She wouldn't look at him, and he could sense her nervousness, feel her response as her body flared with awareness. “I'm sure I will come to love my husband.”

He laughed. “It's not as easy as that. Attraction and love cannot be forced.”

Two angry spots of color appeared upon her cheeks. “I might not be as experienced as you are in such matters, but you do not need to laugh at me.”

He sobered, realizing that he'd struck a tender spot. The incident that day at Inveraray had left a deep mark. “It was not my intention to do so.”

“Was it not? Not all of us are blessed with a face such as yours.”

He took her chin and forced her gaze to his. “I can assure you, my lady, that your countenance pleases me very well. But what stirs between us is not as trifling as fairness of face.”

“There is nothing between us,” she said, gazing into his eyes. “Nor can there be.”

Her crisp denial angered him, and not because of his plan. Right now he wasn't thinking about his damn plan. He wanted her to acknowledge what was between them. That she could easily dismiss him when it was taking everything in his power to fight the urge to ravish her senseless infuriated him. It also made him determined to prove her wrong.

She tried to turn away, but he caught her up against his chest. She was so tiny and soft, and with all those womanly curves pressed tightly against him, it was all he could do not to groan.

“Are you so sure of that?” The huskiness in his voice did not need to be feigned. He slid the back of his finger down the curve of her cheek. Her eyes widened, but she didn't move. “If there is nothing between us, then why is your heart fluttering like the wings of a butterfly?” His thumb found the velvety pillow of her bottom lip. “Why is your breath quickening?” He cupped her chin and lowered his head. “And why do your lips part for me?”

It was too soon, but he didn't give a damn. He kissed her, gently at first. A soft brush of the lips that made his chest tighten so sharply, it almost burned. God, she was sweet. An innocent lamb to his wolf.

He never thought someone like her could be his.

He might need her to reclaim his land, but there was no denying that he wanted her for himself.

The knowledge angered him. He knew better than to complicate retribution and vengeance with personal desire. It would only lead to trouble.

He lifted his head and looked deep into her eyes, seeing the surprise and passion shimmering in the crystalline depths. He gave her every opportunity to tell him to stop. To push him away. To refuse his kiss. To tell him he was wrong.

But instead she melted against him, twining her hands around his neck in silent surrender.

This time he did not hold back. The passion, the hunger, the lust, could no longer be held in check.

She was his—even if she didn't know it yet.

Lizzie's heart thumped hard in her chest. The brush of his lips over hers had ignited the ember smoldering inside her.

She could taste him on her lips, the hint of spiciness that made her mouth water with anticipation.

His eyes bored into hers, giving her no doubt as to what he intended. The sharp rays of sunlight cast his handsome features in hard angles. His black hair glistened like a raven's wing. He looked dark and dangerous and very, very hungry.

For me.

A thrill shivered through her, not in coldness, but in warmth … delicious warmth. A shimmery, tingly sea of sensation that threatened to drown her good intentions. She knew better. Knew better than to confuse lust with something more. But it felt like more. So much more. Strong and true and real.

His mouth lowered.

Her pulse jumped, and she froze like a deer caught in sight of the hunter—paralyzed not with fear, but with wanting. A wanting unlike anything that had come before. A wanting that made what had happened with John feel like child's play.

The force of it, the intensity with which desire came over her, took her by surprise.

It was like nothing she'd experienced before. This man was far more dangerous than John Montgomery, and look at what had happened with him.

She should stop him. She knew what he was going to do. Knew how dangerous playing with fire could be. But she was weak. Too weak to resist the strange pull that came over her, the heaviness, the bonelessness that made her body soften and flush with heat.

Desire was intoxicating. It simply felt too good.

She sank against him, her br**sts crushed against the powerful wall of his chest. Safe, secure, and, for the moment, desired.