Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(55)

The thick head of his c**k nudged against her warm dampness, the contact almost shooting him over the edge in a burst of sensation.

He had her. All he had to do was close his eyes, toss back his head, and slide deep inside her. She was his for the taking, thoroughly seduced. If he took her, she would marry him. He knew it.

He didn't know what stopped him—perhaps the kernel of deep-seated honor awakened by Lizzie—but with a pained growl, he broke the kiss. His eyes searched her face. “Tell me not to stop, Elizabeth,” he said tightly. “Tell me you want me.”

She was still soft with her release, and confusion filled her eyes. “You know I do.”

He looked right into her eyes, breaking through the haze, forcing her to think. “Then you'll marry me?”

“I …”

Hesitation was the only answer he needed.

She didn't want him. Not enough, anyway. What the hell had made him think he could compete with the likes of Robert Campbell? The moment was gone, fading into uncomfortable silence.

The fire in his veins turned to ice. He uttered a vile oath and pulled away from her. The pain in his groin was nothing compared to the tight burning in his chest.

She sat up, her face crumpled. “Don't you see? I'm trying to do the right thing.”

He turned back to her, his face revealing no hint of the sting she'd given him. “So am I.” And he was a fool. Honor had no part in his life—not anymore. This was about getting his clan's land back. Righting a grave injustice. He wasn't supposed to give a damn. His eyes narrowed on her. “But you had better make a choice soon, because next time I won't stop.” He went to the door. “I hope your family realizes the sacrifice you intend to make for them. But if they love you as much as you say they do, I would think they would want your happiness.”

She didn't say anything, just stared at him with a helpless look on her face. Achingly vulnerable. She appeared to be exactly what she was—a woman who had just come apart in his arms. She wanted reassurance, but he forced himself not to go to her.

He'd given her the best part of himself, and it hadn't been enough.

His eyes lingered over her swollen mouth, mussed curls, and disheveled clothing. “You might want to freshen up a bit before you return to Campbell,” he said coldly. His eyes raked her face. “You have the look of a woman who has just been very thoroughly pleasured.”

Chapter 11

The next morning dawned cool and clear. The early mist had lifted, leaving a thick layer of dew clinging to the hillsides beyond the castle, shimmering in the morning sun like faerie dust sprinkled over a lush bed of emerald.

Like his eyes.

Lizzie shook off the image of his gorgeous face tight with passion as he'd stroked her. God, could she think of nothing else? Especially now, when her mind should be on other matters.

She stood in the barmkin with Robert, readying their horses for a hunt that Colin had organized for the handful of guests who'd remained after the feast. Colin had begged off at the last minute; apparently the ill effects of drink last night had yet to wane. In addition to Robert and herself, there was a handful of noblemen from the surrounding area and half a dozen guardsmen—they would take no chances. Patrick was in his usual place at the periphery, looking unbelievably handsome and completely unaffected by the events of the evening before.

His calm, solid presence proved an unexpected annoyance. If he was still angry, she couldn't tell.

How could he behave as if nothing had changed when it felt as if Lizzie's entire world had just been flipped upside down?

Never had she experienced anything like that. It wasn't just the closeness of their bodies, the intimacy of his touch, or the shattering pleasure he'd given her; it was something much more intense, much more powerful—the feeling of utter connection to another soul. For those few brief minutes in his arms, they'd felt as one. At least she thought so.

She was a romantic fool, always seeing things that weren't there.

Her eyes sought his again, but as he'd done all morning, he avoided her gaze. When their eyes happened to meet, he looked away. Her chest tightened with pain. His cold indifference stung even more than his terse words of the night before.

She'd angered him with her hesitation, but surely he had to know how difficult this was for her? He was asking her to put aside the learning of a lifetime. Duty had been ingrained in her from birth—it was part of who she was.

Instead, he'd looked at her as if she'd failed some unspoken test—as if she'd failed him.

Had she?

Every bone in her body had cried out to say yes to his proposal, to his body; only fear had prevented her. Fear of being hurt. She'd made the wrong decision once before based on passion, and she couldn't bear the thought of making another mistake.

Could she risk her heart again?

Her chest squeezed. She wondered if it was already too late.

Robert came up beside her. “Are you ready, my lady?”

She managed a smile. “Yes, if you'll help me up.”

“Gladly,” he said. Instead of moving the mounting block to her horse, he slipped his hands around her waist, lingering intimately, possessively. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She didn't need to look to know that it was Patrick. She bit back a smug smile. Apparently he wasn't as indifferent as he appeared.