Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(66)
He'd said too much, but he was past all discretion. His life had been so damned clear, he'd known everything he'd wanted until he met her. She'd changed everything.
She gazed up at him helplessly. “Duncan, I … I'm sorry.”
He didn't want her damned pity, he wanted her help. “You're still choosing to side with your family against me. Even if you weren't responsible for taking the map and setting me up for treason, what if your father and husband were?”
“They weren't.”
“Then you should have nothing to fear.” He swept his thumb over the delicate point of her chin, tipping her head back to gaze deep into her eyes. The old connection surged through him. He wanted to believe that she hadn't betrayed him, but she was making it damned near impossible. “Please, tell me what you know, let me see his correspondence. Help me find the truth.”
Her luminous green eyes swam with turmoil as she struggled with what to do. Her indecision chaffed against his control, already rubbed raw. God's wounds, he'd practically begged her.
His blood surged and desire fisted low in his gut. He was hot and hard, and her nearness only made it worse. Never had a woman managed to get so completely beneath his skin. She'd always been the devil's sweet temptation. His entire body ached for her. Longed for her. How could she deny this madness that burned between them?
He knew she felt it from the way her lips parted, her eyes darkened, and her breath hitched. But she was trying to fight it. “Duncan, I—”
He swore, covering her mouth with his to prevent the refusal from passing her lips. He groaned at the contact—at the taste—sinking into her, digging his fingers through her hair to bring her mouth more fully against him.
His body heated, hardened, overtaken by dark, primitive urges of a man intent on claiming the woman who belonged to him. Blood surged through his body as lust gripped him in its inextricable hold.
He wanted to punish her for denying him, for denying this, for bringing him to this barbaric state.
He wanted to sink into the warm, honey recesses of her mouth and devour her. To force her to admit what was between them.
Not just passion. The flash of rationality pierced the black haze. It was more than passion. Something far deeper and far more meaningful. And he wanted her to acknowledge it. He forced himself to cool and eased back to coax her lips apart with gentle, deft strokes of his mouth and tongue.
But God, she was sweet. Honey on his tongue. He wanted to sink into her, to delve into the warm sugary recesses, but instead of demanding with the force of passion, he cajoled with infinite tenderness.
His forbearance was rewarded by a soft moan as she opened her mouth and returned his kiss, surrendering. To him. A bolt of pure masculine satisfaction surged through him as strong as after any battle he'd ever won.
He knew she'd felt it, knew he was not alone in the force of emotion that made his chest ache with every tentative sweep of her tongue. His tongue circled hers in a slow delicious dance, delving deeper and deeper. She sagged against him, her body melting into his. He groaned at the contact, at the incredible sensation of all those ripe curves pressed up against him.
The sound startled her out of her trance. With a cry she jerked away, the movement as emphatic as a slap. She stared at him, breathing hard. Her gaze shuttered, but she still bore the stamp of their passion in her swollen lips and flushed cheeks. “I can't. I'm sorry, I can't help you.”
He flinched. “Why not?”
She shook her head, tears blurring her luminous green eyes. “I just can't. Please don't ask me again.”
This time when she turned to leave, Duncan didn't stop her. His body felt coiled, ready to strike, and he didn't trust himself. His hardened heart felt the pinch. Her refusal, in the wake of his own weakness for her and the passion that still seized his body, was a double betrayal.
He clenched his jaw, biting back the flare of disappointment. He'd thought …
What, that he meant something to her? He was a damned fool thinking he could read emotions in a kiss.
What the hell had he been thinking? Kissing her only made him more crazed. Lust blinded him to his purpose. He was here to clear his name, not to wake the ghosts of the past.
She wanted him, but not enough to overcome whatever it was that held her back from helping him. It wasn't just loyalty to her husband, but something else. She was hiding something and he intended to find out what it was.
Chapter 13
The conversation with Duncan stayed with Jeannie long after she'd left his room. She'd had her questions answered, but it hadn't made anything easier, only more complicated. The initial anger that had flared between them had been dulled both by the fever and by understanding. What had once seemed so clear was now clouded by a different perspective—his perspective.
He left me. And she would never forget it, but she was not completely without fault. Map or no map, on some level Duncan felt she'd betrayed him. By not telling him about her father she'd put her loyalty to her clan above her loyalty to him. Honor and integrity permeated every fiber of his being, she'd never thought he would put that aside to help her father. Should she have trusted him? She didn't know, but he was right—implicitly she'd made a choice.
And she'd done so again, choosing to protect her son rather than help Duncan clear his name. Guilt that she could not completely ignore gnawed at her. She'd wanted to agree to help him. The words had been right there on the edge of her tongue. But she hadn't given in to the impulse. She couldn't trust him, not with her son's future. Once she'd been willing to risk everything for Duncan, but she wouldn't make the same mistake again—not when Dougall could be the one to suffer.