Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(40)
“Have you no compassion? Or does your cousin’s law not allow for that?” His face was a mask of stone, hard and unyielding. “God, do you have any emotions at all?”
He took a step toward her, and she could tell he was holding on by a very thin thread. “Unfortunately, I do,” he said, but his steely voice belied his claim. “Though right now it pleases me no more than it does you.”
She felt a jolt of awareness at his admission and turned away, not wanting him to see how he affected her. Did he feel something for her?
It didn’t matter.
Then why did something deep inside her yearn for it to be true?
“Just go away,” she said furiously. “If it’s absolution you seek, you will not find it from me.”
He grabbed her arm and spun her back to him; she felt the warm press of his fingers through her sark like a brand.
She knew he hated when she dismissed him, but nothing could stop her from provoking him—from making him as angry as she. But it wasn’t just him; she was angry at the invisible force that seemed to draw them together, that would not let her ignore or forget him as she wanted, that made her deeply conscious of him and the strange physical awareness that seemed to drench her body with heat: his warm masculine scent; the shadow of stubble along his square jaw; the wide curve of his mouth that made her think of kissing. It was so unfair. He’d been battered by the past few months as well, but it only served to make him more ruggedly handsome.
“I did not come for absolution,” he said tightly.
“Then why did you come?” All of a sudden it dawned on her. Me. He’s come for me. She scoffed with outrage. “You can’t honestly think I want anything to do with you?” His eyes flared at her tone, but she did not heed the warning. “I despise you. When I see you, I will always see a Campbell. The clan responsible for the death of my family. Nothing you say will ever change that.”
His face was drawn in taut lines, and anger radiated from him. His vaunted control was wavering.
“You want to hate me.” He put his hand on her throat, covering the frantic pulse at her neck, and she froze. “But you don’t hate me at all, Caitrina.” He lowered his head, and she could smell the warm spice of his breath. His hair spilled forward on her cheek, silky and warm from the sun. Her breath hitched and her heart raced wildly in her chest. “Even now you want me,” he drawled, sliding his finger down her neck to the swell of her breast, singeing a path of heated sensation in his wake. Her ni**les hardened in anticipation of his touch, throbbing when he dropped his hand. “The fire coursing through your veins right now is for me,” he whispered in her ear. “And only for me. No one else will ever make you feel like this. Try to deny what is between us.”
Her body was shaking; she was excruciatingly aware of every inch of his powerful body, so close to hers. She shook her head, holding on so tight that she dared not try to speak.
“Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you.” He lowered his mouth to hers until only a hairbreadth separated them. Her heart pounded in her ears. She couldn’t breathe. Every nerve ending flared. The wind whipped across her face, but all she could think about was the silky texture of his lips and how he’d tasted on her tongue.
“I don’t want you to kiss me,” she managed, her voice wobbling.
“Liar,” he growled, then murmured something about her being damn stubborn before his mouth fell on hers.
It was as if something exploded inside her. All the emotions she’d fought so hard to contain broke free. His kiss was everything she remembered. Hot, wet, and demanding as his mouth moved over hers with swift possession. The taste of him was like the darkest, richest wine, pouring into her soul until she was drunk with pleasure.
She sank against him, surrendering her breath, her mouth, her body, in one heartstopping moment. She couldn’t deny this if she wanted to.
His finger caressed her jaw in soft entreaty. She opened willingly, taking him deep in her mouth, savoring the erotic sensation of his tongue sliding against hers. He stroked deeper and deeper, as if he couldn’t get enough of her.
She kissed him back, twining her tongue with his, meeting him stroke for stroke. He groaned, pulling her snugly against him, letting her feel every hard inch of his powerful body. Her body flushed with heat where they touched. God, he was magnificent. She wanted to touch his bare skin, to run her hands over the thick, bulging muscles of his arms and chest to feel his strength under her fingertips. She molded to him, melting into his heat. She wanted the comfort that only he could bring. To feed the starving emptiness in her soul.
His kiss turned a little rougher and more insistent. He opened her mouth wider, so he could sink deeper. The rough stubble of his chin scraped her skin as his tongue thrust faster and faster in a wickedly sensual beat. It was wet and hot, and deliciously erotic. The licking. The stroking. The fire.
Desire flooded her body, the memories of how he’d touched her making her pulse with anticipation. Heat rushed between her legs; she pressed against him, seeking friction, and felt his heavy erection straining against her.
For a moment, she tensed. The memory of the soldier hovering over her flashed before her eyes, but she pushed it away. Jamie would never hurt her. She knew it with a certainty that shocked her. Lust would never control him.
But would it control her?
It was as if she’d been doused by a bucket of icy sea-water. She was passionately kissing a man in broad daylight—and not just any man, but her enemy.