Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(6)

His hold was firm and sure as he plucked her from the cracked branch and lowered her toward him, bringing her to rest securely against the hard length of his body.

Relieved, she sagged against him. Her arms felt like jelly, and for a moment she allowed herself to take refuge against his warm, solid strength. Solid was perhaps an understatement. His chest and arms were like granite. But rather than intimidate, the powerful evidence of his strength made her flush with a strange, heavy heat.

She’d never been this close to a man, where it seemed as if every inch of her body were melded to his. It felt . . . exciting—disturbingly so. One of her legs was caught between his powerful thighs, and her br**sts were crushed against his chest. She could feel the steady pounding of his heart, all the more disconcerting because of the erratic beat of hers. He was so warm and smelled incredible—clean and soapy, with the faint hint of an exotic spice.

She had to tilt her chin to meet his gaze and realized he was every bit as tall as she’d imagined. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders. “You can let go of me,” she said unevenly. “I can get down from here.”

At first she thought he would refuse, but after a moment he released her.

Thankfully, the feeling had returned in her arms and she was able to follow his lead the rest of the way down. He dropped to the ground from the lowest branch and reached for her. She stared at his outstretched hand and hesitated. It seemed somehow significant. Cautiously, she slipped her hand into his and jumped. He caught her by the waist and lowered her down as if she weighed no more than that kitten she’d just rescued.

When her feet touched the ground, she wanted to sigh with relief. Instead she found herself unable to breathe, caught in the web of his magnetic gaze—and the strange sensations wrought by the realization that only a very thin piece of linen separated her nakedness from him.

What if he wasn’t a gentleman? It was probably something she should have thought of earlier, but she’d never been in such a vulnerable predicament. And she’d never met anyone like him.

Her heart fluttered like the wings of a bird trapped in a cage. His arms were still around her. She should pull away—he was a stranger, a man who hadn’t even told her his name—but her body seemed to have a will of its own. She stood there, transfixed by a connection that was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

But its strength frightened her, enough to give her the sense to jerk away.

“Thank you,” she said quickly, her voice unsteady. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear nervously. He watched the movement with an intensity that unnerved her. Actually, everything about him unnerved her. “I can manage from here.” But all six-foot-plus, heavily muscled inch of him stayed exactly where he was—too close. If she weren’t feeling so strangely vulnerable and unsettled, she might have admired the impressive physique she’d just been plastered to. “You can go now.”

Again she’d taken the wrong tone, she realized.

“Dismissed, my lady? Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Her cheeks burned. “You can’t mean to hold me to your ridiculous condition. I agreed only under duress.”

“It’s a debt of honor.” He paused. “Is the word of a Lamont worth nothing?”

She gasped. “You know my name!”

He laughed again with that knowing look. “An educated guess. ’Tis said the Lamont has a very beautiful daughter.” He frowned, giving her face great scrutiny. “But maybe I’m wrong. They didn’t say anything about a crooked nose.”

“What!” Her hand went immediately to her nose. “I don’t have a—” She stopped, heat staining her cheeks, seeing his grin. The arrogant lout was teasing her again. Well, not exactly arrogant, she supposed. More like confident in his authority and strength. She flushed at the memory of his hard body stretched against hers.

And now he wanted her to kiss him.

Caitrina bit her lip, debating what to do. She owed him nothing, but she had agreed to his “bargain.” His attack had been well aimed, striking in the one place every Highlander was vulnerable—their pride.

Her struggle seemed only to amuse him. “What is it to be, my lady?”

A long, slow smile spread across her face; she had the answer. “Very well. You shall have your kiss.”

She thought a flicker of surprise crossed his face. When she held out her hand, he looked puzzled for a moment before comprehension settled in that cool, steely gaze.

She thought she’d won when he took her proffered hand, but then she saw the determined glint spark in his eyes. Determination that made a shiver of alarm slide down her spine.

Her fingers seemed to be swallowed by his big warrior’s hand. It was warm and hard with calluses—and strong. He could crush her without effort, but instead his thumb caressed her palm and the hair on her arms stood straight up. He turned her hand over, revealing the jagged scratches on her palm.

A frown settled over his handsome features. “You’re hurt. Why didn’t you say you were hurt?”

Self-conscious, she tried to pull her hand away, but he held firm. “It’s nothing,” she dismissed.

Holding her gaze, he slowly lifted her hand to his mouth.

She couldn’t turn away. She couldn’t breathe. All she could do was wait and anticipate, her pulse as frantic as the wings of a hummingbird.