Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(56)

His expression was murderous by the time he finished his perusal of her features. Then, to her surprise, he hauled her upward, so that she sprawled over his body, her face just inches from his own. His arms closed over her back so that he hugged her to him.

“Bowen, your wound!” she protested.

“ ’Tis naught but a scratch, and you did a fine job stitching it. It doesn’t pain me at all.”

She didn’t entirely believe him, and it shamed her that she’d only just paid heed to his wound. He’d fought with her attacker when he was only a day from his sickbed.

“I should look at it,” she said anxiously. “You could have torn the stitching in the confrontation yesterday.”

He gave her an amused smile, his eyes alight with warmth.

“If it will put you at ease, I’ll let you examine it.”

She pushed back from his embrace and then positioned herself on her knees at his side.

He sat up and then tugged his tunic over his head, baring his muscled shoulders and chest to her view. Her gaze wandered over his torso, drawn inexorably to the expanse of male flesh.

Her fingers came out to trace the puckered line of the still sealed wound.

“Does it pain you?”

“Nay, lass. Not when you touch me so. I feel naught but the sweetest of pleasures.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks and she nearly snatched her hand away, but he captured it and held it firmly against his chest.

“I like your touch,” he said huskily. “I remember you touching me when I was insensible with the potion they gave me.”

More embarrassed now than ever, she ducked her head. How bold he must think her. She should not have taken such liberties with his person, certainly not when he was barely conscious.

“Are the stitches to your satisfaction?” he asked.

“Aye,” she whispered. “I see no sign of infection.”

He tugged her back down to his bare chest. ’Twas like being touched by fire. His heat surrounded her and beckoned her closer still.

His hand feathered over her cheek and then delved into her hair, circling to her nape, and then, to her shock, he raised his head and pressed his lips ever so gently to hers.

She gasped against the fullness of his lips, but all tension fled her as she relaxed into his hold.

Oh, aye, this was a kiss.

He was exceedingly tender as he explored her mouth, his lips sliding over hers. His tongue brushed against her bottom lip, lapping at the cut in the corner of her mouth.

It was intoxicating, like drinking too much ale. She was drunk on his touch and the sensation of him against her. She experienced a rush such as she’d never felt before, and she never wanted it to end.

His other hand went to her scarred cheek, and when she would have pulled away, he caressed the damaged flesh and framed her face with both hands in order to deepen his kiss.

When she let out a breathy sigh, his tongue slid inside her mouth, soft and sensual and coaxing. Shyly, she met his tongue with her own, dancing and teasing the way he was doing with her.

He pulled back, his breath coming raggedly and his eyes half-lidded. The color in his cheeks was high, almost as if he had indeed taken a fever. But that look … He looked at her as if she was the most beautiful lass he’d ever laid eyes on. For a moment she was able to forget that her face was ruined, and that she bore the mark of another man’s greed and lust. For in Bowen’s eyes she saw herself as a beautiful, desirable woman.

“You taste just as sweet as I knew you would,” he said in a husky voice laced with passion.

“ ’Tis my first true kiss,” she admitted.

His eyes softened. “And what think you of your first true kiss?”

He hadn’t misunderstood her intent. Aye, she’d been kissed, but never with such sweetness or reverence. It made her want to weep for all that she’d missed.

“ ’Twas wondrous. I’ve never experienced anything to match it,” she said honestly.

“ ’Tis glad I am to be the first.”

He continued to stroke her cheek and he thumbed her bottom lip, which was now swollen for an entirely different reason.

Then he raised his head and softly captured her lips in another lingering kiss. This time when he pulled away there was regret in his eyes.

“ ’Tis time for me to rise. I wish it were not so. ’Tis the truth I’d rather never leave this chamber, and I’d sell my soul to do nothing more than kiss you for the rest of my days. But I have matters to attend to and the issue of another dead McHugh. And we must take you to Taliesan’s chamber so our story will be sealed.”

Mentioning her attacker had the effect of being doused with cold water. She immediately withdrew, shame crowding her heart.

She was acting the wanton mere hours after another man had tried to rape her. What was wrong with her?

The McHugh clan didn’t need prompting to cry her whore, and here she was in the laird’s chamber. It was an open invitation for others to revile her more.

“Nay, don’t look like that, lass,” Bowen said in a quiet tone.

He sat up and reached for her, sliding his hand up her arm in a caress that made her shiver.

“You’ll hold your head high, for you bear not the blame for what has happened. The man who attacked you received what he deserved, just as anyone else will should they dare to touch you.”