The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(79)

He acted differently with her than he did with anyone else.

But it wasn’t just his actions. It was a sense—a bone-deep knowledge inside herself—that he cared for her. It was the way she seemed to spark his temper like no one else, the way he talked to her, the way his body jumped under her fingertips, and the intense, tender look in his eyes when he touched her. It had to mean something.

Even Meg had noticed it.

She took a deep breath and turned her face to his. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

He stilled. The muscle below his jaw pulsed. But then he smiled, and she wondered if she’d just imagined it.

“Ellie, soon you’ll be back at home with your family and will forget this ever happened.”

She forced back the stab of hurt. “Don’t patronize me. I know how I feel.”

“You feel that way now, but you’ll forget soon enough.”

He sounded so confident. So sure. As if he’s said the same thing before many times—too many times.

This is different.

She scanned his face, looking for any sign of weakness but finding none. Her heart seemed to strain to beat in the tight cavern of her chest. “Is that what you’ll do?” she asked softly. “Forget?”

He met her gaze and didn’t hesitate. “Aye.”

She didn’t believe him. If he didn’t care, why wasn’t he touching her?

It was as if he didn’t trust himself. And though he was trying to hide it, he was holding himself too tautly. He was leaning back against the rock wall, one knee bent, one foot in the water, by all appearances utterly relaxed. But the devil-may-care attitude didn’t fool her. She could feel the tension radiating from his body like a smoldering tinder about to burst into flame.

Meg was right. He was not a man who would realize his feelings easily. He would need a little push.

She slid her hands from around her knees and leaned closer to him. She didn’t bother attempting to look seductive, because she knew it would only make her look silly. But bold and matter-of-fact, that she could do.

It must have been effective, because his already taut body turned absolutely rigid. He didn’t seem to be breathing.

“What are you doing?”

She smiled at the wariness in his voice. For a man who exuded confidence, she suspected it was a rare occurrence. “I thought that should be obvious. What we’ve been doing the past couple of days—having a little fun.”

His eyes narrowed. He knew she was challenging him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She lifted a brow. “Why? It’s nothing serious … or is it?”

He didn’t answer, but that might be because his jaw was locked so tight it seemed incapable of movement.

Push. But he wasn’t making it easy on her. He sat stiffly beside her. Muscles tensed. Every inch of his powerfully built body warning her to stay away.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned over, pressed her mouth on his, and then trailed her lips down over the salty dampness of his stubbled jaw and neck. Even drenched in seawater, he smelled good. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the dark shadow of his beard gave his Norse golden-god looks a hard edge.

She drew back to assess her efforts. His gaze bored into her like a lightning rod, hot and intense. His jaw was still in that locked position, the muscles in his neck had corded, and the tic was pulsing wildly.

He looked dark and dangerous—every inch the fearsome Highland warrior.

Yet perversely it gave her a thrill, only serving to embolden her. “You’ll forget all about this,” she challenged, “because it doesn’t mean anything, isn’t that right?”

He was watching her with the daunting look of the predator he was named for. She gave him one of those unrepentant grins he’d perfected and reached out to touch him.

Her fingers slid down his chest, over the rigid bands of muscle that crossed his stomach. They jumped at her touch. She toyed with him awhile, testing the limits of his restraint—drawing teasing circles on his stomach until he clenched, carefully avoiding the thick column of flesh straining for her attention.

She held his gaze the entire time, his eyes growing darker and hotter.

“And this?” She put her hand over his fiercely pounding heart and looked deep into this eyes. “This doesn’t feel any different, does it?”

“Nay.” He said the word like a curse, his voice hard and tight.

He was lying. She could feel it. But he seemed determined to fight it.

When her wrist grazed the plump head of his manhood, he hissed. She felt the pulsing heat through the thin linen of his braies. She molded her hand around him. “I’m sure you’ll definitely forget all about this.”

“Christ, Ellie,” he groaned, the muscles in his neck taut as a bowstring. “I don’t want to hurt you.” If the squeezing in her chest was any indication, she feared it was too late for that. He grabbed her wrist, but she did not release him. “I can’t give you what you want.”

The hope that had made her bold fizzled. She released her hold on him and drew her hand away. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t care. Pain clenched her heart. She hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

But part of her refused to give up.

If this was all he was going to give her, then she would take what she could.