The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(90)

She stared at him with round eyes, looking more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“What would you like me to say?” He hadn’t meant it to sound as harsh as it did, but he’d never been good with words. He’d never been good with any of this. As the mess he’d made of everything proved.

She flinched, her fingers turning white as she squeezed the plaid tighter. “I thought.…” She stopped, choking on a silent sob. “I thought you might feel the same way. But I can see I was wrong.” The first tears slid from her eyes, each one a lance of pain through his heart. “I should not have bothered you. I’m s-sorry.”

He could barely hear the last word through the tiny sob. He could see her shoulders shaking as she turned to leave.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let her leave like this. “Janet, wait.”

And that’s when he made his mistake. He reached for her.

Janet was too hurt to be humiliated, although she was sure that would come later. Heaven’s Gates, she’d practically asked him to marry her! She’d given him her heart, and he hadn’t wanted it. Her chest felt as if it had been crushed by an enormous boulder—or ground under a heavy boot.

She couldn’t breathe—didn’t dare breathe—for fear the hot rush of emotion constricting her throat and chest would pour out in a flood of torrential sobs.

Do you ever hear the word ‘no’?

Aye, she’d heard it. Loudly. Dear God, how could she have been so mistaken? Was this just another example of her barreling down the mountain like a rolling stone? Had she imagined something that wasn’t there?

Her lower lip trembled. Her shoulders shook. The tears began to flow. Oh God, she had to get out of there!

She heard him call after her and would have ignored him if he hadn’t caught her arm.

“Let go of me!” She tried to shrug him off, not wanting him to see her cry. Not wanting him to see how badly he’d hurt her. Could he not leave her one shred of pride?

Apparently not. He wouldn’t let her go; his big warrior’s hand closed around her upper arm like a steel manacle. He spun her around so she was facing him, but she wouldn’t look up. She kept her gaze pinned to the embroidered neck of his linen tunic. But even that hurt. It tied at the neck, and she found herself staring at the dark patch of skin underneath. Skin that she still wanted to touch.

The heat of his body enveloped her. Cruelly. Teasingly. Taunting her with memories of things that would not be.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She gave a sharp laugh that came out as more of a broken sob. It was rather late for that. “Then what do you want, Ewen?” She looked up into his eyes, a flash of reckless anger restoring some of her boldness. “Oh, wait. I know what you want.” She leaned her body into his, her nerve-endings sizzling at the contact. But desire wasn’t love. “How could I have confused this for anything else?”

He made a harsh groan, twisting her arm around to cinch her in even tighter against him, although she didn’t think he was aware of what he’d done. “Stop it, Janet. That isn’t true.”

His face was a dark, tortured mask. His mouth a hard line, his eyes chips of steel, his jaw clenched.

Her heart seized. She hated him for making her want him so much. For every one of the hard muscles pressed against her that made her body heat, even now. For being so handsome it made her heart ache to look at him. For making her lose sight of her plan and believe even for a moment in faerie tales. And most of all for not loving her back.

“What isn’t true?” she taunted. “That you don’t want me?” She pressed her hips against him. “I’d say your body disagrees.” Her eyes bored into his. She was shaking with anger, frustration, and hurt. She wanted to lash out. She wanted to hurt him just as badly as he’d hurt her. “But you know what, Ewen? That is no longer enough for me. I no longer want you. So let me go!”

Panic rose hard and hot inside him. She meant it. Ewen could see it in her eyes. She didn’t want him anymore. He’d pushed her away one too many times. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He’d thought so. But as they stood there pinned together, sparks of anger and desire clashing between them in a fierce battle of wills, he knew he couldn’t let her go. If he let her walk away now, it would be too late. He would lose her. She would never come back. It would be over.

He could fight desire—he might have even been able to win—but he couldn’t fight the fear wrought by thoughts of a future without her. She’d battered down his defenses until he just couldn’t fight it anymore.

To hell with it. His mouth covered hers in a hot, possessive kiss meant to leave her no doubt of his intentions. He was going to make her belong to him, in the only way he could. For the first time, Ewen didn’t hold anything back, giving his desire free rein.

He proved her a liar with his lips and tongue, entreating—nay, demanding—with each deft stroke, until she was returning his kiss with as much heat and passion as burned inside him. She did want him.

The plaid she was clutching—his plaid—fell into a pool at their feet as her arms circled around his neck. Her tiny body stretched out against his and he sank into her, breathing her in in hot, heavy draws.

It was incredible. Her warmth. Her softness. The heady scent of her hair. He delved deeper, fitting her body into his, digging his hand through the silky golden strands to cup her head, and sinking his tongue deeper and deeper into the sweet, warm cavern of her mouth.