The Viper (Highland Guard #4)(89)

Lust, he reminded himself. It’s only lust. This tightness in his chest, this wave of warmth that came over him each time he looked into her eyes, the overwhelming need to give her pleasure, didn’t mean a damned thing.

He’d always seen to a woman’s pleasure. He’d realized as a lad that if he made a woman happy, she made him happy. Very happy. But never had it seemed so vital, and never had a woman’s pleasure increased his own.

It didn’t mean anything, he told himself again. To prove it, he kissed her harder. Let his tongue delve into the delicious recesses of her mouth. Let his hands roam over every inch of her incredible body.

She was so sweet. Slim and delicate around her waist and back but generously curved in her chest and hips.

He slowed, weighing one of her br**sts in his hand and savoring the heady sensation of holding all that soft, lush flesh. Squeezing gently, he caressed the taut nipple with his thumb as his tongue drew slow, lazy circles in her mouth.

Fast and furious, he reminded himself. But damn it, he didn’t want it to end. He could go on kissing her forever. Her mouth was so soft and sweet, her responses so eager. And those soft little sounds of hers seemed to wrap right around his heart and make him want to hold her in his arms forever.

Lust, damn it.

But she was dragging him in. Taking him to a place he didn’t want to go. Tempting him to gentleness with each tender, heartfelt stroke of her tongue, trying to wrest something from him that he didn’t want to give.

And succeeding, damn it. His chest tightened. Squeezed. Filled with something warm and soft.

Whatever was happening to him, he didn’t like it. He couldn’t let it happen again. Hell, who was he kidding? Nothing had ever felt like this before. It wasn’t just desire. It was something deeper. Something more intense. Something that wasn’t for him.

She wasn’t for him, damn it. She came with too many conditions—too many expectations.

He needed to get this back on the right track. He tore his mouth away.

She blinked, trying to see through the passion-filled haze that clouded her big, blue eyes. Her long, pale hair shimmered in the firelight, tumbling around her face in wildly sensual disarray.

He clenched his jaw, steeling himself against the nearly irresistible pull of her swollen, gently parted red lips and husky little sharp intakes of breath.

“Take off your clothes.”

She blinked again, fluttering her ridiculously long lashes. “What?”

His eyes held hers. “I want you naked when I f**k you.”

A small frown gathered between her brows. He steeled himself against the stab in his chest. If she wanted this, they were going to do it on his terms. In a way that could leave no doubt of what it meant.

She hesitated. For a moment he thought she’d refuse, but then understanding cleared away the confusion. She held his gaze, eyes narrowed, silently challenging him with a shrewd look that saw far too much. “That’s how it’s going to be, is it?”

His jaw locked. “Aye.”

She pursed her lips together and slowly began to take off her clothes. He could tell by the stiffness of her movements that she was furious. He didn’t blame her. But she’d wanted this, damn it.

Plaid, doublet, shirt, breeches, hose, shoes. One by one they landed in a pile by his feet. His heart pounded faster with every piece.

Finally, she stood before him proud, defiant, and completely, utterly, bewitchingly naked. She arched a taunting brow. “I hope this meets with your approval?”

His mouth went dry. He held himself so still it felt as if he’d turned to stone. God, did it. She was so beautiful. Thinner and more delicate, but every bit as gorgeous as he remembered. Big, round br**sts, tiny waist, softly curved hips, and long, lean limbs, with the most flawless ivory skin he’d ever beheld, marred only by the faint bruises that still lingered on her chest and neck.

The flash of anger at the sight of those bruises was swift and hard—he hadn’t forgotten what the jailor had done to her—but it also filled him with a fierce wave of protectiveness. He wanted to pull her into his arms. Cradle her gently against his chest and hold her. Cherish and keep her safe forever.

He’d wanted to show her this was all about lust, but instead the odd mix of strength and vulnerability roused emotions in him that he’d never felt before.

His mouth tightened. He sounded like his cousin, MacSorley. Or MacLeod. Or Campbell. She was confusing him. Turning him into a lovesick fool. Filling him with crazy thoughts of things that were impossible.

Weren’t they?

His eyes went back to hers.

“Your turn,” she said. “If you get to look, so do I.”

He could hear the challenge in her voice: How far was he going to push this?

“You do it,” he said. He’d wanted to meet her challenge, but the huskiness in his voice belied the attempt. The thought of her hands on him …

Christ, he was in over his head.

She moved in front of him, holding her head up like a damned queen. A damned naked queen. He sucked in his breath. Her br**sts were inches from his face. Her skin looked so soft and creamy, her ni**les delicate pink berries just waiting to be plucked. He had to grip the wooden stool not to reach out and touch them.

He hissed when her hand touched his stomach. The muscles jumped. Everything jumped. She took her time with the ties. Exacting her revenge as she tortured him with light, achingly close brushes of her hand and fingers.