Kiss of the Highlander

She closed her eyes to shut out the sight of his beautiful, angry face. She would never be able to carry on a meaningful conversation with him in this position.

“Drustan, please listen to me. I’m not trying to trap you into marriage, and there’s a reason why I said what I said this morning, if you’ll just listen,” she said, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“There’s a reason why you lied? There’s never a reason to lie, lass,” he growled.

“Does that mean you never lie?” she said snidely, opening her eyes a slit and peeping at him. She was still miffed that he hadn’t told her the entire truth before sending her back.

“Nay, I doona lie.”

“Bullshit. Sometimes, not telling all of the truth is exactly the same thing as lying,” she snapped.

“Such language from a lady. But you’re no lady, are you?”

“Well, you’re certainly no gentleman. This lady didn’t ask you to throw her in your bed.”

“But you like being beneath me, lass,” he said huskily. “Your body tells me much your words deny.”

Gwen stiffened, horrified to realize she had hooked her ankles over his legs and was rubbing a slipper against one muscular calf. She pushed at his chest. “Get off me. I can’t talk to you when you’re squishing me.”

“Forget about talking,” he said roughly, lowering his head to hers.

Gwen shrank back deeper into the pillows, knowing the moment he kissed her she would be lost.

Just as his lips brushed hers, the boudoir door opened and Silvan stepped briskly in.

“Ahem.” Silvan cleared his throat.

Drustan’s lips froze against hers. “Get out of my chamber, Da. I will handle this as I see fit,” he growled.

“But you didn’t tup her last eve, eh?” Silvan remarked mildly, his gaze sweeping over them. “Things look cozy to me, for being strangers and all. Aren’t you forgetting something? Or should I say someone? The lass told me you were in danger; the only danger I perceive is that of you botching yet another perfectly good—”

“Haud yer wheesht!” Drustan roared. Stiffening, he pushed himself off her and sat back on his heels on the bed. “Da, you are no longer chieftain here, remember? I am. You quit. Get out.” He flung an impatient hand toward the door. “Now.”

“I merely came to see if Gwen required assistance,” Silvan said calmly.

“She requires no assistance. She wove this web with her lies. Doona be blaming me for knotting her up in it.”

“M’dear?” Silvan asked, eyeing her.

“It’s all right, Silvan. You can go,” she said softly. “Dageus too.”

Silvan regarded her a moment more, then inclined his head and backed out of the room. When the door closed again, Drustan got off the bed and stood several paces away from her.

“What did Silvan mean by ‘someone’?” she asked. “Botching a perfectly good what?”

He eyed her in stony silence.

She scrambled up and eyed him warily and, although she could see desire glittering in his gaze, she could also see that he’d thought better of trying to have sex with her for the moment. She was both relieved and disappointed.

“Talk. Why have you come here, and what is your purpose?” he asked stiffly.

When she was seated before the fire, Drustan poured a glass of whisky and leaned back against the hearth, facing her. He took a generous swallow, studying her discreetly over the rim of his glass. He had a difficult time thinking clearly in her presence, partly because she was so damn beautiful and partly because she’d put him on the defensive with her outrageous claim the moment he’d laid eyes on her. The intensity of his attraction to her upset him more greatly even than her lie. She was the last thing he needed, right before his wedding. Walking—nay, lushly sauntering—temptation to make a fankle of things.

Initially, he’d meant merely to intimidate her by pushing her back on the bed, but then he’d touched her and she’d looped her ankles over his calves, and he’d gotten lost in the welcoming softness of her body beneath him. Had his father not interrupted, he’d like as not still be atop her. The moment he’d walked into the castle tonight, he’d felt the wee English within his walls. He responded fiercely to her; all it took was one glance at her to stir feelings in him he couldn’t explain.

He’d told the truth when he said he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Not for one moment. He knew the scent of her, had been able to recall it even while sitting amidst the smelly ale-soaked rushes in the tavern. Hers was a clean, cool, and sensual fragrance, a blend of spring rain, vanilla, and mysteries. As he’d sat in the tavern, he realized that somehow he knew she had a dimple on one side of her luscious mouth when she smiled, although he couldn’t recall having seen her smile.