He stiffened like a man being touched by a hot brand, every muscle rigid. “Why are you angry with me?”
For an instant she thought he would not respond. It felt as if he had closed a door against her, even though the mane of his hair spilled over her fingers where she touched him, and his scent filled her, lifted her.
“Finnan,” she said again, as if that could claim him. She felt his muscles quiver against her fingers as if he fought some great battle, and he sucked in a deep breath before he turned.
And that helped her little in the end, for she could not see his face clearly in the flickering light. His voice came at her out of the darkness. “Angry? How could I be angry with you, Jeannie, when you have just given me so great a gift?”
“You are angry,” she insisted. “I am no fool.”
He gave his head a sharp shake, and the hair rippled over his shoulders. “I am but thinking I should not have taken what my friend enjoyed not.”
Was that it? He felt some kind of misplaced guilt? But surely he saw it was up to her, Jeannie, where she bestowed herself?
And what to say to him? That she had never wanted to throw herself, wanton, at Geordie? That she had never considered, with Geordie, the thoughts that now pounded through her mind: that she might run her tongue all over his hard body; that she might kneel before him and perform an act she had, before this night, barely let herself imagine.
She said none of that. Instead she stepped forward, pressed herself into his arms and felt her still-bare nipples peak against his flesh.
“Jeannie.” The word came from him in a growl. Suddenly fierce, he caught her between his hands, a grip that stopped just short of punishing. “Go home. Shut your door. Save yourself.”
Had he read her mind? Did he have that power? She struggled to see the expression in his eyes and failed. He was but a mysterious presence in the dark.
“Why?” she asked even though she already knew the answer.
“Because I will break your heart.”
****
And why had he said that? Finnan demanded of himself even as he caressed Jeannie MacWherter’s soft flesh between his hands. Why warn the wanton vixen? Was it because desire still pounded at him? But nay; he could control mere physical reactions. Could he not? Yet Jeannie wielded a powerful magic. And she must be an actress beyond compare, for she projected a vulnerability that spoke to every protective instinct he had ever possessed.
Aye, warn her, the devil in him applauded,make the game a challenging one. That will render it all the sweeter when you break her.
Sure, he had to keep in mind this was all about revenge.
Yet his hands slid without his permission down her bare arms to her hands. He wanted another sip from that sweet mouth of hers, longed for it the way a man half sotted longed for more whisky.
She did not speak, and he could barely see the expression in those wide eyes, but her whole body cried agonized hesitance. Aye, a fine actress was Jeannie MacWherter. She thought to play upon his sympathies even as she had upon Geordie’s.
Yet she had remained virgin. That fit with none of the opinions he had formed about her.
She spoke at last in a breathless voice. “I do not doubt you are right.”
But she remained where she was, pressed against him and looking like a wanton angel with her dress down around her waist. Because he could not help himself, he slid his hands from hers and across that silken skin until he cupped her breasts. A gasp issued from between her lips.
The soft mounds of her flesh filled his palms and spilled over. Perfection. He was already up and hard against her again; she must feel the evidence of his arousal.
Would she accept him a second time? The mad question tore through his mind even as he watched her lean into his touch.
He knew it then—he had her, quite utterly, in his hands.
Make her want for it, the devil said now, changing his tune.Make her beg. You want her on her knees.He did, in more ways than one.
“Go home,” he told her instead, even though his body screamed in protest.
“I will.” But she did not move, and his thumbs moved of their own accord to find the tips of her breasts and tease them into tight peaks. Her hot mouth called to him—but if he gave in and kissed her, he would never have the strength of will to leave her wanting.
Instead he released her from his hands and used them to tug the fabric of her bodice up over her shoulders, covering her bosom.
She helped him and retied the bodice with her own hands. To his surprise a wry smile curved her lips. “I cannot imagine what you think of me.”
