“No,” he bit out, interrupting what she had been about to say. “Do not. Do not look at me with your heart in your eyes. Do not look at me as if I am anything more than the man who married you to get an heir on you and then leave you. Because that is all this is. That is all we are to each other, Catriona.”
He was pushing back. Trying to create distance between them.
But he hadkissedher. On the lips.
It was too late for the pretense he was not attracted to her or affected by her, and she was not about to allow him to get away with the suggestion theirs was nothing more than a marriage of convenience.
Her every plan previously constructed on the carriage ride to Marchmont flitted away. Feigning disinterest was impossible. Because she was not just losing her heart to the man who had led her here, she had already lost it.
She was in love with the Earl of Rayne.
“If that is all we are, then kiss me again,” she dared him, trembling. Emotion as vast as the seas overcame her. She had never felt anything like it. “Kiss me again and walk away.”
“Maldición,” he said. “You know I cannot.”
And then, his lips were once more on hers.
Chapter Eighteen
He did notknow what his original intention had been in bringing his wife to the Temple of Artemis. All he did know was that she was too kind, too caring, too good.Far too good.
Just like her lips.
Cristo, this woman’s mouth.
Kissing Catriona was a revelation, lighting him up from the inside, just as the candelabra had illuminated the temple. His body was aflame. His cock was rigid, straining against the fall of his breeches.
He was awash in contradiction, too. His heart was confused. Coming here to Marchmont with Catriona had been a mistake. It stripped him raw. Memories, always memories. Of his sire, his mother, of the child he had been, of the injustices he had experienced.
Being here reminded him he had never had the chance to bring Maria.
But it also reminded him he was alive.
The same way kissing his wife did.
And she was responsive. So damned responsive. Her full lips opened exquisitely to the pressure of his. His tongue was in her mouth, claiming her, tasting her again. Sweetness and tea, mysteries and woman, and pureCatriona.
Nothing else mattered but her in his arms, her sweet mewls of pleasure, the way her fingers tightened on his hair. Nothing mattered but kissing her, having her, taking her.
For she was his, was she not?
He could take her, could he not?
He told himself doing so would be duty. He could not have an heir if he did not bed her. There it was. A reason. The guilt which ordinarily assailed him whenever he was in her presence was muffled now beneath the crushing tide of the inevitable. If he wanted to return to Spain and the war effort, he had to get a child on her. Kissing her with this in mind did not feel like treachery so much as it felt like duty. Delicious duty, to be sure. He had never been tempted to take another woman’s mouth. Not untilher. In the years since Maria’s death, he had gradually found the ability to slake his needs. He had bedded women, much to his shame. But he had never kissed them on the mouth.
Catriona’s lips had been the first. And as if he were a dying man in the desert, newly led to water, he could not slake his thirst fast enough. He kissed her with bruising force, one of his hands grabbing her chignon and angling her to just the right position. His other hand was on her waist, anchoring her to him.
Her breasts were crushed against his chest. Her tongue met his, kissing with a fervor to match his. It proved his undoing. If she had stood still, allowing him to ravish her mouth, he could have controlled himself.
But she was as eager for him as he was for her.
Blood thundered through him.
His cock was so hard, he feared he would spend in his breeches if she cupped him once more as she had earlier on the path.
He told himself he was performing a duty as he moved them to the wall, kissing her as they went. But every part of him knew it for the lie it was. Catriona affected him in a way he had not anticipated. In a way he had not believed possible. And now that his lips had owned hers, he could not seem to stop. His mouth on hers was as natural as breathing.
He did not cease moving until her back was against the wall. His hand slid from her hair to her neck, cupping the base of her head as he deepened the kiss. But it was not enough. Never enough. He had to be inside her.
