“Your taste is sweet,” he whispered into her mouth, and groaned. “So sweet...”
Elizabet clung to him, undulating softly beneath him, her senses clouded in a fever of lust.
He pressed himself against her, answering her every gentle thrust with one of his own. His hands swept down over her hip, down her thigh, clutched at her hem, lifted her dress. Elizabet’s heart flipped inside her breast.
“Open for me,” he said once more, pressing gently against the inside of her thigh, and Elizabet did so, unable to resist.
He lifted a hand to her most private place, thumbing the delicate bead of her womanhood. His finger slid over her moistness, as though he understood precisely how to tease her. And all the while he kissed her senseless, sharing her breath, giving it back. It was the most incredible moment of her life.
And then suddenly he slipped a finger inside her body and froze. She felt his heart thunder against her breast, but the haze of pleasure had yet to clear enough for her to comprehend what he had done—what he was doing—what she had allowed.
God help her, it wasn’t until that instant she found the will to resist.
In panic, she pushed him away and he rolled off her. She tore herself out of his arms, scrambling away.
He didn’t stir, merely lay there in stony silence, staring up at her in the darkness.
God’s truth, she wasn’t certain who she was angrier with, Broc or herself. He was a man, after all, and she should have expected no less from him, but she should have known better than to invite him under her covers.
What was wrong with her? She was, in truth, no better than her mother! What had she done?
“You’re no different from the rest!” she said in anger and shame.
When he still made no advance toward her, she backed herself into a corner and sat there, tears clouding her eyes. He had the blanket and the pallet now, but she didn’t care. It served her right for being such a silly fool. How close she had come! How easily she would have given him her most precious possession! She swallowed convulsively, shame washing over her.
He said nothing more, nor did he move. And he must have fallen asleep shortly thereafter, because she heard his smooth, even breath from where she sat. But sleep eluded her until deep into the night.
Broc listened to her weeping and cursed himself.
Somehow, she managed to sleep, despite the cold, despite her sorrow, and Broc returned the blanket to her, tucking it gently about her slender body. She slept on, oblivious to his ministrations. And in spite of his guilt, he managed to fall asleep too.
In the morning, he left her slumbering and hurried to Chreagach Mhor. Iain would wonder where he’d been.
Some part of him felt obliged to tell his laird everything. Iain had always stood behind him. But thereabouts lay the dilemma. How could he live with himself if he involved anyone else in this deception? He had no idea how to resolve this.
He didn’t know what to do.
The village below Chreagach Mhor’s soaring keep was just now awaking. He could hear his little cousin’s giggles somewhere in the distance and a dog barking, as well. The familiar sounds left him wistful, because he knew it wasn’t Merry that Constance was harassing this morn.
“Where the hell ha’e ye been?” his cousin Cameron asked, rushing up to greet him. Cameron skipped backwards, facing Broc, and judging by the eager look upon his face, he was excited by something he was about to share.
“I slept at Colin’s,” Broc lied, and his face warmed. He wasn’t a very good liar, but he didn’t seem to have a choice these days. He still hadn’t decided whether or not he would tell Iain, but Cameron was not the sort to keep confidences, and his cousin was the last person Broc would confide in.
“At Colin’s! Och, man! On his wedding night, Broc?” He stopped for an instant, staring at Broc as though he thought him mad.
Broc kept walking, eyeing his cousin with annoyance. “Christ! I didna say I slept in their bed, Cameron!”
His rebuke didn’t begin to dampen Cameron’s good humor. He caught up to Broc once more and thrust a callow grin into Broc’s face. “Aye, well, then who kept ye warm?” He wiggled his brows.
Broc arched a brow at his cousin. “That,” he said, “is none of your concern.”
“Damn, Broc! Dinna speak to me as though I were a wee bairn! I’m old enough to bed my own woman, don’t ye know.”
“So ye are.”
“Anyway,” Cameron continued, “I’m glad to see you turn your attentions elsewhere because I ha’e seen the way ye look at Page FitzSimon.”
Broc halted abruptly, leveling his young cousin a warning look. The very thought of bedding Iain’s wife made Broc’s stomach roil. “Dinna ever speak like that again about your laird’s wife! I will cut out your tongue myself if Iain doesna beat me to it!”
