Her heart began to beat a little faster at the expression on his face.
His eyes twinkled by the light of the candle. “So ye wish me to try it on?” His lips curved slightly at the corners, and Elizabet nodded.
She swallowed convulsively. Aye, she wanted to see how the tunic fitted his body, wanted to see how his muscles strained against the cloth, and she wanted that without apology. Never in her life had she been more beguiled by a man’s body.
He watched her as though trying to read her thoughts, and she straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin, challenging him. “Go on,” she said.
Broc watched her expression.
God’s teeth, she had no idea what he was in danger of revealing. Her mere presence tempted him beyond reason, and now she was asking him to undress and remove the one barrier that kept him civilized. Beneath his plaid, his body was rigid and ready.
He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone or anything in his life.
Until now, denying his physical needs had been a simple enough endeavor, but what he wanted from her was far more than simple relief. His soul cried out to possess her, his body longed to be touched by her. He wanted to be inside her—to pleasure her—to hear her whisper his name as he spilled his seed into her womb. He wanted her to bear his babes, wanted to share his bed with her, wanted to bring her gifts and see her smile with joy, as she had only moments before.
No one else could satisfy him. He knew that instinctively as he stared at her.
But he wanted her willing.
If she came to him, he would love her till his dying breath.
He wasn’t blessed with a smooth tongue, as Colin was. He said what he meant and meant what he said. “If ye wish to see me in this tunic, lass, you will have to undress me yourself.”
He issued the challenge without apology and held out the tunic for her to take.
He was a warm-blooded man, not some cold, unfeeling stone, and he’d already used up what little restraint he possessed. If she removed from him his only defense against her, his clothing, he wasn’t going to be held responsible for what happened after.
Her eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing to refuse him, merely stood there staring. When she didn’t reach out to accept the tunic, he thought she might be offended, but then she dared to step forward. She took the tunic from his hands, nodding.
A shudder of anticipation passed through him.
Christ, he hoped she understood what she was getting herself into. If she touched him, if she peeled his feeble armor from his body, he wasn’t going to walk away.
She reached out to touch his plaid, and he seized her wrist, holding it away from him. His loins tightened. “Are ye certain, lass?”
The question held far more meaning than the simple words implied.
Her hand felt so small in his, soft and delicate. It was a testament to her birth. It was certain these hands had never seen a day’s hard labor while his mother had toiled over the good earth for every morsel of food she had placed in her mouth and those of her husband and children. It was just another reminder that Elizabet wasn’t of his ilk… and yet, he couldn’t resist.
“Aye,” she said, and seemed to choke on her reply.
A smile turned one corner of his mouth. He pulled her closer, wanting nothing more than to kiss her in that instant.
CHAPTER 19
Elizabet’s breath caught at the strength of his ardor.
He bent to kiss her—she didn’t resist, didn’t want to.
Her heart beat faster as he took her into his arms, tangling his fingers in her hair. “You are so lovely,” he whispered. “So verra lovely...”
She went limp in his embrace.
“I want you, Elizabet...”
No one had ever said such a thing to her. The shock of hearing his husky plea left her momentarily dumb. She clung to him brazenly, her heart pounding ruthlessly against her breast.
And then he kissed her, his lips soft and persistent... full of hunger....
