“I dinnae wish to speak of me past,” MacWatt continued, rising from his chair, walking to the fireplace, and placing two hands against the mantelpiece.
Leah tried her best not to stare at his muscular legs and wide back, but it was not easy to tear her eyes away.
“I’ve never heard of marriage as somethin’ that’ll end a life before. Nae by anyone else, that is.” His voice was low, vibrating through the air between them and making her shudder.
“It is a cage,” she said. “I am not allowed to marry for love or because of my own wishes. It is a transaction, a matter of business arranged by men without a thought or feeling given to the lady. That is what marriage is to me. What is it to you?” she asked, burning to know the answer.
For a long time, the Laird did not speak. She could just see his profile as he stared into the fire, his dark eye reflecting the flames before him and his hands holding onto the mantelpiece with a white-knuckled grip.
Finally, he turned to face her. “A curse,” he stated, his voice devoid of emotion. “Marriage is nothing but a burden.”
Feeling shaken by the hollow look on his face, Leah nodded. “Then we agree. It is best avoided at all costs.”
“Aye,” he replied softly, and then, very slowly, he began to walk toward her.
“That is the reason I am here,” she added. “If I can complete my book while I am in Scotland, I will have the ability to sell it, then I can live off the income and retire safely as a disowned spinster who no man in Society would want.”
“Sounds like a lot of trouble for a solitary life.”
He kept moving in her direction, and suddenly, his expression changed. His gaze was heavy and focused, a dark promise in the way his body moved, like he was stalking his prey, and she was powerless to escape.
“It is no trouble,” she countered. “Not if it means I can live the life I choose with the freedoms I deserve.” She swallowed as he came to stand beside her chair, looking down at her with that same unerring gaze. “There, I have answered your question. Now it’s your turn.” She placed her napkin on the table and moved to rise. “Why are you really helping me?”
“To collect me debt,” he growled, taking her upper arms in a vice-like grip and pulling her up from her chair, bringing his mouth down onto hers in a passionate kiss.
CHAPTER 8
Magnus pulled her to him,knowing this was madness but powerless to prevent it.
He felt her go limp against him as he swept one arm across the table, pushing everything to the floor with a loud clatter, and laying the lass down on the hard surface as she gave a quiet gasp.
As she fell back against it, her arms came up, and he thought she was about to push him away. Instead, she placed them behind her, leaning back and looking up at him in disbelief as he broke the kiss to gauge her reaction.
Her breasts were rising and falling in a rhythmic motion that drove him wild as he watched her, but her eyes were soft and filled with desire.
He lunged forward again, pressing her back against the table’s surface, a soft moan leaving her lips as he took her mouth withhis once more. He pushed his tongue between her lips as she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.
His hands gripped her thighs, pulling her legs apart as he moved between them, tugging her to the edge of the table as her legs wrapped around his waist. He plundered her mouth again and again as she shuddered beneath him, her long hair falling back in a fiery halo.
As he felt her back hit the surface, he drove his hips forward, burying a hand in the flaming strands, relishing the sweet taste of her as she groaned against his lips.
But at that simple sound, he froze, looking down at her in shock as he was abruptly brought to his senses.
He pulled back, looking down at her in horror.
What in God’s name am I doin’?
Shame coursed through him as she panted beneath him.
He could have taken her right there if he had been a different man. But he knew this was wrong—so very wrong.
He pulled away, her legs falling from his waist, the heat of her body lost as he stepped back from the table, tugging at his clothes, trying his best not to let the self-disgust he felt show on his face.
“I am sorry, lass,” he murmured. “Go to yer room and be free of me. I am nae meself.”
He winced as her expression morphed from surprise to fury in seconds. She pulled at her clothes—the borrowed dress of me wife!—and awkwardly sat up, still sitting on the table.
He could see the hurt in her expression as she doubtless tried to fathom what on earth had gotten into him.
