He pressed harder, stroking her through the thin, soaked fabric. “Hell,” he breathed, his control visibly fraying. “Ye’re…”
His hips ground against her, his arousal thick and insistent. The friction was maddening for them both. His fingers moved in deliberate circles, and pleasure coiled tighter in her belly.
“Murdock,” she gasped, her head falling back against the wall. “Please…”
A sharp knock interrupted them.
“Me Laird? There’s an urgent matter that needs your attention.”
Murdock jerked away like he’d been burned. He steadied her when she swayed, then stepped back, running a shaking hand through his hair. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving.
“I’ll be right there,” he called, his voice remarkably steady. He looked at her, and she saw self-loathing war with desire. “Go. Now.”
Leona pushed off the wall on trembling legs and quickly smoothed her skirts. Her body screamed for completion, her lips swollen, her core aching.
“This changes nothin',” he said harshly.
She fled, but they both knew he was lying.
10
The door closed behind Leona with a soft click that echoed like a death knell in the sudden silence.
Murdock stood frozen in the center of his study, his chest heaving, his entire body still thrumming with unsatisfied need. His hardness strained painfully against his trews, thick and insistent, demanding what he’d been denied.
Leona’s scent lingered in the air. Heather and something sweet and uniquely her, now mixed with the musk of arousal that made his mouth water.
He could still feel the phantom weight of her in his arms. The silk of her thigh beneath his calloused palm. The way she’d whimpered when he’d touched her breast. The heat of her through that thin, soaked fabric that had nearly undone him.
Christ.
What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. The moment his hands had touched her, rational thought had fled, replaced by pure primal need. The need to claim. To possess. To make her his in every way that mattered.
Another knock sounded, sharper this time. “Me Laird?”
“A moment,” Murdock bit out, his voice rough as gravel.
He moved to the window, needing distance from where she’d stood, where her scent still clung to the air. His hands gripped the stone sill hard enough to hurt, the pain grounding him. He forced himself to breathe. To think. To remember who he was and why he couldn’t afford to lose control like that again.
The Beast of Ainsley. A weapon honed by his father’s cruelty. A man who’d survived by keeping his emotions locked away, by never letting anyone close enough matter.
And yet one green-eyed lass had shattered that control in a matter of days.
When he finally opened the door, his face was blank. The guard stood there, shifting uncertainly.
“What is it?” Murdock demanded.
“Apologies, me Laird. There was a disturbance in the village. Some travelers passin' through caused trouble at the tavern. Fraser thought ye should ken, but…” the guard trailed off, clearly sensing he’d interrupted something important. “It’s been handled. The men were escorted out.”
Of course, it had been handled. Fraser was perfectly capable of dealing with drunk travelers. This could have waited until morning.
“Thank ye for the report,” Murdock said, his tone dismissive. “Inform Fraser I trust his judgment in such matters. He doesnae need to send for me unless there’s real danger.”
The guard bowed and retreated quickly, no doubt sensing his Laird’s foul mood.
Murdock closed the door and leaned against it, his eyes falling shut. He could still see Leona’s face when he’d told her to leave. The hurt that had flashed in those expressive eyes before she’d masked it. The way her hands had trembled as she’d smoothed her skirts.
