“Because I daenae want it to be nothin'.” The admission tore out of him, raw and honest. “I daenae want other men lookin' at ye, touchin' ye, makin' ye smile like that. I daenae care if it’s rational or right or smart. I just ken that watchin' him dance with ye made me want to break his hands.”
The confession hung between them, heavy with implication.
Leona’s heart hammered so hard that she was certain he could hear it.
“I daenae ken,” he continued, quieter now but no less intense. “I daenae ken why ye have this power over me. Why the thought of ye with someone else makes me violent. Why I cannae stop thinkin' about ye, wantin' ye, needin'…” He shook his head as if trying to clear it.
The silence stretched, broken only by their labored breathing and the distant sounds of the festival.
Then Leona smiled. Slow and mischievous and utterly deliberate.
“Did ye want to dance too?” she asked, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Is that what this is about? Ye’re jealous because Colin asked and ye didnae?”
“Leona…” His voice carried a warning.
But she was already moving, stepping away from the tree to close the distance between them. Her hands found his, lacing their fingers together despite his resistance.
“We can dance here,” she suggested softly, pulling him closer. “Just the two of us. Nay one watchin'. Nay one judgin'.”
She started to sway, humming the melody she’d heard at the festival, trying to coax him into movement.
For a moment, she thought it might work. Thought the tension might ease into something gentler, something safe.
Then Murdock moved.
His hands released hers only to shoot out, gripping her waist and spinning her around. Her back hit the tree again, but thistime he followed, his body covering hers completely. One hand braced against the trunk beside her head, and the other splayed across her lower back, pressing her against him.
They were hidden now. If anyone wandered this way from the festival, they wouldn’t see them in the shadows, shielded by his larger frame and the darkness.
“I daenae think ‘dancin’ will help, lass,” he growled, his face inches from hers.
Leona couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The weight of him against her, the heat radiating from his body, the intensity in his eyes, it was overwhelming.
“What will?” The question was barely above a whisper.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she watched his pupils dilate, watched the last threads of his control begin to fray.
“This,” he said roughly.
And then his mouth was on hers.
Not gentle. Not tentative. This was hunger unleashed, desire finally breaking free.
His lips crashed against hers with bruising force, demanding entry, taking what he wanted without asking permission. Leonagasped, and he swallowed the sound, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with devastating skill.
This was fire and need and mutual desperation.
Leona’s hands fisted in his tunic, pulling him closer, even though there was no space left between them. His body pressed against hers from chest to thigh, hard muscle and masculine heat that made her head spin.
He kissed her like a man starving, like she was air and he’d been drowning. His hand tangled in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss, and she whimpered into his mouth.
The sound seemed to drive him wild.
His other hand slid down from her back to grip her hip, his fingers digging in with enough force to leave bruises. He rolled his hips forward, grinding against her, and she felt his thick length pressing against her belly.
“Murdock,” she gasped when he tore his mouth away to kiss down her throat. “Someone might?—”
“Let them,” he growled against her skin, his teeth scraping over her pulse point. “Let them see. Let the whole fuckin' village ken ye’re mine.”
