“Think all ye want. The weddin' is still happenin'.”
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her at the door.
“Leona.”
She didn’t turn back.
“I’m nae the enemy here. I’m tryin' to save yer life.”
“I ken that,” she said quietly. “But ye’re goin' about it the wrong way.”
22
“Am I now?”
“Aye.” The word came out before she could stop it, hurtful and sharp. “I’m sorry that ye daenae believe in love.”
Murdock’s expression, already hard, turned to stone. The air between them crackled with tension, thick enough to choke on.
“That’s what ye think?” His voice was dangerously quiet. “That I daenae believe in it?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” Leona’s hands trembled at her sides. “Ye treat it like it’s meanin'less. Like wantin' more than duty and desire is childish foolishness.”
“I never said that.”
“Ye didnae have to. Yer actions speak clearly enough.”
Murdock crossed the distance between them in two strides.
Leona’s back hit the wall before she realized she’d been retreating. He braced one hand beside her head, caging her in, his body a wall of heat and barely controlled fury.
“Ye daenae want me to keep me distance lassie.” His breath was hot against her face, his eyes blazing. “If ye did, ye wouldnae let me do this.”
Then his mouth was on hers.
Not gentle. Not asking permission. But taking, claiming, demanding a response that she was helpless to deny. His free hand came up to cup the back of her head, tilting her face up to his as he deepened the kiss with a hunger that stole her breath.
Leona should have pushed him away. Should have maintained her dignity, her anger, her righteous fury at his high-handed decisions. Should have proven she was more than the desire that burned between them.
But her body had other ideas.
Her hands came up of their own accord, fisting in his tunic, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. A sound escaped her throat, something between a protest and a plea, and Murdock swallowed it with another devastating kiss.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with want.
“Or this,” he growled.
He scooped her up into his arms and carried her across the study. Papers flew as he used his free arm to clear his desk with one violent motion, sending inkpots and ledgers crashing to the floor. Then he lowered her onto the wooden surface and stepped between her legs, his hands spanning her waist.
“Murdock,” Leona gasped, but she didn’t know if she was protesting or begging.
“Or this.” His mouth found the curve of her throat, lips, teeth, and tongue tracing a path down to her collarbone. One hand came up to loosen the laces of her bodice, baring more skin to his attention.
Leona’s head fell back, her hands clutching at his shoulders for balance. This was madness. They were in his study, in the middle of the day, with guards and servants just outside the door. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could see.
But she couldn’t make herself care. Not when his mouth was doing wicked things to her, not when his hands were sliding up her thighs, bunching her skirts around her hips.
“Ye daenae believe in love either,” Murdock murmured against her throat. “Because if ye did, ye’d stop me. Ye’d maintain yer principles. Ye’d prove ye’re above this base desire.”
