She turned away, her long blond hair spilling over his plaid like a silky golden veil. He wanted her so much, it hurt. Her continued refusal—her rejection—gnawed at him. As did another possibility.
He took her chin and turned her back to face him. “And what if there is a child, Flora?” he said, his voice deceptively flat. “What of that consequence?”
She let out a small gasp of surprise. Her hands unconsciously covered her naked stomach.
“Apparently you did not consider all of the ramifications.”
“I’m s-sure the likelihood is small,” she stammered.
“If there is a child, you will marry me, even if I have to drag you to the door of the kirk myself. Do you understand?” The fierceness of his tone left no doubt that he meant every word.
Eyes wide, she nodded.
He stood up, donned his clothes, and left her without a glance to ready the horses for their return. In truth, he didn’t trust himself to say another word. He was still too damn angry by her refusal.
But anger wasn’t the only emotion tying him in knots. His reaction when she’d nearly died should have warned him, and now that they’d made love…he’d gotten in too deep.
He wasn’t as detached as he needed to be in the situation. Hell, he wasn’t detached at all.
He raked his fingers through his hair, wondering how a simple plan had become so complicated. Two months ago, he’d wondered whether he’d made a bad bargain. He remembered thinking that Argyll had agreed too easily, and now he knew why. Flora MacLeod was trouble. He just hadn’t anticipated how much. Or that the trouble would impact him so personally. Balancing her feelings with his duty was no easy feat.
He’d finished readying the horses and returned to find her dressed, the plaid folded, and the remainder of the food packed away. All signs of what had transpired not a quarter of an hour ago were gone.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She nodded and gave him a hesitant look. “Are you still very angry?”
He was, but not only at her. The situation had spun out of control. Mistakenly, he’d thought that once they made love, she would agree to marry him. He’d admitted that he cared for her, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted something more from him. More than he could give. He was a chief, he had responsibilities—too many people were counting on him.
Just looking at her, seeing the vulnerability on her face, tore at his heart—and at his conscience.
He drew her into his arms and pressed a tender kiss on her still swollen lips. Tempted to take more, but too cognizant of the danger—at how quickly the fire between them could flare out of control.
Lifting his mouth from hers, he looked into her confused eyes. “I’m not a man used to taking no for an answer, Flora. Be forewarned, I intend to convince you otherwise.” He put his mouth close to her ear, nibbled lightly on the sweet lobe, and breathed softly, savoring the way she shuddered against him. “No matter what it takes,” he whispered. His hand moved to cup her breast, rubbing his thumb over the fabric of her gown. She softened against him, her body responding to his seductive stroke.
His cock hardened, and his body flooded with heat. He wanted her, but not just the response of her body. He wanted her heart. He wanted to bind her to him, so that nothing, even the truth, would tear them apart. “I’m not a patient man, my sweet. Don’t make me wait too long.”
Chapter 14
Flora’s resistance was crumbling. Lachlan Maclean was nothing if not true to his word. Over the past few days since their return from the Faerie Pool, he seemed to have made it his mission to drive her mad with longing.
He took every opportunity to touch her, to stand too close, to whisper in her ear—his mouth achingly close, but never close enough.
And never far from her consciousness was the memory of what he’d done to her. The passion that, once unleashed, wanted to run free. He’d kissed her mouth, her breasts, her…Heat crept up her cheeks just thinking about it. She couldn’t believe he’d kissed herthere,but neither could she forget the shattering sensation that followed. Never had she felt such pleasure, until he’d thrust deep inside her—filling her—and started to move.
He held his experience over her, teasing her with the promise of what he could do to her. Hinting at pleasure she could only imagine, but which she wanted—badly. “On edge” didn’t begin to describe her state. She felt as if she were walking around ready to explode at any moment.
Her only salvation was the mornings she spent with Mary and Gilly at their lessons. Only then did he offer her a brief respite from his seductive attentions.
She sighed, knowing her temporary peace of mind was coming to an end. Mary and Gilly had just left their makeshift schoolroom to dress for the midday meal, leaving Flora to finish tidying up. The girls had readily accepted her apology for leaving without saying good-bye and seemed to have understood her attempt to leave without demanding the specifics.
She’d just slid one of the folios they’d been using—Songs and Sonnets,a collection that included works by the former Earl of Surrey and Sir Thomas Wyatt—back onto the shelf when a tanned muscular arm wrapped around her waist from behind. She felt the subtle press of his hard body, the heat, and the impossible strength. His fingers gripped her hips, pulling her closer—molding her body to his.
When he pressed behind her like this and nudged his hips, it made her wonder…was it possible? She shook off the image. What had he done to her?
Like a powerful magnet, he drew her in. His touch, his scent, the warmth of his breath on her neck. The force of his presence shattered her resolve. Awash in heat, she melted against him. Her body, which had been in constant deprivation for the past few days, felt aroused to the point of bursting—reveling in any opportunity for contact, no matter how brief.
He dug his face in her hair, nuzzling along her neck, his lips as soft as a feather along her skin until she shivered, but never giving her the friction she craved.
