Lizzie's heart stopped as for a moment she caught a glimpse of the happy, carefree man he might have been had fortune and not tragedy defined him. Yet even with everything that had befallen him, he was still amazing. A man to admire.
A man to love.
The realization took her aback.I still love him.
Perhaps even more so. For now she knew what drove him, finally understanding the darkness that she'd always sensed lingering just beneath the surface.
She hated that he'd lied to her, but no longer did she think he didn't care for her. His actions spoke the truth. Murray or MacGregor, his name didn't matter. What mattered was the man inside, and he hadn't changed.
She knew what this would mean. Knew what she'd be giving up. He was an outlaw, being hunted by her own family. If she went with him, she could lose everything. Her home, her comfort, her security.
But she also knew that without him she would never be happy.
She wanted him.
Her heart clenched. But did he want her?
Patrick frowned. Lizzie was being unusually quiet. He glanced across the small table, watching as she popped the delicate morsels of fish into her mouth, savoring each bite as if she'd never tasted anything more delicious. The tiny sounds of enjoyment teased his memory, driving him mad with lust, reminding him of very different circumstances where she'd made such sounds.
Her damp hair glistened in the firelight, and springy flaxen tendrils had started to curl enchantingly around her face.
His body heated as he grew painfully aware of the intimacy of the moment. Perhaps this place had been a bad idea. It was too small. Too cozy. Too hot and steamy from the water he'd heated to fill the small wooden tub—actually more of a large bucket, but it had sufficed under the circumstances.
With little space for privacy and not trusting himself to avert his gaze, he'd left her to her bath while he went outside to douse the sudden throbbing in his loins in the cold loch. He'd washed away the dirt and grime of the past few days, but his body would not be so easily tamed.
He was hard as a damn rock and painfully aware that beneath the plaid she'd wrapped around herself, only a torn thin sark covered her nakedness.
She took a nip of the last of theuisge-beathathat he'd poured in two tin cups, catching a drop of the amber liquid that dribbled down her lip with a flick of her pink tongue.
The bolt of raw desire went straight to the head of his cock.
He turned away with a sharp sound of annoyance. If he didn't know better, he would swear she was purposefully trying to torture him.
“Is everything all right?” Lizzie asked.
“Fine,” he said tightly.
She stood up and walked around to stand beside him. She'd wrapped the plaid around her like a shawl slung low on her shoulders, emphasizing the lush, round curve of her breasts. Tiny bare toes peeked out below.
She was standing too close. Her soft feminine scent wrapped around him like a sensual vise from which he could not break free.
“You don't seem fine,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulders. “You seem tense.” She started to knead the tight muscles in his shoulders and neck. “Are you sure you don't want to take off your jerkin? It's nice and toasty in here.”
With intimate familiarity, her hands moved around to the front of his chest and her nimble fingers started to work the buttons of his jerkin. During the course of their all-too-brief affair, she'd become amazingly proficient at undressing him. When her hands dipped too low on his belly, her wrist brushing the plump head of his erection, he knew there was no mistaking her overtures.
He grabbed her hands, clasped them around the wrists, and pulled her in front of him. Jaw clenched, he said tightly, “What are you doing, Lizzie?”
Her cheeks flushed pink. She looked like a naughty bairn who'd just been caught with her hand in the biscuit jar, but her eyes did not shy from his. “I want you.”
Blood surged through his veins. The pulse at his neck started to tic furiously. Her words reverberated through his body, the devil's own temptation.
He stood up, releasing her wrists, but she did not move away.
Maybe it had been a mistake to bring her here. He'd wanted her to understand, but nothing had changed: They couldn't be together. “It's not a good idea.”
Her face fell. “Why not?”
“Nothing has changed, Lizzie. I cannot marry you. Making love to you now would be wrong.”
