“Don't,” he said harshly. “What you are thinking is wrong.”
Hot tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. “You don't need to explain. I should go.” She tried to lever her body off his, but it was like trying to bend steel. The hard, muscular wall of his chest didn't budge, nor did the arm holding her.
He uttered another oath, muttering something about her being too damn innocent.
In that he was wrong.
“Look at me,” he ordered, his fingers gently tipping her chin. Reluctantly, she complied. “I don't want you to touch me, because it feels too good.” The muscle below his jaw pulsed. He leaned closer, his mouth a hairbreadth from hers. Her heart fluttered wildly—erratically. Startled, she felt the slightest brush of his lips against hers, like the whisper of a feather—so soft that she wondered whether she'd imagined it—before he pulled back with a groan. “It's all I can do right now not to pull you down on top of me and kiss you until you beg for me to take you.”
The heat in his voice left her no doubt that he meant what he said. The idea of ravishment didn't frighten her as much as it should. Two spots of color burned high on her cheeks. She swallowed hard. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh.” He dropped her wrist, releasing her, but she didn't move right away. Couldn't even if she wanted to. Her body seemed to have a mind of its own—being near him like this felt too good.
His confession shouldn't have made her so absurdly pleased … but it did. A flush of pleasure rushed up her cheeks. She bit her lip and said shyly, “I didn't realize …”
“I know.” His gaze deepened. “But now you do. I want you, and I'm not gentleman enough not to do something about it.”
Her eyes widened again, taking in the dangerous-looking man lying half-naked beneath her. He was right about that—he didn't look anything like a gentleman. He looked like a warrior. Like a man hanging very close to the edge of civility. Why wasn't she frightened? “I see.”
“So if that makes you change your mind about your offer—”
“I'm not changing my mind,” she said firmly. The look that passed between them in the silence that followed was so thick with intensity, it was almost palpable. She felt the connection, the cinch that was pulling them closer and closer. Tighter and tighter.
She realized her words might have sounded like an invitation. Blushing, she pulled away. “I mean, well, these are unusual circumstances. There's no reason to think something like this will ever happen again. One of the maid servants can tend to your bandage from now on.”
He gave her a look that suggested it might not be so simple, but she chose to ignore the implications.
She moved toward the door, stopping suddenly and turning to give him one last glance. “So you'll stay?”
Their eyes connected with an intensity that told her she was a fool. What sparked between them was not confined to this room.
“Aye, lass, I'll stay.”
She smiled, more relieved than she wanted to acknowledge. But a small part of her wondered whether she'd just opened Pandora's box and invited in more than she could handle.
Uploaded by Coral
Chapter 6
Two days later, Patrick could no longer contain his restlessness. To hell with what the blasted healer said, he would not stay abed for one more hour, let alone one more day. He was a chieftain, a warrior, not a bloody invalid. Every minute that he and his men spent in the bosom of their enemy increased the danger of discovery. Time was of the essence, and he'd not waste it abed—alone.
Bathed, fed, and dressed in clothes that had been thoughtfully cleaned for him, he fastened his dirk and sword at his waist and tossed his bow over his shoulder, leaving behind the luxurious accommodations of the Earl of Argyll as he went in search of his men. It was amazing what simple comforts could do to revitalize a man. For the first time in years, more than he wanted to think about, he felt civilized. A strange occurrence for an outlaw, and one he'd best not get used to.
His stay at Castle Campbell was not likely to be a long one. As soon as he could convince Elizabeth to run away with him, they would leave for the Highlands. It might be some time before she was welcomed back into her home.
The realization of all she would unknowingly be leaving behind pricked at him like a swarm of pesky midges in August. He didn't like deceiving her, but Elizabeth would be more likely to throw one of her dirks at him than she would be to entertain the suit of a MacGregor.
Even with the deception, however, she was avoiding him. Not surprising given what had—and what had nearly— happened between them.
He couldn't recall ever having something come over him like that. The all-consuming, almost violent urge to possess. His need for her had filled every pore, every fiber, every bone of his body. He rarely lost control—even in the heat of battle—and certainly not with a woman. No one had penetrated the shell that had surrounded him since the murder of his parents. That this tiny, serious lass should do so now surprised him. It had been the truth when he'd told her that he was moments away from pulling her down on top of him and ravishing her senseless.
Perhaps he should have. Then she would be in no doubt of what she did to him.
He couldn't believe she'd actually thought he wasn't attracted to her. His blunt appraisal to the contrary had unsettled her. Unsettled, but not discouraged. A subtle but important difference.
It was all the encouragement he needed. The challenge would be in finding time alone with her. Perhaps he shouldn't have warned her away from his sickbed, but the thought of her tending him, of her hands on his body and him not being able to do anything about it … there would be nothing “slow” about his seduction at all.
What happened to his vaunted control? It sure had picked a hell of a time to desert him.
