Overwrought, he curled his hand around her neck and pulled her to him. He gyrated his hips against her core.
“Only I can kiss ye. Ye should be mine alone.” Then he sealed his mouth over hers.
She hungrily lapped at him. She removed her hands from his neck and shirt and cupped his face. Their kiss had no beginning and no end. It was an incessant thing, where their tongues danced against each other, where air was the other person. He breathed her in like his life depended on it, and his lungs had never felt so clean.
He fought the urge to carry her to the settee, where he would mount her, bundle up her skirt, and expose her wetness. Her arousal permeated the air like expensive perfume.
He would give her every inch of him, from his touch to the throbbing shaft in his breeches. But first, he would taste her. He would drink her nectar until there was no more.
He needed to see her breasts and how hard her nipples were for him. He wanted to sear the color, shape, and size into his mind so when he was lying awake at night, he would have a vivid recollection.
As he considered it, footsteps sounded outside. He turned to the door just as a red-faced maid burst through it.
“Get out!” He growled.
The maid scrambled out, forgetting to close the door behind her. When his gaze returned to Talia, she had a different look on her face.
How could I?
The words rang in her mind.
When Darragh brought his mouth back to hers, she pushed him off her. It was humiliating when her legs had to unwind from his waist, when he handled her with a frantic care as he dropped her to the floor. It was raw, pure humiliation.
Disgust upset her stomach, and she ran to the nearest window. It was a surprise that her feet could carry her that far. Fresh air filled her lungs, and she breathed in greedily. She leaned her weight against the sill; her legs had given up, hanging over precariously.
How foolish she was. While she had been debating love, he only saw her as a means to an end. He must have thought her so foolish, letting him use her like that.
For three days, she had been met with silence, her anger had brewed, her pride had been disturbed, but the first thing she did when she saw him since the insult was behave like a wanton.
The memory made bile rise in her throat.
She heard his feet padding across the carpet. “Are ye going to run away again?”
The breeze took her words and threw them into the room. She could not look into it. Her throat burned, for the scent of him was heavy in the air, and she would be overcome by breathing through him.
“Talia—”
“Ye’ve lost the privilege to speak to me informally. Ye daenae respect me as a friend or companion.”
“Miss Collins?—”
She laughed, and it scared him.
Her knuckles whitened around the oak frame. The title ‘Miss’ dropped from his lips like a loud reminder of her lewdness. No, at that point, she no longer felt guilty for how she acted. What she felt was heartache. He had kissed her for the second time, and he could not offer her an ounce of sensitivity.
She didn’t want him formal or informal. She wanted something between, or maybe she wanted him to utter different words. First, she wanted him to speak.
His silence jarred her already delicate nerves. He was a laird, so he knew how to talk, but talk he did not. He must not think her ire so powerful that it dumbfounded him. A man who constantly dealt with powerful lords and clan heads could not be silenced by a petty woman’s rage. The only conclusion was that he thought her silly.Of course.
“I hate ye,” she said ruefully.
He stumbled backward, bulldozed by her gaze. She could only imagine what she looked like when he appeared so devastated.
“Allow me to explain meself.”
He took a reconciliatory step forward. She backed away, but there was nowhere to go but through the windows. So she moved to the side, behind the armchair, by the divan, until she was standing in front of the open door.
Darragh looked ready to rush towards her, but she held up a hand. She would not run because she had no desire to be chased. He would not make her any more silly than she already felt.
