Sheltered in his arms, she shook her head, her face still pressed against the soft folds of his shirt. “I am no pure maid, Hamish. I am a woman of nigh on thirty summers. A widow. I knew well enough what I was doing when I asked you to kiss me.”
He gave a low chuckle. “I am mighty glad ter hear it.”
His laughter stirred the remnants of desire and she shifted a little, placing her palms against the angular planes of his shoulders. “’Tis just the events of the day. So much has happened.”
So much is happening.
“I am no longer yer captor, Isabella. Ye ken so, aye? All of that is behind us.”
She reached up to touch his face, enjoying how he responded to the brush of her fingers against his stubbled cheek. She had never stood so close to such a force of raw, masculine energy. But neither had she ever felt so safe and protected in a man’s embrace.
“We are allies,” she said. “Friends perchance.”
An unreadable expression passed through his eyes. “It would be my honor to be yer friend, Isabella. Even if parts of me might be longing for something more than friendship.”
He pursed his lips and she smothered a smile. She could feel that part of him pressing against her hip. Desire flickered again inside her, like a pulse which thrummed slowly and steadily.
“Parts of me want more as well,” she whispered.
“But we shouldna.” His voice was uncertain. His hands moved in her hair. “Ye have suffered a blow to yer head. We have only just reached a truce between us.”
She arched her back, deliberately pressing the softness of her curves into the unyielding hardness of his chest. “And it is so very cold.”
“The kind of cold that addles a man’s thinking,” he agreed, stroking her spine.
“’Tis sensible, mayhap, to stay close together for warmth.” She cocked an eyebrow and met his darkening gaze.
“Yer a wise woman, Isabella de Neville. I have always thought as much.”
His hands moved slowly up her sides and brushed gently against her breasts. Isabella felt as if she had been set alight. She gasped and leaned into his touch until he lowered his lips to her collarbone and nibbled her gently. At that point, she lost both strength in her limbs and direction in her thoughts. There was no more planning or intention; only a delicious pleasure growing inside her as he kissed her neck and caressed her body. The golden glow of candlelight shimmered at the edge of her field of vision, so that Hamish appeared touched by the Divine. She was his, in a way she had never been anyone’s before.
“I want to lay ye down on the bed,” he said, his voice rough with desire.
“I want that, too.”
He scooped her into his arms and laid her reverently atop the covers.
“Ye are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
She gripped his shoulders, holding him in place. “Is that all I am to you?”
A frown flickered at his brow. She felt the tremor of restraint rippling through him. “I dinna ken yer meaning.”
Isabella gulped. Why was she asking such questions when she could simply close her eyes and submit to the wonderful sensations he had kindled within her?
But this is important.
“I have heard that phrase so oft it has ceased to have meaning to me.” She tightened her hold of his shoulders, needing him to understand. “In all my years married, my husband rarely saw me as anything else.”
Hamish lowered himself onto his forearms, bringing his long, lean body tantalizingly close. “Are ye asking me if I see ye asmorethan a beautiful woman?”
Her throat ached. “I am.”
His breath fanned across her face as his eyes looked deep into hers. “I see all of ye, Isabella. I see yer courage, yer strength and yer love for yer family.”
She was close to tears.
“I see yer intelligence,” he continued. “Yer stubbornness. Yer pride.”
