Harris gasped against her mouth like the impact ripped the air from his lungs.
Her hands slid into his hair, dragging him closer, deepening the kiss with the reckless certainty of a woman who had nearly died twice and refused to waste another breath.
And then—
He broke.
He answered like a man who had run out of choices.
Harris’s restraint snapped with a soundless crack: a whole dam giving way.
With a low, primal growl torn straight from his ribs, he seized her waist and slammed her back against the wall with the force of every mile he’d spent denying her, every breath he’d spent wanting her.
Fiona gasped—
Not in fear,
buttriumph.
Her fingers fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer, refusing to yield an inch.
“Fight me proper,” she hissed against his mouth, baring her teeth.
Harris’s answering sound was barely human.
He crushed his mouth to hers again—rough, hungry, claiming—one hand tangling in her wild curls, the other gripping her hip so firmly she felt the bruise blooming already.
Fiona bit his lower lip.
He froze just long enough for his eyes to blaze open, blue fire in the dim cottage light.
“You bite me again,” he rasped, voice shredded, forehead pressed to hers, “and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” she challenged, teeth flashing. “Send me home?”
That did it.
A ragged, broken laugh tore from him, half desire, half surrender, as he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, his body flush against hers, heat and strength and need pressed into every line.
“God help me,” he whispered, breath hot on her neck, “you’re goin’ tae kill me.”
She arched into him, fierce and unafraid.
“Then die like a man.”
He groaned and kissed her like a man on his knees, like she was the last honest thing in a world of treachery. Deep. Helpless.
He caught her effortlessly, hauling her up the wall with the flex of a back built for carrying burdens heavier than sin. Her legs locked around his waist on instinct while he battled her skirts out of the way, cursing into her mouth.
When his hands finally seized the bare flesh of her backside, he groaned like her skin alone had undone him.
Their breaths tangled.
Every brush, every grip, every gasp felt like a declaration they’d both been too proud, too stubborn, too afraid to make.
He kissed a trail down her jaw, her throat. Slow at first, then with a ferocity that made her spine bow.
“Harris,” she gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders.
