As if summoned, Owl padded into the barn with a low sound of feline satisfaction in seeing them there.
Heedless of the tension between them, Owl purred and rubbed her back against his leg.
“Yes, the cat,” Colonel Chattan ground out. “I was almost fooled. I was going to leave Glenfinnan until you sent your cat to me. You wanted me to stay and so I did. Well, here I am, Fenella. What do you want to lift the curse?”
“I’m not her,” Portia said, her voice faint. “I have no powers.”
Owl now wove herself around and throughtheir legs, brushing against Portia’s skirts and his boots, purring as she did so, the sound growing louder.
The air about them seemed to change, to grow warmer.
He was so close to her she could see every line in his face and the color deep in his eyes. “I didn’t send a cat,” Portia whispered.
A rush of heat, of desire rose between her legs. If she leaned forward, her breasts would graze his chest and they wanted to do so. They tingled in a way she’d not experienced before.
His grip on her arms tightened. His eyes had darkened. The anger turned to something she could not name. It was he who moved closer until their bodies fit together. She could feel his heat, his hardness.
She had never been this close to a man before.
Still Owl purred, the sound growing until it drowned out everything save the racing beat of her pulse.
He was handsome. Noble. A man unlike any other.
A man every woman wished to kiss.
A man who had captured her imagination in a way she’d not believed possible.
A man who brought his lips down upon hers.
Chapter Nine
This was madness.
Harry hadn’t come here to kiss Portia Maclean.
He’d come here to throttle the truth out of her. He wanted Fenella. If she was not the witch, then he knew there was a link between them.
The lust of battle sang in his blood. He was a warrior. Here was his enemy—and yet, he could not take himself away from her.
Dear God, her kiss was sweet. Intoxicating in a way that no spirit or drug had ever been.
The moment his lips met hers, reason flew from his mind.
She smelled of fresh air, moonlight and the earth. It was a scent more potent than any perfume.
He’d been holding her arms. Slowly, he let her down to the ground so he could gather her up and kiss her more completely.
Her response was everything a man could ask. She was eager for his embrace. Her arms slid up around his neck to pull him closer to her. Her breasts flattened against his chest, and Harry found himself impatient with the barrier of his heavy greatcoat between them. He slid it off, letting it fall to the ground at his feet.
Was the cat still there, winding around them, purring?
Harry didn’t care. A force as old as man drove him now. The roof of the barn could cave in on them and he would not break this kiss. He could not.
He slid his hand inside her cloak, circling her waist and pulling her closer to him. He was hard and anxious. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this excited.
Her waist was trim. He soothed his hand over the gentle curve of her thigh. She was lean and strong, a different sort of woman from the overly pampered ones he’d grown bored with in London. Her legs were longer than he had first imagined. His mind focused on those legs and on wanting them wrapped around his waist.
The kiss broke. They had been inhaling each other. He now kissed her cheek, her eye, her ear. His hand found her breast. The weight of it feltgood in his hands. He circled the tight, hard bud of her nipple pressed needily against her clothing. Her breath caught in her throat. He was surprised again with how good she felt, and suddenly, Harry was done with seduction. He wanted her.Now. He’d go to pieces if he didn’t have her.
