A soft meow caught her attention. Owl had followed her. The cat now leaped up onto a large rock in the hillside.
If Colonel Chattan saw Owl, he gave no indication. His eyes were on her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin purse. He was going to pay what he’d promised.
Portia was both thankful and insulted. It was hard to look in his eyes as she approached. There was something about him that drew her to him, and it was best if she kept her attention on anything other than how handsome he was or how masculine.
She held out the book.
He held out the money.
Portia reached for it as he reached for the book—and then, she didn’t know how it happened, but she found herself in his arms.
And he was kissing her.
And she was kissing him back for everything she was worth.
Chapter Eleven
Monty’s challenge for Harry to focus on one woman had not set well with him. After all, he’d spent most of his life avoiding the dangers of “one woman,” a danger his brother had happily embraced.
After strong reflection, Harry had decided his wisest course would be to keep a distance from Portia Maclean.
He told himself he wouldn’t be so strongly attracted to her if he’d been following his old ways of strong spirits and dozens of women. Back then, he’d not been picky about what woman he’d been taking to his bed. They had all been the same to him, or so he wanted to believe ... because the realization that this pull, this attraction he felt for Portia Maclean, was something more than what he’d ever experienced before lefthim humble, vulnerable—emotions Harry didn’t like.
And yet, right now, with her in his arms, he could not stop kissing her.
Nor was he the only one who felt this way. Her kiss spoke louder than words that even though she could be prickly in public, she was a more than willing participant now.
He swept her up in his arms and carried her inside the bothy, their lips still locked together.
Inside, he began undressing her. Her hands were as eager as his. She pushed his coat down his arms so that it fell to the ground. She tugged at his shirt. Her fingers found the buttons to his breeches. She untwisted one, then another.
He untied the strings of her cloak and brought her into the circle of his arms. Their kiss deepened as his fingers searched, then found the laces of her dress.
Harry knew all the tricks and tucks to women’s clothing. It was not a difficult feat for him to unlace her dress. His reward was access to two of the sweetest breasts he had ever held.
Her skin was creamier and smoother than he could have imagined. The nipples were hard and pink. Perfect, really ... just as she was. Perfect for him.
Portia ran her hands up his rib cage, pulling his shirt up as she made her journey. His neck cloth was still tied around his neck and he wore his woolen jacket.
Laughing, he said, “One moment, love. Not so fast.” He tried to untie the knot in his neck cloth.
She drummed her fingers on his chest and kissed the sensitive underside of his neck, and Harry could not take it much longer. His fingers became clumsy, and he didn’t want to fool with the knot when he had her to touch.
Portia was a wicked delight. She didn’t hold back, on both opinions and desires.
Putting his arms behind him, he yanked at the sleeves of his jacket. He was trapped that way as she lifted his shirt more fully, stepped closer and pressed those luscious breasts against his skin.
Harry groaned, reveling in the feel of her, delighted by her boldness and innocent sensuality.
Her hands smoothed down his sides, moving toward his waist. She was kissing him now, her hand against his erection. Her fingers stroked sensitive skin, discovering and measuring the length of him before she held him in her palm, and that was Harry’s undoing.
Who needed to be naked? Clothes served a purpose, didn’t they?
Harry shrugged the jacket he’d not yet been ableto remove back up his shoulder and used both arms to lift her up to him for a kiss that would devour her if he had his way. He would swallow her whole ... and he could not wait one moment longer.
He spread her legs around his waist and entered her with one smooth, strong stroke.
She was tight, hot, ready, and Harry rogered her for all he was worth. She drove him to madness. She had only to touch him for him to feel an overwhelming need.
