Page 16 of Highlander’s Sweet Poison

“Speaking of leaving,” Jillian said as she turned to focus on Gemma, “I cannae imagine that Theo is going to let ye stay all that much longer.”

“I think he intends to return the day after tomorrow. I feel fine, but he worries. ‘Tis so strange since he first tried to send me away when he learned that I’d conceived.” A dreamy look crossed her face as she rubbed her rounding belly. “He will make such a wonderful father,”

Jillian felt a twinge of pain as she looked at her friend. Gemma was wonderful and deserved nothing but love, but she was also a reminder that Jillian was never going to have a child or feel that kind of love.

“Jillian?” Elizabeth asked gently. “What is wrong?”

“Aye, sorry. My head was starting to ache a bit, so I may go home. Promise me that ye ladies will make time to get together tomorrow since it may be Gemma’s last day.” And mine, Jillian thought.

“We will most certainly see ye tomorrow,” Gemma said with a strange mischievous smile. “We should escort ye home since ye shouldn’t be alone.”

“Fear not, ladies.” Graeme materialized next to them. “I will see Jillian home.”

How did he do that? Jillian tried to think of some excuse as to why one of the ladies should walk her back or maybe even stay a little longer, but Elizabeth and Gemma were already saying their goodbyes, and Graeme was gently leading her away.

“Does yer head ache?”

“The pain has lessened. I am just tired.” Pulling away from his hold, she wrapped her cloak about her tighter and studiously avoided his gaze. Even through the heavy material, she could feel the intensity. “Ye can return. I intend to go straight home and sleep.”

He didn’t say anything but continued to match her steps. Sighing, she resigned herself to the fact that she was already a prisoner. Her cottage rose over the last crest, illuminated by the moonlight, and she walked inside, leaving the door open for him. No doubt he would sleep outside after that kiss earlier. By now, he would be wary that the madness that affected other men would have touched him as well.

She tried not to let the thought burrow inside her until she ached. Did it make sense that the one man she wanted would be the one man who tried to keep her at arm’s length? Of course not. Perhaps that was why she wanted him. It was safe. There would be nothing to come of it, so she could enjoy her fantasies and never worry that they might one day turn on her.

At least something would keep her warm in the dungeons.

After removing her cloak, she bent down to start a fire in the hearth. As the flame grew, she swallowed hard, remembering the flames of the cottage and the woods, and when she drew back, she walked right into his arms.

Startled, she turned. The flames flickered in his eyes as he stared down at her, and she saw something else, too.

Desire.

“Graeme,” she whispered. “Ye know ‘tis not a good idea.”

“Are ye asking me to leave?” he asked roughly.

She should. If he continued to touch her, it would just make everything so much more complicated. At least when he removed himself, it was easier to hate him for what was going to happen.

Her heart hammered in her chest. What would she give for one night of pleasure in a man’s arms? It had been so long since she’d felt loved, and even though there was a myriad of reasons not to let that man be Graeme, she wanted no other.

Slowly, she shook her head, and that was all he needed. Backing her up against the wall, he pinned her gently against the wood and lowered his head. Even before the kiss, she’d grown wet, but as his lips touched hers, a force was unleashed in the cottage, consuming them.

Shuddering in his arms, she wound her hands around his neck to cling to him as the kiss grew more urgent. His touch wandered down her body, slipping down her sides and over the curves of her hips. Pressing against him, she whimpered as those hands curved around to her backside and lifted her against him.

“Ye taste too damn sweet,” he grunted as his lips slid down her neck. Angling her head to give him better access, she tugged at the buttons on his shirt. He didn’t stop her, and when she spread the fabric, she pushed him away to give her just enough room to press her lips against his chest. When she snuck out her tongue to taste him, he groaned and pushed her away. “Ye tempt a saint.”

“Ye, Graeme MacSeaver, are no saint.”

He turned her, plastering the palms of her hands against the wall while his hands moved down her body. Her heart froze for a moment. Was this how he was going to take her? How many times had Fulton taken her like this, claiming that her face bewitched him? The thought made her stomach heave, but Graeme didn’t lift her skirts. No, he just undid her dress and peeled it down her shoulders until it pooled at her feet.

“Graeme?” Her voice shook a little.

“Dinnae worry, lass. I like unwrapping ye, so when I turn ye, I will see all of ye.”

As her shift followed the same path of her dress, she remembered the scars. Most of them were from when she was young, and they had faded by now. If she were lucky, Graeme wouldn’t see them in the dark.

The cottage grew strangely quiet, and she realized that she could no longer hear his ragged breath. Humiliation burned through her. He could see the scars, and he no longer wanted her. Quickly, she tried to turn, but he held her in place. “Did Fulton do this?” he asked hoarsely as one of his fingers moved along the criss-cross pattern.

“Nay,” she said honestly, although she had grown to fear that in Fulton’s deterioration, he would harm her. “This was before I meant him, and I have no wish to speak of it.”