Page 67 of The Laird’s Sinful Secret

“Nay.” The word came out rough but absolute. “Nae that.”

Moyra pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, confusion and hurt warring in her chest. “Euan⁠—”

“Anything else.” His thumb traced circles on her captured wrist, as if to soften the rejection. “But nae that. Nae yet.”

The vulnerability in his voice made her chest ache. This was about the scars—about the damage he still carried from a battle fought when he was barely more than a child. About wounds that had never fully healed, both physical and otherwise.

“I dinnae care about scars,” she said quietly. “I’ve told ye that.”

“I ken.” His forehead pressed against hers, and she felt the fine tremor running through his large frame. “But I dae. And I’m nae—I cannae⁠—”

Understanding crashed through her. This wasn’t rejection. This was self-preservation. The same instinct that made her want to run when emotions got too intense, that made her deny an attraction she couldn’t afford to acknowledge.

“All right.” She released his shirt, her hands moving to cup his face instead. “Then we stop here.”

His eyes searched hers, looking for something she wasn’t sure she could give. “Yer nae angry?”

“Nae at ye.” She pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, gentle this time. “At the situation, maybe. At whoever hurt ye badly enough that ye still carry those wounds. But nae at ye.”

“I want to make ye feel good,” Euan’s hands returned, one tracing the curve of her waist, the other tangling in her hair. “Let me do that for ye.”

“Make me forget,” she whispered against his mouth. “Make me ferget everything except this moment.”

He claimed her mouth again, deeper this time, slower. One of his hands left her hair to travel downward, tracing her collarbone, her ribs, the curve of her hip. His other hand reached for the door, opening it into her chamber. He guided her inside, mouth never leaving hers, kicking the door shut with enough force to make her tremble against him.

They went toward the bed, and Moyra’s pulse hammered in her ears, anticipation and nerves warring in her chest. He followed her down, caging her in with his body without putting his full weight on her, bracing himself on his elbows.

“So beautiful,” he breathed against her throat. “So bloody beautiful it makes me forget every reason this is complicated.”

His mouth traced the line of her jaw, her throat, the sensitive spot behind her ear that made her gasp and arch against him. One of his hands found the laces of her dress, tugging with an impatience that mirrored her own. Fabric gave way, and cool air hit her skin, followed by the heat of his palm cupping her breast.

Moyra arched into his touch, her back bowing off the bed as his thumb circled her nipple, sending fire racing through her veins. She felt his intake of breath, heard the groan he couldn’t quite suppress when her hips rolled instinctively against his.

“Euan.” His name came out strangled, half plea, half warning.

“Aye.” His mouth found hers again, swallowing her sounds as his hands explored her body with careful reverence. “I’ve got ye.”

And she did feel safe—paradoxically so. Safer than she’d felt in months, despite the vulnerability of her position. More seen than she’d ever been, despite the layers between them still intact.

His fingers found the hem of her shift, tracing the skin beneath with devastating gentleness. She felt him hesitate, giving her one last chance to stop this before it went past the point of no return.

Moyra answered by hooking her leg around his waist, pulling him closer.

Euan made a sound low in his throat—half surrender, half warning—before his mouth claimed hers again, deep and consuming. The shift joined her dress on the floor, and then his hands were on her bare skin, mapping every curve with possessive intensity that made her entire body hum.

It was overwhelming. This was everything she’d been trying to avoid—the way he made her forget herself, forget her father’s threats, forget all the reasons this was a terrible idea. There was only this moment, only the heat of his hands on her skin, only the way her name sounded when he breathed it against her throat like a prayer.

Then his mouth left hers to trail downward, and coherent thought became impossible. His lips closed around her nipple, and she cried out, her back arching as pleasure shot through her like lightning. His scarred hands held her hips steady as his tongue worked magic she’d never imagined possible.

“Please,” she gasped, fingers tangling in his hair. “Please, Euan.”

He raised his head, his grey eyes dark with want and something softer she couldn’t quite name. “Please what, lass?”

“I dinnae ken.” She honest, her body trembling. “Just—dinnae stop.”

He smiled against her skin, that devastating curve that made her stomach clench. “I’ve nay intention of stopping.”

His mouth continued its downward journey, tracing every rib, every dip and curve of her abdomen until she was writhing beneath him, desperate for more. His large hands held her hips with surprising gentleness, thumbs stroking circles that made her entire body ache with want.