Page 12 of A Highland Bride Disciplined

Kian’s pulse raced.

She stopped at the edge of the mattress, facing away from him, and reached behind herself. Slowly, carefully, she began to undo the laces of her gown.

“Scarlett…” he said, uncertain.

She ignored him.

Her fingers trembled, but the fire of determination in her eyes didn’t falter. The gown loosened and slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet in a whisper of silk. She stood in her chemise, firelight painting her in honey and shadow.

Kian couldn’t move.

Is she brave… Or foolish?

He didn’t know. All he knew was the tight coil of heat in his chest, the pounding of his pulse as he stepped toward her.

She didn’t shrink, but he could see the slight tremble in her limbs.

And she didn’t look at him either, but the blush that crept up her delicate skin told him all he needed to know.

She was scared.

Of me? Of this?

He stopped just behind her. “Look at me.”

She hesitated.

“Scarlett,” he said more softly. “Look at me.”

She sighed, turned around, and lifted her eyes to meet his.

And there it was. That defiance. It was burning bright behind the blush rising in her cheeks.

God above, he wanted her.

But not like this.

Not while her hands trembled and her gaze dared him to take what she wouldn’t freely give. What she clearly didn’t want to give.

He reached up, brushing a fingertip along her jaw. Then he touched her lips, tracing the bottom one, tugging it gently. She gasped.

He leaned in, close enough that their breaths mingled. His voice was low, rough with restraint.

“There’s a good lass. An ounce of obedience, for once.”

Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. “Duty. Kian. Daenae confuse them. Ye’ll end up hurtin’ yerself.”

At that he smiled wide. The pressure in his trousers grew nearly unbearable. His hand lifted her chin slightly, just enough to tilt her throat toward him. He leaned in until his breath grazed the tender curve of her neck.

“How’s this for confusing, dearest wife,” he said. “I’ll nae claim ye. Nae until ye tell me yewantme to.”

Then he pressed a single kiss to the soft skin beneath her ear, and he turned, leaving her half-dressed and alone in the flickering silence of her chamber.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he stood still for a moment in the dark antechamber, eyes closed, fists clenched at his sides. His breathing was ragged and uneven, like he’d just finished sparring a dozen men.

He hadn’t touched her. Not properly. Not in the way he wanted. And god help him, hewanted.

Her image lingered like a brand in his mind. Her flushed cheeks, the rise and fall of her chest, that storm in her eyes trying to hide the tremble in her hands. That thin chemise doing little to conceal the curves now burned into his memory.