Page 25 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

“It is. Only difference is whether it’s settled wi’ words or fists.” He glanced toward the fiddlers. “Reckon ye’ve one more reel in ye?”

Scarlett arched a brow. “Is that an offer, husband?”

“Aye. But only if ye think ye can keep up.”

Her eyes sparkled in the torchlight. “Lead the way, then.”

They danced fast, light-footed, her skirt flaring with every turn. She was better than he’d expected, quick to match his steps, quick to grin when he tried to outpace her. By the time the music ended, her laughter was bright enough to drown out the chill in the air.

Kian found himself almost reluctant to let the moment end. He bent slightly toward her. “Ye’ve a bit of color back,” he said, meaning more than the flush in her cheeks. “Looks good on ye.”

Her smile tilted into something more mischievous. “Careful, Kian. Folk might think ye like me.”

He let out a low laugh. “Folk already think that, Scarlett. Some might even say it’s true.”

She tilted her head, studying him as if trying to decide whether he was jesting. “And what do ye say?”

“That ye’re a damn sight easier to be around when ye’re smilin’ instead of glowerin’.”

Her mock gasp drew a genuine laugh out of him, the sound warming something deep in his chest. “And here I thought ye liked me glower.”

“Oh, I do,” he said, letting his voice drop, “but I like this better.”

Her gaze held his for a beat too long before she looked away, and he caught the faintest twitch of her lips.

When the dancing wound down, he offered his arm. She took it without hesitation, and they began the walk back toward the keep. The air was sharp and crisp, their breath misting in the moonlight.

“Ye’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

“I’m enjoying the peace,” she replied. “It’s rare enough between us.”

“That’s because ye can’t go five minutes without disagreein’ with me.”

She gave him a sidelong look. “And if I stopped, what would ye do with yerself?”

Kian smirked. “Sleep better, for one.”

“And miss the joy of me company? Ye’d wither away from boredom.”

“Mm.” His gaze dropped to the way her hand rested on his arm, fingers curled lightly against his sleeve. “That’s one word for it.”

They traded more barbs, the kind that left no sting, each one another step in a dance as familiar as the reels they’d just spun through. By the time the keep’s torches came into view, Kian realized she was lighter, easier beside him.

Maybe the festival had done her good after all.

Maybe she was starting to feel more herself again.

And he found he liked that far more than he should.

The festival had finally burned itself out, leaving only a few stubborn fiddlers playing for the last of the dancers and the smell of woodsmoke lingering in the air.

Kian walked Scarlett back toward the keep, his stride steady, his palm resting lightly at the small of her back.

She hadn’t said much since they’d left the green.

Earlier in the evening she’d been flushed from dancing, eyes bright and lips soft with almost-smiles.

Now, her gaze was fixed somewhere ahead of them, her expression guarded again.

The moonlight caught the curve of her cheek as she tilted her head slightly away from him. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like seeing that shadow fall over her again so soon after he’d managed to lift it.

At the door to her chambers, she reached for the latch.

“Nae yet,” he said quietly.

She blinked and turned toward him, brows knitting. “Kian?—”

“Come wi’ me.” His tone left little room for argument.

He led her down the hall to his own room. She hesitated at the threshold, her eyes flicking over the fire still burning low in the hearth, the decanter of whiskey on the table, the bed draped in shadows.

“I daenae —”

He shut the door behind them. “We dinnae finish our talk.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I daenae want to finish it.”

“Scarlett —”

“Nay.” She stepped back, away from him, her skirts brushing the edge of the bed. “Nae tonight. Nae after —”

Whatever she’d meant to say was lost.

She closed the distance between them in a breath and kissed him.

For the barest flicker of a second, his mind went blank. Her mouth was warm, insistent, tasting faintly of cider and something sweeter he couldn’t name. Then instinct and want overran thought entirely, and he kissed her back.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t meant to be.

His hands came up to cradle her jaw, then slid into her hair, feeling the silken strands spill between his fingers.

She pressed against him, and he could feel the quick, hard beat of her heart matching his own.

When her lips parted, he took the invitation, deepening the kiss until the world outside these four walls simply ceased to exist.

Her hands roamed over his shoulders and his back clutching at him as though she was just as desperate to blot out every thought as he was.

The bed was at his knees before he even realized he’d backed her toward it. She sat, skirts spreading around her, looking up at him with eyes that were equal parts defiance and something softer. Something that made his chest ache.

“Kian, I need this.”

That was all he needed to hear. He lowered himself to her, kissing her again, pushing her back onto the coverlet.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her skin.

Scarlett’s breath hitched. “Daenae ye dare.”

The sight of her there. Her cheeks flushed and lips swollen from his kisses, was enough to make him come right then and there.

Heat radiated through the thin barrier of fabric as he urged his pants off. His hands skimmed up her sides, memorizing every curve, every tremble, before cupping her face once more.

Then he eased himself into her with earth shattering control and the world around them faded into nothingness.

“Kian…” She breathed his name like a secret, like it meant something more than she could say aloud. It was red hot and ice cold all at once, as he eased the length of himself out and then back in.

“Are ye well, lass?”

“I feel — I need — Oh… Kian…” she said, and he figured that was as close to a coherent affirmative that he was going to get.

“Sweet hells, Scarlett,” he said and bent to kiss the hollow of her throat, his pace slowly picking up as he matched her clipped breaths. Then, her fingers tangled in his hair and tugged ruthlessly eliciting a hiss to escape from his lips.

“Do ye want more, lass?”

Her nails grazed the nape of his neck as she sighed, “Aye,” and he thrust into her with punishing pace. Her sharp gasp in reply drove him into a frenzy.

He drove into her deeper.

Every rock hard inch of him completely enveloped inside of her.

Deeper.

Harder.

Faster.

Then he guided her legs around his hips, pressing him closer to her, drawing him in even further as they found a rhythm that belonged to only them.

The air between them was hot and their breaths were ragged.

Every shift, every movements, every delicious moan, fed the coil of tension low in his body until it was all could do to hold on.

He wanted to savor this moment but Christ, when she let her eyes close, her head tilt back, and lips fall open as her grip intensified…

it was as if she was being thrown from a cliff, and it was only him keeping her safe.

At her last, ragged inhale, her core clamped down around him like a sinched belt, and the last of his control broke.

His climax shook his entire world as he throbbed inside her, pushing her further and further off the edge with him. Never had he experienced the powerful shudder that made his body convulse as he did in that moment, and all the wanted was more and more and more.

They were both panting, foreheads pressed together, their bodies still tangled. Everything around them slowly coming back into focus.

This lass will be the death of me.

And by the look in her eyes, she felt exactly the same.

“Stay, lass,” he said roughly into the soft curls that had escaped her braid.

From the look of her gentle smile and the heat in her eyes, he thought she might agree. If she stayed with him, he would truly show her how to forget. How to chase her pleasure. How to focus on herself, for once.

But then he saw it flash across her eyes. It was shame. It was pleasure. It was fury. It was craving.

It was the realization that they were naked in his bed in his chambers, and that he had finally claimed her. His wife.

Just then, the soft cry down the corridor crept back into the space around them.

And the moment was over.

“I should — I should check on Elise,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost apologetic.

He released her without protest.

She dressed quickly, smoothing her skirts and pinning her hair back with practiced hands, though she didn’t quite meet his gaze. At the door, she paused for half a heartbeat.

“Goodnight, Kian.”

And then she was gone.

The room felt larger without her, the fire quieter.

He sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand over his jaw. He’d claimed his wife, finally.

A marriage of convenience... sure. But a marriage, after all.

The taste of her still lingered on his lips, the memory of her body against his still burned into his skin, but there was still a lingering chill.

Because she had come to him to avoid a conversation, and then she’d left without looking back.

Kian crossed the room and poured himself a measure of whiskey. He drank it in one swallow, and the burn in his throat felt almost exactly what he needed.

He’d told himself for the past eight months that all he wanted was to bring her to heel, to close the distance, to make her his in every way that mattered.

Tonight he’d done it. The relief coursed through his veins as he stretched his neck, finally free from the months of tension and pent up angst.

He grinned. Should like to do it again… and soon.