Page 10 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #4)

CHAPTER 10

The cabin did its best to hold on to the heat of the fire, but the moment Cecilia considered stepping out of its glow to find a place to sleep, the cold nipped at her feet, herding her back toward the blaze.

To make matters more complicated, Murdoch had chosen that moment to take off his clothes.

Cecilia whirled around, clapping a hand over her eyes. “What are ye doin’?”

“Ye should do the same,” he replied gruffly. “Wet clothes willnae help ye get warm again. I can see ye’re still shiverin’.”

“I cannae be in a room with ye wearin’ nothin!” she protested, resisting the urge to turn around and take a peek.

However, her mind saw fit to fill in the blanks as she heard the glide of fabric against skin, the sound of a buckle being unfastened, and the heavy drop as wet wool hit the floorboards. She remembered the sculpted muscles of his chest and back, and she imagined them again, letting her mind’s eye rove over every scar and defined line and sinew.

She managed to picture him all the way to the hips, where her mind faltered, leaving a sort of vague haze between his navel and the middle of his thighs, where her imagination picked up again. She tried again to no avail; she had only gossip and stories she had heard from passing village girls to picture what was in between.

“How do I ken ye willnae look?” she asked awkwardly, uncertain where he was in the room.

“I willnae,” he replied in an unimpressed tone, and she finally ascertained his whereabouts.

He was by the fireplace, and as she stole a glance at him, she caught another glimpse of that magnificent, sculptured back as it slid beneath several layers of blankets and furs. It seemed he had created a bed of sorts in front of the fireplace, though she noted with some disappointment that he had not made one for her.

And in front of him was a rack, where his clothes were laid out, drying by the heat of the fire.

“Ye’ll join me here after ye’re done undressin’,” he added. It was not a request.

She whirled around. “I willnae!”

“Do ye ken nothin’ of how to survive when ye’re cold?” He clicked his tongue in obvious annoyance. “Ye’ll get warm fast if ye’re bare beside someone else. Dinnae make it into somethin’ lewd.”

Still uncertain, she slowly began to peel her wet, uncomfortable clothes off her body. Her stays and drawers were not too damp, and she could not bring herself to be entirely naked, so she kept them on as she carried her sodden dress and shift to the rack. There, she laid them out, before kneeling down.

Murdoch had already turned his back to her, allowing her some privacy as she nervously crept in beside him. The furs and blankets were a warm, if musty, embrace that she wriggled into, before pulling the puppy beneath the blankets with her.

The dog gave her chin a sleepy lick and nestled against her chest, falling asleep again.

She, on the other hand, did not know that she would be able to sleep at all with Murdoch so close… and so entirely bare. There was a small gap between their backs, and though curiosity urged her to close that gap, common sense kept her where she was.

After all, he had not agreed to pretend to be her betrothed, and she would not take any risks with her actual purity, not with a man who clearly had no interest in taking a wife. And he didn’t want her to bring the puppy with her.

But he did come to find me. How did he ken I was lost? Why did he search these woods for me?

Indeed, though he had a strange way of showing it, he was showing concern for her even now. He had brought her to this cabin instead of spending an age returning to the castle, he had lit an excellent fire to keep her warm, and now he was using the heat of his body to ensure that she stayed warm throughout the bitter night. Not only that, but he had let the puppy stay too.

It was a confusing situation to contemplate, the Laird of Clan Moore a walking contradiction—a man who handled her roughly but let a puppy have the spot closest to the fire; a man who did not like her but had come searching for her anyway; a man who had said he did not care about her story but then allowed her to stay at his castle, claiming he understood her resolution.

“Am I nae blockin’ the heat of the fire?” she asked, desperate to fill the stilted silence.

“Nay,” he muttered.

“Do ye visit this cabin often?”

“Nay.”

“Do ye have trouble sleepin’ outside the castle?”

“Nay.”

She smiled to herself. “What does a horse say?”

He ignored her, and though she could not see his face, she knew he was not smiling. She doubted the man was capable of it. Then again, she had made a sort of wager with Paisley that she would be able to coax a smile onto his face. Perhaps this was the perfect time to see if it was possible, or if it was, indeed, a challenge she could not hope to win.

“Ye ken, this isnae me first time bein’ caught in the snow,” she confessed after a moment, trying to think of the best story to tell. “I must’ve been twelve or so, and the snow had come down overnight, and I had this… notion. They’re nae always wise, and this definitely wasnae one of me wisest.”

She waited, but he did not respond, his silence prompting her to continue—either he was listening intently or he was about to tell her to be quiet. And until he did the latter, she would not.

“I told Paisley to come and meet me outside after she’d finished her chores. I kenned I had half an hour or so. So I got out and built a snowman around me, and I waited, peering out of this freezin’ cold thing—so excited that I didnae care that I couldnae feel any of me limbs.”

She paused. “Only, Paisley got waylaid by me aunt, who was lookin’ for me. Minutes went by, and I was thinkin’ that I was goin’ to have to give up before I actually froze to death. But then, just as I was about to surrender, Paisley and me aunt came outside, and they stopped right beside the snowman. Me aunt was starin’ at it in horror. I didnae hesitate—I jumped right out of it and scared the pair of ‘em. Me aunt was so frightened that she fell into a snowdrift, and Paisley was laughin’ so hard that she turned bright purple, holdin’ her stomach. And I was too cold to do anythin’ but stand there with me arms held out.”

Murdoch did not move or make a sound other than his slow, even breathing. Had he fallen asleep? Cecilia had an impulse to nudge him or to turn around and peer over his shoulder to see if he was really asleep or just ignoring her.

Nay, better nae to be an annoyance to him. He might still kick me out into the snow.

She did not actually believe that, but he could make her move to another part of the cabin, and the warmth of the fireplace and the blankets was too delightful to lose.

“I cannae sleep,” she murmured, envying the puppy.

“I noticed,” Murdoch grumbled, confirming that he had simply been ignoring her.

She hesitated. “It’s the silence, ye see… I’m nae used to it. Ye’d think a convent would be dead silent, but as soon as those nuns go to sleep, it’s noisy as anythin’. A lot of snorin’. And I shared a cell with Paisley for eleven years—she doesnae snore, but she chatters in her sleep.”

“Aye, I can tell ye have difficulty with silence.” His voice was as low and rumbling as waves crashing against the cliffs.

She gazed into the fire, watching the flames between the drying clothes. “Yer voice might help me sleep.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt him roll over onto his other side, his front facing her back. There was still a gap between them, but she was all too aware that he wore nothing underneath the blankets, and his front could be a lot more dangerous to a lass’s honor than his back.

“Why do ye find me voice soothin’?” he asked in that rolling-thunder growl.

It did not soothe her at all. Instead, it had the opposite effect, stirring up a feeling that was not quite nerves, or anticipation, or fear, or intrigue, but a heady blend of all four. And in her stomach, butterflies were fluttering wildly to get out.

“Are there any more blankets?” she asked, changing the subject as she realized that she had veered too far into reckless territory.

“Ye’re still cold?”

She squirmed against the feelings that welled up at the sound of his voice, trying to wriggle free of them, as well as the cold that seemed ingrained in her bones. In doing so, she accidentally moved closer to him… and froze as her leg grazed white-hot flesh, unsure what she had touched.

“Careful,” he whispered, closer to her ear than she had thought he was. “Ye shouldnae writhe like that.”

Her eyes closed at the sound of his baritone, a tremor running through her. It made no sense. How could she want to be closer to a dangerous man like him? How could she be so cavalier with her virtue, lying with a naked man who was not her husband? And how could his voice have such… control over her? It was just a voice, yet it played upon her body like an enchantment.

“Aye, well, I’m nae comfortable, so I’m makin’ meself comfortable,” she protested breathily, needing to claw back some of the control. “Ye should roll back over to where ye were, then me writhin’ willnae trouble ye.”

“Ye dare to give me orders?” His powerful arm came up and wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his hard chest.

For a moment, she could not breathe at all as fantasy and reality collided with a shuddering impact. She had imagined what it would be like to be held in those arms, and now that she was, it was not a disappointment.

His upper arm was as big as her head, his broad chest dwarfing her, making her feel so safe and warm that if they had been outside in the snow like that, she would not have felt cold at all.

Cecilia, what would yer aunt say!

Alarm bells rang in her head, and she tried to wriggle free of his grasp. He held her fast, needing to exert very little strength to keep her close to him.

“Oi!” she objected. “Ye shouldnae be touchin’ me, Laird Moore! Unless, of course, ye want me story about ye blemishin’ me purity to have a lick of truth to it. Ye refused to become even me fake betrothed, so dinnae think ye can have yer way with me.”

He dipped his head, his lips a breath away from her shoulder. “Are ye warm?”

“What?”

“Are ye warm now?”

She paused. “Well, aye, but that doesnae mean?—”

“Then cease yer chatterin’. Ye asked for more blankets—we dinnae have any, but this is how ye survive the cold,” he replied gruffly, his mouth teasing her—not kissing her skin, but eliciting a crackle like tiny bolts of lightning that sparked between his lips and her flesh.

She writhed again, her eyes widening as her buttocks grazed something else. Something within the hazy region that her imagination could not fill in with any detail. Something hotter than the rest of his furnace-like body. Something harder that made him growl in the back of his throat as it brushed against her backside.

“Lie still,” he rasped. “Keep provokin’ me and ye might find that yer wee made-up story does end up havin’ more than a lick of truth to it.”

She wriggled more vigorously. “I’m nae provokin’ ye. I’m tryin’ to get out of yer grasp before ye boil me alive.” The more she writhed and strained, the more she wanted him to hold her tighter. “Ye’re goin’ to crush the wee pup if ye’re nae careful!”

But Murdoch, of course, had an answer for that. Not with words, but with action.

His hand slid up her stomach and the center of her stays, curling around the puppy that lay asleep against her chest. He picked it up and set it down on the farthest edge of the blankets, the puppy barely stirring at the movement. The little creature just slept on contentedly, unaware that he was supposed to be an excuse for Cecilia not to get any closer to Murdoch.

As Murdoch moved to set the puppy down, more of his body had curved around Cecilia, and as he drew back to his original position, he pulled her back with him. She arched her back to try and put a sliver of distance between them, but the backward tilt of her hips pushed her buttocks further against something they should not be touching.

“If ye keep doin’ that, ye’ll leave me nay choice,” he murmured, his deep voice turning husky.

“Nay choice? What do ye mean?”

He ran his hand over her stomach and rested it on her hip, grabbing the soft flesh there. “I’ll have to ease yer undergarments over yer hips and down yer thighs until ye’re bare to me. I’ll slide me fingers inside ye, make sure ye’re ready for me, and when I ken that ye are, I’ll sink into ye. I’ll plunge meself into ye again…” He pulled her hips back, letting her feel the part of him that she could not picture. “… and again… and again… until ye dinnae have breath to chatter anymore, only to scream me name. And when I’m done, when I’ve tired ye ‘til yer head is spinnin’, ye’ll have nay trouble sleepin’.”

If Cecilia had thought she was breathless before, then she had not known what it meant to have her breath truly stolen away. Not just her breath either, but her sense of reason, her defense of her virtue, her dislike for the man lying behind her, and every instinct that told her that this man was dangerous.

Her head was already spinning, her body not just tingling but burning with a sensation she had not experienced before—an all-consuming simmer of the senses, heightening her curiosity and lowering her inhibitions. In truth, it was like being drunk without imbibing a drop.

Perhaps that was why she whispered the words that she did.

“What if… I… like that notion?”

For what felt like an eternity, Murdoch lay there silently, his hand still gripping her hip. His breath caressed the curve of her neck, and though she could have twisted her head around to look up at him, she did not dare to. Her question was too wild and brazen, even for her.

She felt the change in him before he spoke. His body went rigid against her back, his hot breath almost angry as he withdrew his hand and rolled over, putting that polite gap between them once again.

“Ye shouldnae,” he said gruffly. “Now, sleep.”

With those four words, the tingly, burning sensation faded away, leaving her with her head in tangles and her stomach twisting into knots. She stared at the flickering flames, furious with herself for getting carried away, and even more furious with herself for giving Murdoch the upper hand.

He’ll think I actually wanted him to do those things…

She swallowed thickly, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that she would never be able to get his sensual description of what he might do out of her head.

It was the most he had ever said to her, and all to toy with her, to make her feel foolish.

Well, I’ll show ye that I’m nae so easily embarrassed, she silently vowed, scooping the puppy into her arms and turning slowly to lie on her back.

She stared up at the rafters, where old cobwebs swayed in the icy breeze. And out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at that muscular back, visible above the hem of the blankets, and wondered if every scar was a memory of a mean trick.

Ye’ve taught me a valuable lesson.

She closed her eyes, stroking the puppy to calm herself.

For a brief moment, she had been beyond curious about the acts he had whispered about in her ear. So intrigued that she could very well have gotten herself into a world of trouble that no amount of pretense would solve.

I’ll be more careful of ye from now on.