Page 14 of Hunted By the Cruel Highlander (Lasses of the Highland Hunt #1)

Hector retreated to his chambers, crossing to the cabinet where he kept his whisky, and poured a measure into a crystal tumbler. His father’s whisky.

The irony wasn’t lost on him as he took a searing swallow. How many times had the old man warned him about the dangers of letting a woman distract him from his duties?

“A laird thinks with his head, nae his heart,” his father had told him bluntly on the eve of his betrothal to Caitlyn. “Ye marry a lass for alliance, nae for love. Remember that.”

Hector had heeded that advice back then, keeping Caitlyn at arm’s length despite her occasional attempts to seduce him before their wedding. When she’d broken their betrothal, his pride had been wounded, but not his heart.

But Gabriella…

Gabriella was different. She stirred something inside him that was unfamiliar and unwelcome. It was the way she faced each day with quiet courage despite everything she’d endured. The determination in her eyes when she’d spoken of her dreams. The genuine way she’d laughed.

“Bloody fool,” he muttered, taking another sip of whisky.

He stood before the hearth, staring into the flames. He’d made a vow after Caitlyn—the clan would come first, always. A laird had responsibilities that couldn’t be compromised by personal desires.

And Gabriella was leaving for France. She had her own plans, her own future to build. What right did he have to complicate that with whatever this unwelcome attraction might be?

No, there was only one honorable path. He would maintain his distance. Would keep his promise by protecting her, by keeping her safe until it was time for her to leave. Would ignore the hunger that gnawed at him whenever she was near.

Mind made up, Hector straightened, squaring his shoulders. He had a clan to lead. Lewis to hunt down. Duties that wouldn’t wait while he indulged in pointless fantasies about a woman who would soon be gone.

A soft knock at his chamber door pulled him from his distraction.

“Enter,” he called, expecting a maid with the evening meal he’d requested.

The door opened slowly, and he froze at the sight that greeted him.

Gabriella stood in the doorway, her slender form illuminated by the torches in the corridor. She wore nothing but a thin chemise with a light robe hastily belted over it.

The fabric was nearly translucent in the firelight, revealing the outline of her body.

The gentle curve of her waist, the soft swell of her breasts, the long line of her legs—all were tantalizingly visible through the delicate material.

Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, still damp from a bath.

For a moment, neither spoke. Hector fought to keep his expression neutral despite the sudden tightness in his groin.

“I found this in the stables.” She was holding up his léine—the one he’d discarded during training. “I thought ye would want it back.”

A flimsy excuse, and they both knew it. Any servant could have returned the garment. Her presence in his chambers, dressed the way she was, could mean only one thing.

“Ye shouldnae be here,” he said, his voice rough.

She stepped inside anyway, closing the door behind her. The soft click of the latch was unnaturally loud in the quiet room. The sound seemed to echo through him, final and deliberate—sealing them alone together in the intimate space.

“I just wanted to thank ye,” Gabriella said, moving closer. “For the ridin’ lessons. I’ve never felt so… free.”

Hector remained seated, his hands gripping the arms of his chair to keep from reaching for her.

The beast within him strained against its chains, urging him to close the distance between them, to taste the lips that had haunted his dreams. His knuckles were white with restraint, every muscle in his body coiled tight as a bowstring.

“Ye’ve thanked me,” he replied, a bitter edge to his voice. “Now, go.”

Yet she approached his desk, setting the léine down before him. The movement caused her robe to open slightly, revealing the swell of a breast beneath her chemise. Hector’s mouth went dry.

“Is somethin’ wrong?” she asked, her voice soft and uncertain. “Ye seemed… angry durin’ our lesson today.”

“Nae angry.” He rose abruptly, needing to put distance between them. “Ye should return to yer chambers, Gabriella. It’s nae proper for ye to be here.”

“Since when have ye cared about what’s proper?” she challenged, a flash of the spirit that had first caught his attention. “Ye placed me in the Laird’s wing rather than the guests’ quarters. That’s hardly proper.”

“For yer protection,” he growled.

“Is that all it was?”

She rounded the desk, close enough now that he could smell the lavender in her hair, see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. Close enough that the heat of her body seemed to reach across the small space between them, calling to something primal within him.

The firelight caught in her eyes, turning them into sapphires.

“I warned ye,” Hector grunted, his control slipping with each passing moment. “I warned ye nae to wander around dressed like that.”

Gabriella tilted her face up to his, her lips parted slightly. Her tongue darted out nervously to wet her lower lip, and the innocent gesture nearly undid him. “I remember.”

Her expression—the open invitation, the vulnerability beneath the bravado—snapped the last thread of his restraint.

“God help me,” he breathed, and then his mouth was on hers.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. Couldn’t be, not after days of wanting her.

His hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss. Her lips parted on a gasp, and he took immediate advantage, his tongue seeking the sweet warmth of her mouth.

Gabriella didn’t push him away. Instead, she melted against him, her arms winding around his neck as she pressed herself against his chest. Her response was eager, if inexperienced—following his lead with an enthusiasm that fed the fire raging through his veins.

Her soft curves molded perfectly against his harder frame, and he groaned into her mouth at the exquisite torture of feeling her body against his.

Their mouths moved together with increasing urgency, tongues dancing and dueling. Her fingers threaded through his hair, holding him to her as if afraid he might pull away. The small sounds of pleasure she made—soft whimpers and sighs—drove him to the edge of insanity.

Hector’s hands found her waist, spanning it easily before sliding lower to cup the curve of her backside.

The thin fabric was no barrier at all; he could feel the heat of her skin, the firm roundness of her flesh beneath his palms. He pulled her tighter against him, letting her feel the evidence of his desire.

Her hips bucked instinctively, and the friction made them both gasp.

“Mmm. Oh, Hector,” she whimpered against his mouth, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Her voice was breathless, wanting, and it sent liquid fire straight through him.

She moaned, and this time, the sound broke through the haze of lust.

This was Gabriella—the woman he’d rescued, who had suffered at the hands of men like Lewis. The woman who trusted him enough to come to his chambers alone, vulnerable and seeking… what? Comfort? Connection?

He should stop this madness now before it went further. Should send her away with a stern warning, or an apology, or both.

Instead, his lips left hers to trace a burning path along her jaw, down the column of her throat.

He found the sensitive spot where her pulse hammered beneath delicate skin and lingered there, tasting her with the tip of his tongue.

Her skin was silk and salt, and he wanted to explore every inch of her.

Her head fell back, granting him better access, her fingers clutching at his shoulders. The graceful arch of her neck and the way she trembled under his ministrations was the most erotic sight he’d ever beheld.

His hands trailed upward, skimming her ribs, feeling each rapid breath she took, the way her body responded to his touch. His thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts, and he felt her nipples harden in response, the peaks visible through the gossamer fabric.

Gabriella moaned. It was a sound of pure pleasure that shot through him like lightning. She arched her back, pressing into his hands, and for a moment, he was lost in the sensation of her softness, her warmth, her complete surrender to the moment.

The beast within him roared in triumph, urging him to take more, to claim her completely.

His mouth found the hollow at the base of her throat, and she gasped his name again, her hands fisting in his shirt as if she needed the anchor. The sound of his name on her lips, breathless with desire, nearly shattered his resolve.

With monumental effort, Hector pulled away, his breathing ragged. His entire body protested the loss of contact, every nerve ending screaming for more.

Gabriella swayed toward him, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes half-closed with desire. Her chemise had slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the elegant line of her collarbone, and her hair was thoroughly mussed from his fingers.

She’d never looked more beautiful, or more dangerous, to his resolve.

“Hector,” she whispered, reaching for him again.

Her voice was husky with passion, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to crush her to him again.

He caught her wrists gently but firmly, preventing her from touching him. If she did, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to stop a second time. Her pulse raced beneath his fingers, and he could see the confusion and hurt beginning to cloud her passion-darkened eyes.

“Go back to yer chambers,” he said, his voice rough. “Now.”

Confusion and hurt flickered across her face. “What? But—”

“Be a good lass and go to yer chambers,” he growled, releasing her wrists and stepping back. The physical distance was necessary for his sanity. “And dinnae appear in front of me like this again—”

He paused, unable to resist adding the dangerous truth.

“Unless ye want me to devour ye. Be sure that is what ye want next time ye come into me chambers.”