Page 25 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

25

K eith burst through the door with no more ceremony than a gust of Highland wind, a sealed letter clutched in his hand.

The chamber was warm, the faint scent of lavender clinging to the air, curling around his senses. He barely spared the room a glance, heading for the small table near her writing desk. He set the letter down neatly, frowned, picked it back up, and paced over to the nightstand.

Still unsatisfied.

He crossed over to the bed and put the letter on her pillow, as if that would somehow feel less intrusive.

“Do nae eat this, Trouble,” he muttered darkly, seeing the kitten curled up at the foot of the bed, flicking his tail as if in protest.

Keith straightened, gave a gruff nod, and turned to leave.

And there she was.

Ersie was lounging in the tub near the hearth, her head resting lazily against the edge, her eyes glinting like twin daggers in the firelight.

He nearly jumped out of his skin, before freezing mid-step, his blood hammering in his ears.

Lord, save me.

She hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t moved. Had only watched him.

The dratted kitten gave a smug little purr, as if he knew exactly the trouble Keith had landed himself in.

Keith’s throat worked around something far too dry. His brain sputtered and stalled at the sight of her—half-submerged in water, rivulets sliding down the strong curve of her shoulders, her skin flushed from the heat of the bath.

Rose petals floated on the surface, barely managing to conceal her naked body. Steam rose in ghostly tendrils around her, making her look untouchable. Divine.

“Well?” she said at last, her voice slicing through the thick, stifling silence.

Keith almost flinched.

Her arm—strong, sure, a warrior’s arm—rose from beneath the water, droplets sliding in slow, sinful paths down her glistening skin. She pointed lazily to the letter on her pillow.

“What’s that?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

For a moment, he could only stare—at the water lapping at the slope of her bicep; the petal clinging obstinately to her collarbone; the way her hair, damp and curling, clung to her neck.

His voice was rough when it finally emerged. “A letter.”

Her smile, slow and knowing, threatened to undo him right there.

“From whom?”

Keith swallowed, his fists clenching uselessly at his sides. “From me.”

“Och, how lovely,” she drawled, her sarcasm biting and sweet all at once. “And here I thought it might be from the baker, invitin’ me for a tart.”

He blinked at her, utterly confused.

“It’s annoyin’, ye ken,” she continued, that maddeningly calm tone of hers dripping like honey. “When folk arenae forthcoming with information. Can really ruin someone’s day.”

Keith’s jaw ticked, his senses finally joining the conversation.

“Ye ken what I find annoyin’?” he gritted out. “Yer braither. In me ear. Tellin’ me that we can be… friends .”

The word tasted like poison.

He moved before he thought, stalking toward her, every line of his body taut with suppressed violence and need.

She didn’t flinch, Didn’t hide. She simply tilted her chin up slightly, like a warrior awaiting the next blow in the ring so that she could deliver hers.

Keith loomed over her, heat rolling off his skin in waves. His eyes were heavy and blazing and raked over her like a man starved, like he could memorize the curve of her hip through the water, the gleam of her thigh where it broke the surface.

He bent down and reached for her, rough and desperate.

His hand found her neck—a strong, steady grip—and he tilted her head up just enough so that her mouth hovered near his, her body still half-submerged, slick and wanting.

“Is that what ye want, Ersie?” he growled low, his voice trembling with the force it took not to completely lose control.

She stared at him, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink from the heat and from him.

“Och, I dinnae ken. I think we could be great—” she started, her lips curling into a devilish grin.

“Dinnae finish that sentence,” he warned, his voice tight.

She held his gaze, her own full of wicked challenge.

“Friends,” she said sweetly.

Something inside him snapped.

“To hell with it all,” Keith snarled and crushed his mouth to hers.

He didn’t think.

He couldn’t.

One moment his mouth was ravaging hers, and the next his arms were sliding under her, water sloshing violently over the rim of the tub as he pressed her dripping body against his.

Ersie gasped, her body arching instinctively against his chest, her arms clinging to his shoulders.

Trouble bolted from the bed in a flurry of startled fur, skittering toward the fireplace.

Keith carried her, dripping and bare, across the room as if she weighed nothing. A prize he had every intention of claiming.

He laid her down gently on the bed, as reverent as he was feral.

For a single heartbeat, he just stared at her—splayed across the tangled blankets, her wet hair clinging to her flushed skin, her thighs shamelessly parted just enough for him to glimpse paradise.

Christ Almighty.

He was undone.

But then a knock on the door startled them both.

“Ers?” Ciaran’s voice drifted from the other side of the door.

Ersie propped herself up on her elbows. “Aye?”

“Are ye decent?”

“Nay. What is it?”

“Och, I’ll come back. I wanted to discuss something with ye before we sup.”

“I’ll come find ye—or we can talk over dinner.”

“True. Alright then, Sister.” Ciaran paused for a second too long.

Keith was about to launch himself at Ersie when the sound of throat clearing stopped him again.

“What is it then?” Ersie called out, having heard it too. Her patience was stretched painfully thin.

“Och, I’ll just tell ye at dinner. Sorry for the intrusion.” Ciaran’s footsteps echoed down the corridor as he retreated.

Keith walked over to the door and pressed his ear to the wood, making sure that her brother had indeed left.

Then, he crossed back to her in two rapid steps and dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed. His hands gripped her thighs, and his thumbs stroked her still-wet but somehow incredibly soft skin.

Ersie’s breath hitched, her chest heaving.

“Keith…” she whispered, uncertain.

His eyes, molten, pinned her in place.

“Shhh, lass,” he murmured, his voice rough with lust. “Let me.”

Before she could even think to argue, his mouth descended on her. A whisper of lips against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, a wicked promise that made her whimper.

Her legs trembled with excitement and uncertainty. Keith hooked them over his shoulders as he licked a slow, lazy line up the length of her thigh, nipping the tender skin just enough to make her squirm.

“Ye taste like sin,” he murmured against her soft skin.

Ersie’s fingers curled into the sheets, helpless.

Keith’s hands were everywhere—kneading her hips, caressing the dip of her waist, sliding up to cup her breasts with greedy, calloused palms. His thumbs flicked over her pebbled nipples, tugging them gently, and she cried out, the sound muffled against her arm.

He laughed low in his throat, darkly satisfied.

“That’s good, lass,” he rasped, leaning up just long enough to capture one nipple between his lips. He sucked—hard and wet and merciless—until her hips bucked off the bed.

“Keith, please,” she gasped, not even sure what she was begging for anymore.

He gave her a dark, wolfish grin, and then, without warning, his mouth found her core.

Ersie shattered.

His tongue was relentless. Stroking, flicking, and sucking in a rhythm that drove her higher and higher until her vision blurred and her breath came in desperate, broken sobs.

Her hands dove into his hair, pulling and tugging, but he only groaned against her, the vibrations shooting through her like a thunderclap.

When he slipped two wicked fingers inside her, she nearly screamed.

He set a brutal pace, claiming her with his mouth and hand in perfect tandem, coaxing her closer and closer to the edge until her body was trembling violently, sweat-slicked and straining.

“Ye will wait for me command,” he growled, his lips wet against her inner thigh. “Ye will hold it for me, Ersie Barcley.”

“Keith!” she cried, bucking her hips, desperate for release.

His teeth grazed the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center, and she sobbed, her back arching so sharply it almost lifted her off the bed.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say ye’ll wait.”

“I’ll—I’ll try,” she whimpered.

He read her body like his favorite book. Heat tore through her veins, her hips bucked without control—she was ready for him.

Keith chuckled darkly. “That’s nae good enough. Say it.”

“Damn ye to hell, Keith!” she sobbed, tears of pleasure glistening in her eyes. “I’ll wait, please—Och, Christ, I’ll wait.”

“Good lass,” he purred.

The praise—that sinful, dark praise—unraveled her even more as he used his mouth to give her the reward she so very much deserved.

He dragged her to the brink only to pull her back, again and again until she was a panting, incoherent mess beneath him.

Finally, when her pleasure became broken sobs of need, he relented.

“Now, Ersie,” he commanded roughly, pumping his fingers into her.

Her climax ripped through her like wildfire, savage and all-consuming, her body writhing against his mouth, her scream swallowed by the heavy stone walls of her chamber.

He didn’t stop. He drank her in, his tongue stroking her through every last shudder, every last tremor, until she collapsed back on the bed, utterly spent.

He rose slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes gleaming with raw, feral satisfaction.

“Ye’re a brute,” she gasped.

Keith laughed low in his throat, wicked and unrepentant.

Ersie barely managed a weak glare. Her body was still trembling as he crawled up the bed, pulling her with him and then stretching himself alongside her, his hand sliding possessively over the curve of her hip.

“Nay. I’m just yer friend , Ersie,” he said, pressing a kiss to her damp hair.

I’m done for, he thought as reality crashed down over them with the sound of the dinner bell.