Page 18 of The Chief's Wild Promise

Makenna smiled inwardly. That was the greatest of her advantages. He’d never fought a woman hand-to-hand before, she wagered. He was afraid of hurting her.

She rushed at him then, aiming a strike just below his ribs.

He quickly side-stepped, his own fist grazing her flank. They danced apart.

Makenna flashed him a grin, even as her pulse quickened further. He was fast. Almost as quick as Tormod had been. She attacked again, this time letting him think she was going for the same spot, only to strike out with her left fist.

Her knuckles connected with his jaw, and his head snapped back.

They sprang apart once more, and Mackinnon flexed his bruised jaw, his attention never leaving her face. That smoky gaze was smoldering now, and the odd sensation that had ignited in Makenna’s belly earlier returned. It made her breathless and a little weak in the knees.

Focus!

She wasn’t sure why she’d responded this way, but she couldn’t let it continue.

Makenna went for him again. But this time, he caught her wrist, hauling her close.Of course, at close quarters, he thought she could do less damage. He then blocked her other fist as it drove up at his face.

He’s good.Aye, she’d admit it—but she couldn’t let him win.

Snarling a curse, she tried to kick his shins, but he avoided her blows deftly.

Anger surged up then. Earlier, she’d used his hesitation to her advantage, yet it frustrated her now. The bastard wasn’t fighting her properly, as he would a man. Instead, he was trying to subdue her. He was trying to best her without landing a punch.

She wouldn’t let him get away with it.

Twisting one wrist free, she grabbed him by the neck and yanked his head down—her forehead colliding with his mouth.

Mackinnon released her and reeled back. He then wiped his forearm across his lips, and it came away bloody. “Hellcat,” he growled.

“Shit-eater,” she taunted. “Ye want more of that?”

He did attack her then, moving with such speed that he took her by surprise.

The next thing Makenna knew, they were on the ground, rolling over and over, as he tried to pin her under him, and she tried to twist out of his grasp.

He was using his strength against her now, although she tried every trick she knew to get free. She tried to headbutt him again, but he was wise to that. She tried to knee him in the cods, but he flattened her to the ground, his lower body pressing her into the bed of soft moss beneath them. She tried to bite him, yet he wisely kept his hands away from her face.

And all the while, his moves were to defend himself or subdue her—not to attack as she had.

They continued to struggle, her curses ringing through the glade, until, finally, Mackinnon managed to pin her arms above her head. With one hand, he grasped her wrists, holding them against the moss, while with the other, he pressed down on her shoulder. With the full weight of his lower body against hers, she was trapped.

Fury hammered through her as she glared up at him. “That wasn’t a fight,” she snarled up at him. “Ye refused to engage.”

Mackinnon’s lip curled. “Did ye really think I was going to rough up Bruce MacGregor’s daughter … two days out from our wedding?” He shook his head then. “Ye must believe me to be witless.”

No, she didn’t. Instead, she had a grudging respect for the bastard. She wasn’t going to admit such though, and so she spat a curse at him, writhing in his grip. Unfortunately, her movement merely ground their hips together—intimately.

“Stop it, Makenna,” he growled, his voice sharp with warning.

His command only made her struggle harder. He grunted then, alarm flashing in his eyes. And then she felt it: a rigid hardness pressing against her belly.

Mortified, Makenna ceased her wriggling.What the devil is that?

Meanwhile, her betrothed glared down at her.

They were both panting and sweating from their fight.

Curse her, she was now far too aware of him. A faint sheen glistened on Mackinnon’s brow, and blood trickled down his chin from where her forehead had collided with his mouth. This close, she could make out the flecks of smoke and steel in his irises.He had long auburn eyelashes, tipped with black. A faint stubble of red beard covered his jaw, and a livid mark, from where she’d struck him, was coming up there. He’d soon have a bruise.