Page 19

CHAPTER 19

“I daenae need yer help,” Anna said, holding a hand to her chest to try and steady her breathing.

She could feel Gordon’s presence behind her, uncertain of how close he might be. She hadn’t even realized that he had followed her, forgetting just how catfooted he was for someone so imposing in stature.

“I was just stoppin’ to catch me breath,” she added, refusing to turn.

She didn’t want him to see her eyes shimmering with held-back tears, didn’t want him to think she was weak or that she missed her home so soon after departing it.

“This way,” he repeated simply, his hand closing around her arm, just above her elbow.

Not roughly, but not gently either, he steered her around and walked her in the opposite direction, past the closed doors of the Sea Hall. Anna wondered what they were saying about her within, embarrassed that she had left so abruptly, and now had to be guided back to her chambers like a dolt with no sense of direction.

They had been walking for a few minutes before the silence grew too uncomfortable for Anna to bear, and all the words she’d swallowed down earlier rose up like a geyser.

“I suppose I forgot that ye picked me for the same reason that me sister’s husband ‘grabbed’ her,” she said curtly, wrestling her arm free of Gordon’s grip.

He showed no irritation at her bristling anger, his arm curving around behind her instead, though he didn’t touch her. His arm was merely there, the presence of it ushering her onward through the labyrinth of stony tunnels and passageways. None of which were familiar to her.

“Tell me honestly,” she muttered, proceeding regardless. “If ye hadnae heard of the blessin’ I supposedly possess, would ye have come to me faither’s castle? Would ye have attended that auction? If I was just a lass without that legacy of fertility, would ye have come?”

She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it. She wanted him to prove her right. She wanted a reason to be furious, for it was the only way she’d rid herself of the prickling, straining frustration that twisted her veins into knots: an outlet for the unfair situation she’d been born into.

“Nay,” he replied.

Yet, it offered no satisfaction, no reprieve, no validation. His answer wasn’t unkind, just truthful. As he’d promised, he wouldn’t be false with her.

“Exactly. Ye’re nay different to Elinor’s husband, Moira’s husband—nay different to any of the Lairds that arrived for the auction,” she muttered, not paying much attention as he led her through a doorway… into a room that wasn’t at all her bedchamber.

It looked like a study, a fire crackling in the grate, the windows wide open to let in the salty air, the scent mingling with the woodsmoke.

The door slammed shut, making her jump.

“Do ye truly believe that?” Gordon demanded to know, his eye narrowing.

“How can I think to the contrary when the evidence is right there?” she retorted, knowing she ought to feel scared, but feeling nothing of the sort.

In truth, she felt like she’d come to precisely the right place, where she could vent her frustrations, cursing her blessing, ranting at the injustice of it, and no one would hear her. A room for releasing everything that had been pent up inside her for longer than she cared to guess.

“I willnae deny why I went to the auction,” he said gruffly, pushing away from the door.

She sniffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I havenae asked ye to.”

Moving forward, he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “But I will ask ye to look me in me eye and tell me if ye truly think that’s the only reason ye’re here now .”

There was something in his expression that she’d seen before—that hunger that she’d looked for, ever since Jackson had mentioned it. And though both of them were being honest, laying everything out on the table, she thought she saw a flicker of insult in the tension of his face. As if it offended him that she believed he was the same as all those other men.

She tilted her chin up in defiance. “Well, I daenae see what could have changed between then and now—in just a few days. So, aye, I have nay choice but to believe that’s the only reason I’m here, that ye’re just the same as?—”

“Dinnae finish that sentence,” he growled, closing the gap between them.

“Ye wanted to ken what I had to say about—” she tried to argue, but his lips stopped any further protest from escaping, his mouth covering up what he clearly didn’t want to hear, kissing her with a ferocity that stole away all breath and thought.

His arm slid around her waist, pulling her hard against him. A gasp slipped from her lips, her hands grasping fistfuls of his shirt in retaliation, while her mouth responded in fervent kind. She was transported back to the woods, and couldn’t help herself, needing to be reminded of just how well this man kissed.

Another gasp escaped her as his free hand seized hold of her buttock and, with one swift and powerful move, hoisted her up off the floor. Clutching her to him, that deft hand skimmed along the underside of her thigh, drawing her leg around his waist.

Her other leg followed instinctively, locking around him as she brought her hands to his face, kissing him like a woman possessed, bruising her own lips against his, needing the roughness of that passion to temper her anger and exasperation. As if he had become the outlet for it all, and she was pouring into him all those years of feeling helpless, nothing more than a cow at market, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder.

“Am I the same as those fawnin’ dogs?” he growled against her throat, as he dipped his head to trace his lips across her skin, his kisses like touchpaper igniting her most burning desire.

She moaned a faint “nay” as his teeth raked the soft flesh of her earlobe, sending a fiery shiver through her. He’d enchanted her again, all memory of what they were arguing about disappearing with each graze of his lips, each searching caress and grasp of his hands, each press of her body against his. If he was the Devil, she was only too happy to be damned.

“Do ye want honesty or false flattery?” he purred, his mouth finding its way down from her throat to her chest, his fingertips tugging aside her neckline.

“Honesty,” she panted. “I want?—”

Her cry of bliss interrupted, the ability to speak snatched away from her throat as she felt his mouth on her, that warm heat surrounding the peak of her nipple, sucking. His mouth was the fuse, igniting the canister that had just exploded within her. Crackling pulses of electricity shot across her chest and down through her stomach, sparking through every limb, her breath catching at the sudden intensity, her heart racing as if she were in the midst of a marathon.

“What do ye want?” Gordon growled, demanding his answer, withdrawing that shivering pleasure from her until he received it.

“I… told ye,” she rasped. “Honesty. I want… honesty.”

His arm swiped at the surface of his desk, clearing it of papers, quills, ledgers. The clatter of things tumbling to the floor made Anna startle in his embrace, uncertain of what he was doing.

Had she angered him?

He didn’t feel angry, as his mouth plundered hers once more, kissing her with a passion that swept her away on a tide of need.

For what? She wasn’t entirely sure. That was part of the thrill.

Her breath hitched as he set her down on the edge of the desk with a thud, not treating her as a precious vessel that could break at any moment, but as a lass who would not shy away from his roughness.

Staring at her for a moment, the air bristling with promise around them, Gordon’s hands settled on her thighs. His grip tightened as he leaned in, fingertips sinking into that soft flesh through the barrier of her skirt, with a pressure that teetered between pleasure and pain. A feeling that he was claiming her, letting her know that she was his.

His kiss found her lips in a blazing press, her back arching with the weight of his body pressing against hers. With a light push, he spread her thighs and stood between them, while the intensity of his kiss pushed her further and further back, until she lay flat against the desk.

Gordon bent with her, their kisses rushed and frantic and feverish, her breath shallow and hot, her gasps catching in her throat as she felt something between her thighs. A solidity she hadn’t felt before, a hard pressure straining against her, inciting her curiosity and fueling her desire.

“Do ye wish to return home?” he said in that rumbling voice, etching the question along the curve of her neck. “Should I pack ye and all yer things in those carriages and send ye on yer way?”

She shook her head, closing her eyes as she felt his lips wander, moving down, over the ridge of her collarbone.

“Say it,” he growled, flicking his tongue against the peak of her nipple.

“Nay,” she panted, swallowing thickly.

He gripped the edge of her neckline for a moment, snarling his annoyance. For a moment, she thought he might rip the bodice, tearing the gown off her… but he seemed to think better of it, kissing the silk and whalebone. Perhaps, he knew it would be torment for her, not to feel his lips on her truly. He would have been right.

Rip it… just rip it, she pleaded internally, as he moved lower and lower.

Slowly, he sank to his knees and his callused palms began to skim up the stockinged line of her calves. The hem of her gown gathered against his corded forearms and as his touch edged higher, the fabric went with it… until she felt those coarse palms against her bare skin at last: a friction so delicious that she trembled, her every nerve responding to that caress.

“Are ye the lass I think ye are?” he murmured, easing the skirts and petticoats of her gown over her knees, gliding the silky fabric over her thighs, in stark contrast to his palms.

She gulped, nodding.

“Say it,” he said sharply.

“Aye,” she gasped in reply, her skirts pushed up to her hips. “Aye, I am.”

At that, his mouth fell upon her, in places she couldn’t have imagined in her wildest dreams. His kisses grazed the soft flesh of her inner thighs, his head turning left and right with every press of his mouth, ensuring no side received more attention than the other.

And just when she thought there could be nothing more glorious, her entire being jolted to a new realm entirely, as his tongue slid between her thighs, striking a spark toward a powder keg of utter euphoria.

“Oh… Oh, God!” she cried out, as he tasted her again, his tongue riling up the bundle of eager nerves that she hadn’t known was there.

He pulled back, robbing her of that exquisite sensation. “Dinnae say that name. Ye’re at the Devil’s mercy now.”

“I couldnae… help it,” Anna moaned, needing to feel the glide of his tongue again. “Aye, aye… I’m at yer mercy. I willnae say it again.”

He brought his fingertips to that swollen bud, teasing her in slow circles. “If ye say it again, there’ll be consequences,” he warned, his voice throaty with desire. “I might nae let ye speak at all. Nae a sound.”

“I willnae say it,” she promised, fingernails raking at the desk. “I promise.”

She couldn’t bear the anticipation, her head spinning as she waited to feel his tongue again. But he didn’t give her what she wanted right away, those torturous circles keeping her on the very edge of pleasure, holding the intensity of it just out of reach. If he were to move his fingertips inward a little, she had no doubt she would be shivering with bliss, calling out his name, calling out her pleasure, which meant he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Am I like those other fawnin’ dogs?” He repeated his earlier question, and as she raised her head to look at him, she saw a dark smile upon his lips. Not one of humor or merriment, but one of a man who knew he had her in the palm of his hand and was waiting to see if she would let him do as he pleased with her.

Dazed by his touch and the awakening taking place within her, she shook her head. “Nay… ye’re nothin’ like them.”

“Good lass,” he purred, dipping his head once more.

She cried out, crumpling a stray piece of paper into a ball as his tongue brushed against that sweet, intoxicating spot.

This time, he didn’t stop, as if he’d heard all he needed to. His tongue moved in slow strokes, her back arching off the desk as if she were enchanted by that intimate attention, her lungs on fire as she struggled for each gasping breath.

“Oh… Oh, Gordon… Oh…” she moaned, her head swimming in the best possible way, her entire body alight with new sensations, like wildfire in her veins.

When he curled that talented tongue and sucked gently, she thought she would explode, disintegrating into glowing embers of pure ecstasy. But he seemed to know when her bliss began to reach a peak, easing off just as it was about to soar—to what heights, she didn’t know, but she was aware of something building within her. Like the feeling of an evasive sneeze in a meadow in the summertime, increased twentyfold.

He circled her swollen bud for a short while, holding her in that sweet spot of anticipation, before he began to lash his tongue again in measured strokes. And when she felt herself soaring, he eased off once more, repeating the rhythm over and over, until she couldn’t bear it any longer. It was too much for a mortal body to endure, every nerve blazing, every cell sparking, every drop of her blood singing, every muscle tightening, every limb trembling, every speck of her skin flushed and prickled with the gooseflesh of pleasure.

If she wasn’t released from that delicious torment soon, she was convinced she might actually burst into glowing dust, never to be put back together again. She was unraveling, each moment paradise, yet her body yearned for whatever it was that he was keeping from her.

“Please,” she panted, still uncertain what it was she was begging for. “Please…”

She felt, rather than heard, the deep, dark chuckle that rumbled from his throat. A sultry thing that sent fresh sparks through her belly, pouring liquor onto the inferno of her bliss. She hadn’t made him laugh in the ordinary sense, but that didn’t take away from the satisfaction.

He quickened the flick of his tongue, and before she knew it, she was soaring again, her whole being propelled toward untold heights of pleasure.

“Oh… Oh!” A few choice words followed her cries, words she had never uttered to another person before, words that should have seemed out of place, but felt entirely right as she gasped them into the air.

He was keepin’ that from me…

It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Indeed, she hadn’t known her body was capable of so much feeling, so much sensation, so much power, all at once. It was not like being struck by lightning, but like she was lightning itself, crackling and fizzing and thrumming with a thousand bolts of unbridled electricity.

In that moment, she felt like she could have flipped the desk if she had wanted to or swum the length and breadth of the ocean or climbed the tallest mountain in Scotland without having to catch her breath: unstoppable, invincible, and completely alive for the first time in her life.

Gordon’s tongue chased that storm of bliss with her, allowing her to ride it to its completion, but as each stroke began to make her legs shudder, that sweet spot becoming almost too sensitive, he eased off once more. As if he knew the language of her body, a language that not even she was well-versed in.

With one last, lingering taste, he turned his head and kissed the inside of her thigh, placing those grazing kisses all the way back down to her knee, where he planted one more, surprisingly tender press of his mouth.

As her skirts and petticoats whispered back down to the floor, he simply said, “That.”

“Pardon?” Anna murmured, struggling to sit up. “What do ye mean?”

He brushed his thumb across his lower lip. “Ye asked what had changed between now and then.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh…”

That…

Heat rushed into her cheeks, adding a simmering layer to her already feverish skin, as she looked into his cool, gray eye and fought not to drop her gaze.

She was about to ask what “that” meant, exactly, when a loud knock at the door startled her out of her skin. She leaped forward, off the desk, hurrying to straighten her ruffled skirts and adjust the askew neckline of her gown. After all, this was just a betrothal period; she didn’t want anyone to take one look at her and think her compromised.

“Come in,” Gordon said, turning his back to Anna, wandering to the open window as if nothing had happened.

The door swung wide as Anna threw herself into the nearest chair, unfurling the piece of crumpled paper she still held in her hand. Making what she hoped was a half-decent attempt at pretending to read what turned out to be a letter from a nearby clan, commending Gordon on the quality of his potatoes, she didn’t look up to see who had walked in.

“Thank goodness!” Sophia chirped. “I thought I’d never find ye.”

Anna slowly raised her gaze, hoping her cheeks had cooled a little. “Ye were lookin’ for me?”

“Me faither told me I should let me cousin tend to ye, but I couldnae bear the thought of ye bein’ upset,” Sophia replied, glancing over at Gordon. A frown furrowed her brow.

Anna cleared her throat. “I wasnae upset. I was seein’ to some of me belongings.”

“Aye, of course ye were. And I was thinkin’ I might learn how to ride a horse standin’ on me head this afternoon.” Sophia’s expression softened back into a smile, her manner and her turn of phrase reminding Anna even more of Elinor. “Anyway, if ye’re nae averse, and ye’ve got all yer ‘creases’ out, I thought I might show ye around the castle?”

Expelling a relieved breath, certain Sophia suspected nothing, Anna nodded and set the potato letter down on the chair. “I’d like that very much.”

After all, it clearly wasn’t wise to spend another moment alone with her betrothed. Not if she still wanted to have a choice by the end of these five weeks.