Page 19 of The Laird's Wicked Game
The laird’s auburn brows crashed together once more. “Excuse me?” His voice had chilled.
“Ye heard me. What’s the point of hiring someone to tutor yer sons, if ye eavesdrop outside doors and judge all of us harshly? Ye may as well tutor them yerself!”
A flush rose upon his cheekbones, and his fern-green eyes darkened. She’d vexed him, but she didn’t care. A strange power thrilled through her veins.
“I was trying to help ye,” he replied, his words coming out jerkily now. “But I didn’t expect to receive such ingratitude.”
“Why would I thank ye for shaming me?” She poked him in the chest again, just to make her point, although this time, he surprised her by catching her hand and holding it fast.
Kylie’s breathing hitched. His fingers were warm and strong, and his touch caused a frisson of awareness to ripple up her wrist to her elbow. She blinked then. What was she doing, standing so close to the laird, raging at him, and stabbing her finger into his sternum? Had she utterly lost her wits?
Mortification rushed over Kylie, her flare of courage waning.
“Ye should unleash that adder’s tongue on my sons,” he bit out, his gaze smoldering now. “Ye’d have them cowering under the table in no time.”
She made a choking sound, her heart slamming against her breastbone as her temper flared once more. She couldn’t let him get away with that. She had to cling to her courage.
Her lips parted, but she never got the chance to answer him—for Maclean let go of his dog and stepped into her. Then, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
The kiss was hard, fierce, and it stole her breath away.
In an instant, the anger that had flared between them—as volatile as a flame to bone-dry tinder—changed into something else entirely. Something that had smoldered between them ever since they’d met months earlier at Moy Castle.
A heartbeat passed, and then Kylie clutched at his lèine, fisting the material and pulling him hard against her as she kissed him back, wildly.
Their lips parted, their tongues tangling, mouths devouring, and teeth grazing. Heaven help her, he tasted good, and the rasp of his shaven chin against her cheek made hunger quiver like a drawn bowstring inside her.
She’d never been kissed like this, and nor had she ever responded to anyone in this way either.
His embrace was heady, like autumn cider, only even more delicious. And when he sucked her lower lip into his mouth, before giving it a gentle nip, the flesh between her thighs started to ache.
A low groan escaped her, tearing up from the bottom of her throat.
The noise shattered the moment. Chest rising and falling sharply, Maclean drew back, his hands dropping away from where they’d been gripping her shoulders. Likewise, Kylie let go of his lèine. They stepped away from each other then, the ragged sound of their breathing filling the solar.
Kylie’s legs started to tremble, mortification stealing over her.
Their gazes met and held, and the startled look in the laird’s eyes told her that he was just as shocked by what had happened as she was. One moment, they’d been arguing, the next kissing.
She raised a shaking hand to her bee-stung lips.Christ’s blood, what have ye done?
Maclean swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said huskily. “I don’t know what came over me.”
She stared back at him, rendered mute by embarrassment. Her cheeks burned like twin suns as she began to back toward the door.
His green eyes guttered. “Kylie … please, don’t go.”
She shook her head. He’d never addressed her so familiarly before. The intimacy of it made her already racing pulse hammer against her breastbone. She was suddenly desperate to get away. If she remained, she might do something utterly daft, like throw herself into his arms. His kisses still burned upon her mouth, and she ached for more.
Turning then, she darted for the door, threw it open, rushed out of the solar, and fled up the stairs toward the sanctuary of her bedchamber.
Rae watched Kylie hurry from the solar, the door thudding shut behind her.
For a few moments, he merely stood there, staring at where she’d disappeared. And then, rousing himself, he growled the filthiest curse he knew.
Since when did he behave like a rank knave?
The woman had been angry and upset, for pity’s sake, and all he could think about was sticking his tongue down her throat. And the Lord smite him, he’d done it. He’d kissed her lewdly, boldly.