Page 38 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
His hand slid up her spine, his fingers splaying wide at the nape of her neck to anchor her. His other hand gripped her hip possessively, like he meant to memorize her curves. She felt the bark bite at her back, rough and grounding, but it was a distant sensation. All she knew was the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his beard, and the low, reverent growl he made when she tugged at his hair.
She was drowning in him, and she never wanted to come up for air.
When he pulled back, it was only to look at her—eyes dark and hooded, mouth swollen and wet from their kiss. His breathing was ragged.
“Christ, woman,” he whispered, his voice raw. “What are ye doin’ to me?”
She swallowed, dazed, her lips tingling. “I should ask ye the same.”
He leaned in again, his mouth brushing hers in a ghost of a kiss. “Never tempt me like that again,” he rasped. “Nae unless ye want me to lose all control.”
Her smile was slow, wicked, breathless. “But I might.”
He groaned, resting his forehead against hers, his fingers still tight around her like he couldn’t bear to let go.
What might I do?
12
Archer’s heavy booted footsteps echoed sharply off the stone floors. The study was his sanctuary of strategy and silence, but now it felt much too small. Too close.
A low fire crackled in the grate, casting long shadows that followed him.
“Bloody fool,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “What were ye thinkin’?”
The kiss.
It had burned through him like lightning cleaving the sky—bright, fierce, and impossible to forget. He could still feel the imprint of her mouth on his. Could still taste her.
I shouldnae have kissed her. Nae like that… So little control.
None of that had been part of their agreement. He was needed in the castle, the clan, and there were far more important things to think about, but all his mind could wander to was the suppleness of her lips and her taste as he explored her.
Their engagement was supposed to be a ruse. A simple means to an end, not an excuse to act like a starving man in the arms of a woman who made him forget his own name.
Saints…
He paused at the window.
She wanted it as much as I did. And she kissed me back like I made her feel the same…
He pressed his palm flat against the cool stone of the windowsill, trying to calm the fire roaring within him.
She was a storm, and he’d stepped into it willingly.
The door creaked open behind him, and he whirled around.
“What is it?” he barked.
Ivy poked her head around the door, her lips parted in surprise. “Well, good mornin’ to ye too, dearest braither.”
Archer grimaced. “Ivy… I didnae mean?—”
She stepped inside, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed. “Did I do somethin’? Or are ye just shoutin’ at everyone today?”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nay. It’s nae ye. I’m just… preoccupied at the moment.”
She stepped closer, worry softening her features. “It’s her, is it nae?”
