Page 42 of In the Highlander's Bed

He moved his hips. Her very core tightened, yearning for something more. Her breasts grew full, as if reaching for him, needing him.

With a soft sigh, Constance opened herself fully to him.

The earlier kiss had been an assault on her senses. This one was much the same, except now she was assaulting him right back. And she wanted more than just a kiss. She wantedto climb into his skin, to completely surround herself with him.

She was no fool. She’d lived close to nature. She knew what happened between a man and a woman, but knowing and experiencing were two very different things—

Gordon broke off the kiss, throwing himself onto the pallet beside her. He breathed hard, as if he’d just run a long race.

A chill skittered across her skin. She turned to him, wanting his warmth and his touch. She was not ready to quit quite yet. As she leaned to kiss him, he stopped her by pulling the tartan tight around her shoulders, his hands holding her prisoner.

Constance smiled. His pupils were dark and wide, his eyes glassy with desire. She knew how he felt. Her senses were as stimulated, and she wasn’t about to quit something that was proving so pleasurable.

However, he stopped her. “Good night,” he said.

Then he rolled over onto his side, away from her.

“Good night?” Constance repeated dumbly. She frowned. She wasn’t ready to sleep yet. In fact, sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. And she defied him to pretend he felt different.

“Stop wiggling,” he said.

“I haven’t moved.”

“Good.”

Constance frowned at his back. Her passions were beginning to cool, replaced by a profound embarrassment. “Was that another one of your tricks to humiliate me?”

When he ignored her, she reached over and gave his side a pinch.

“Ow,” he said. He lifted his head to give her a cross look. “Go to sleep.”

“I would have, before you didthat.”

His brows came together.

She tensed, preparing to defend herself against whatever charges he might make that she deserved such treatment. “I didn’t ask you to kiss me,” she muttered.

“I know.” He sighed heavily, raking a hand through his hair before laying down on his back beside her. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Yes, you should,” came out of her mouth before she could question the wisdom of such words.

His expression softened. He raised a hand as if to touch her hair but then let it drop. He whispered, “You know we can’t play that game.”

She nodded, disappointed.

Gordon’s gaze dropped to her lips. His owntwisted ruefully. “I wish we could have met at another time, another place.”

“Like where?” she wondered.

He considered a moment. “A party, in London. I would be a talented young advocate with a promising career in the courts ahead of me.”

“What would I be?” she asked.

“What you are.” This time when he raised his hand, he touched her hair. “A vibrant, challenging creature who knows how to set hearts on fire.”

His words melted her last remaining defenses. “Not I,” she said, secretly wanting him to repeat those words, to substantiate them with more. “My sisters are the ones who turn heads. Everyone notices them first.”

“I don’t believe that,” he countered. “But I shouldn’t have said what I did.” He let go of her braid, a sadness in the seriousness of his expression. “I shouldn’t have kissed you—”