My Fair Highlander. Mary WineЧитать онлайн книгу.
now, lass, it seems that ye will have to be rethinking yer opinion of riding, for it sounds like ye just might find it to yer liking.” His hands gently massaged the sides of her face, carefully avoiding where she had been struck. She saw his gaze touch on the bruise darkening her skin, rage flickering in his eyes for just a moment before his attention returned to her face. “Even if it is a carnal enjoyment, between a man and woman, that is no necessarily a bad thing. It can make for a very warm winter, I’m thinking.”
Jemma gasped and shoved him away with every bit of strength she had. He released her but chuckled, letting her know that her freedom was only hers because he granted it to her.
That knowledge stung her pride.
“Between strangers such as us, it is a sinful thing, sir. So stop thinking about such.”
One of those dark eyebrows arched in arrogant display. “Well now, lass, I’ve asked yer brother for permission to court ye. A thing I did long before tonight, so do nae be calling me sinful just because ye enjoyed running yer hands across me chest.”
Jemma snarled. “You kissed me first.”
Gordon shrugged. “Aye, I did. Does that mean that ye would like the opportunity to touch me first? I’m ready to stand steady while ye do with me as ye please, lass.” His eyes sparkled like a boy’s. “I feel the weather growing warmer at just the idea of ye reaching for me.”
Her hand flew out before she thought about it. She balled up her fingers and punched him on the side of his mocking jaw just as she’d seen the men doing in the training yard. Pain snaked up her arm and into her shoulder, drawing another profane word from her lips.
Gordon laughed, full volume, and the man actually leaned over to brace his hands on the top of his thighs while he continued to roar with amusement. In spite of the pain, Jemma pulled her hand back for another swing. Gordon ducked when she came at him this time, his body lowering so that the force of her strike carried her over his wide shoulder. He took full advantage of her inexperience with fighting and surged up so that she ended up bent over his shoulder. One hard hand connected with her unprotected bottom with a smack that echoed off the chamber walls.
“Put me down!”
“As ye like.” He slapped her unprotected bottom another time before dumping her off his shoulder. Jemma shrieked as she felt her body falling through the air. A vision of her slamming into the floor made her cringe, but her body bounced on the soft surface of the bed instead. Her skirts flew up and came down in a tangled mess that knotted around her legs.
“You beast!” She flipped onto her stomach and felt the night air brush against her bare thighs above the top of her knee-high stockings. She jerked her face up to discover Gordon admiring the view her tussled skirts afforded him. Kicking at the fabric, she rose up onto her knees but stopped because the man stood in front of the bed, blocking the path she would have taken off it.
He looked for all the world like some Viking from winter stories. The ones that were told near the end of winter when all the better stories were exhausted. Sitting back down, Jemma rolled over, intent on leaving the bed from the opposite side. But something large and heavy landed on the bed. She snarled and tried to swing her legs off the bed only to discover that her dress held her back. Turning her head, she found Gordon lying across the foot of the bed with one elbow propped against its surface and his head resting in his hand while the beast smirked at her.
His heavier body lay across her skirts, trapping her with only her chemise to guard her modesty.
“Ye hit me, wildcat, so do nae be crying when it was you that set the tone of our conversation.”
Jemma grabbed her skirt and gave it a yank, but the fabric remained lodged beneath his weight. “You earned it for behaving like such a blackguard and stealing a kiss from me.”
“Hmmm . . . possibly.”
“There is no question about it. Now get off my dress, we should not be in . . . in—”
“In bed together?”
Jemma felt her face burn with a blush. “Exactly.”
“With yer skirts tossed?” His lips were curving up in a grin while his tone mocked her.
“Stop it. This is cruel. Riding out was foolish, but I am not a slut, and you should not be looking at my thighs. No one has ever looked at . . .” She couldn’t help how pitiful she sounded. Helplessness was closing around her with an icy grip. There was nothing to stop him from doing what he would. Even her own body seemed to have a liking for his touch. She looked away from him, unable to prevent two tears easing from her eyes. She may have done some foolish things since her father’s death, but never had she shamed him.
A soft word muttered in Gaelic drew her attention back to Gordon. He lifted his body so that her skirts were loose. She pulled them toward her and sat up so that her legs were covered once again. Gordon relaxed against the bed once more, lying in a contented pose while he studied her. It was by far the most unusual setting she had ever been in. All her life had been dictated by rules and traditions. The prospect of being in bed with a man she barely knew had never occurred to her. At least, not if that man was not her husband. Brides often had to deal with meeting their spouses for the first time on the their wedding night.
But she had no such comfort as knowing that wedding vows protected her honor and future. Losing her maidenhead tonight would see her facing a harsh reality tomorrow morning. There would be plenty who would point and judge her for not being pure. Gordon wouldn’t face such. No, the shame would be hers alone and well deserved for sneaking past Synclair the way she had. There was no one to blame but herself.
She drew in a deep breath and banished the tears from her eyes, better to face what was to come than shiver in dread.
“Well? What do you want now, Gordon Dwyre?”
His lips twitched, but they didn’t curve. The man appeared to be watching her, studying her.
“I shouldn’t have looked at yer thighs, lass.”
Jemma nodded agreement.
“But I enjoyed it full well.” He smiled with arrogant confirmation of that enjoyment.
She offered him a short huff. “If you think I’ll thank you for that compliment, you are mistaken.”
He lifted one thick finger. “Maybe not, but I see that ye find me as interesting as I find you.”
“I do not.”
His lips parted as his smile became larger. “Ye undress me with yer eyes, Jemma; ’tis a fact that I find it hard to resist.”
“Try harder.” She would, she had to.
He shook his head. “But ye did hit me, so—” His gaze lowered to her lips and passion flared to life in his eyes. “Ye owe me one sweet kiss to relieve the pain.”
“Trust a man to believe kisses relieve pain.”
One of those eyebrows rose once more. “Do ye deny that many a mother has offered a kiss to soothe the discomfort of her child?”
“You are not a child.” And she was far too aware of it for her own sanity. Her nipples were still hard, begging for the touch of his skin against them. The idea of kissing him was threatening to cast every scrap of self-discipline aside.
“If I roll onto me back and allow ye to tickle me belly, will ye offer me a sweet kiss, Jemma?”
Her mouth went dry. “I shall not.” Jemma forced the words past the wicked urgings that were emerging from the excitement flickering inside her. Part of her did want to touch him, almost too much to ignore.
“Well, that’s a pity. I think I would have enjoyed it full well.” He winked at her before rolling over his shoulder and off the edge of the bed. His kilt went flying, but he landed on his feet in a balanced stance before straightening up, and all she gained was a flash of his trim backside.
A pity