Highland Heather - Highland Heather Part 33
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Highland Heather Part 33

"No." She tried to pull back but she was no match for him.

He dragged her roughly against him and pulled her hands behind her in a painful grip.

"You have strained my patience to the breaking point."

His breath was hot against her cheek.

"And I am not a patient man."

"Damn you, Morgan Grey." She felt a welling of tears and blinked them away.

"Damn you to hell."

He shot her a dangerous smile.

"Oh, I already know my eternal destination, my lady." He plunged a hand into the tangles of her hair and drew her head back until he was staring deeply into her eyes.

He had not come in here for this. In fact, he'd had no plan in mind.

It was merely his intention to vent some of his anger. But now that he was holding her, there seemed to be no turning back.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head.

She knew what he intended to do, but she was helpless to stop him. Her heart began a painful hammering in her chest. She could not cry out;

could not even speak. Her eyes remained open, watching, watching until his lips closed over hers.

As his mouth met hers she felt the first wild rush of sensation and struggled to resist it. This was, after all, not a kiss, but a punishment. She had to resist feeling anything at all for this monster. But the fire in him engulfed her, like a flame set to dry leaves.

The kiss was raw and savage like the man. There was so much passion in him.

Again it seemed there was no time for soft, seductive kisses, or sweet, honeyed words. There was only this need building inside with the force of a raging tide. And as his mouth plundered hers, she gave up all attempts at a struggle and endured rigidly in his arms.

His hands moved along her back, drawing her firmly against him.

The first stirrings of pleasure curled along her spine. Where had all these strange new feelings come from? How was it possible that this cruel tyrant should be the one to open the floodgate to a passion that had slumbered for so long?

Slowly, against her will, her arms found their way around his waist.

Her lithe young body strained against his.

He felt her gradual surrender and thrilled to it. For a moment he lifted his head and touched a finger to her swollen lips. Lips that seemed to have been made for him alone.

What was there about this damnable female that brought out a tenderness in him that he was determined to deny? His hand stroked her cheek, then slid around to cup the back of her head. He avoided looking into her eyes, and concentrated instead on lips still swollen from his kiss.

He was not, he thought savagely, a tender man. Whatever tenderness he had once known had been brutally cut away years ago.

His lips covered hers once more in a hot, hungry kiss that left her breathless.

His big hands slid along her body to her hips and dragged her against him, alerting her to his complete arousal. Though she thought of pushing away, the thought was gone in an instant.

Kisses were no longer enough. He longed to fill himself with the taste, the smell, the feel of her. He needed to fill himself with this woman.

She felt herself slipping beyond reason into a world of mindless pleasure, where the only thing that mattered was this man and the feelings he aroused in her.

His lips left hers to follow the line of her jaw to her neck. He ran kisses along the sensitive column of her throat, and thrilled to her trembling response.

She sighed and arched in his arms, giving him easier access. But when his strong fingers tore at the lace bodice of her gown, a moment of sanity rose through the layers of mist that clouded her mind.

"This is madness."

"Aye. Madness." For an instant he lifted his head and seemed to remember who they were, where they were. He studied her lips, swollen from his kisses. Though he knew that he had no right, he could not stop himself. He brought his lips to hers, tasting, nibbling, seducing.

No woman had ever tasted as sweetly innocent. Was she truly what she appeared, or was she just a clever actress? At the moment it didn't matter. At this moment nothing mattered except the pleasure of her lips.

Brenna felt everything, experienced everything, with unbelievable clarity: the musky, masculine scent of him; the warmth of his breath as it mingled with hers; the way his hands felt, strong and firm; the fragrance of candle wax and wood smoke as it filled the room; the sound of their heartbeats thundering in perfect rhythm.

Morgan hadn't wanted this; hadn't planned it. If anything, he had wanted her to taste his temper, not his need.

Need. Never had he needed anyone with such desperation. What had this woman done to him? How had he let it go this far? She was taking over his senses, filling his mind, crowding out all other thought. And yet she was wrong for him.

He was a soldier, who had probably met her father, her uncles, her clansmen, on the battlefield. She was a foreigner, who hated his beloved land.

She was too innocent, too inexperienced, for a rake like him. Aye, his first instincts about her were correct, he knew, as his lips moved over hers. She was a virgin who would expect the man who took her innocence to wed her.

Marriage. The thought seemed to come from nowhere. Marriage to Brenna MacAlpin would be an adventure like no other. She was the kind of woman who made a man think about marriage, and children, and forever.

He came to his senses, abruptly cutting off such thoughts. What foolishness was this?

He knew he had taken her too far, too fast. Or had she taken him?

Still he lingered, unwilling to break contact. One more kiss. One more taste of her. One more touch.

Morgan tasted her honey sweetness one last time and dragged himself away.

They were both shaken by what they had just experienced. And both too proud to admit it.

Brenna was shocked by the strange new feelings that surged through her.

Hundreds of tiny pulses seemed to throb within her. Her body hummed.

Her knees were weak, and to hide it, she stood very still, lifting her head at a haughty angle.

Morgan tensed, watching her. He held his hands stiffly at his sides.

He had come in here to shake her, to throttle her.

Instead, he had just lost something of himself to this woman.

Something he'd sworn no woman would ever again take.