Sins of a Highland Devil Read online

  “You know I haven’t.” A hundred reasons to turn and run swept through her mind. She ignored each one. She wanted him too badly, had waited too many years for this stolen, forbidden moment.

  “A pity your wits are so sharp, my lady.” His tone was seductive, the words caressing her. “I’d hoped to enjoy reminding you.”

  “Perhaps there is a bit I don’t recall?” She couldn’t believe her daring. But he’d whirled her into a place she didn’t know, where her heart thumped crazily and all she could think of was the emotion rising inside her. It felt so right, so thrilling to be alone with him.

  Heat swept her, and flutters teased the lowest part of her belly, exciting her. It was a sinfully wicked sensation. A pleasurable feeling she knew was pure womanly desire, brazen and carnal. An acknowledgment that made her pulse race all the faster, beating so rapidly in her throat that it was difficult to breathe.

  But she kept her chin raised, unable to look away from him.

  Moving proved impossible.

  She tried—she wanted to close the distance between them, stir him into kissing her—but nothing happened. Her legs seemed incapable of doing what she wanted. Even her arms wouldn’t cooperate, staying at her sides, her fingers frozen into the folds of her skirts.

  Her inability to move made her wonder if he was the devil.

  The fierce pull of attraction she felt for him hinted at such powers. And with his dark, flashing eyes and his glistening black hair unbound and wild about his shoulders, he could pass for the hell-fiend. He was certainly watching her as if he were. How else could he make her feel as if no one else in the world existed for him?

  Or that nothing mattered except the raw desire he roused in her.

  She frowned, not wanting to admit that so much more did matter. The truth was, he melted her heart along with her capitulating, not-to-be-mentioned feminine parts.

  A corner of his mouth lifted as if he knew.

  It was a slow, devastating kind of smile. A look that was full of heat, triumph, and seduction. But his eyes also held a challenge. And seeing it broke the sensual spell he’d wrapped around her.

  Catriona accepted the dare. “Colin told you where I was, didn’t he?” She set her hands on her hips. “He said you could catch me—”

  “Devil take Colin!” He advanced on her, his smile gone now. “It scarce matters how I knew you were here, flitting through a passage no one but a Cameron should know exists. You desired to be caught.” He looked down at her, his eyes glittering in the darkness. “That’s why you came here. Or will you be denying it?”

  Catriona felt her face flood with hot color. “I came here to—” She broke off when Hector hobbled out of the shadows, his scraggly tail wagging.

  When the dog—who could never have been the fast-moving blur of blackness she’d seen shoot across the passage—came over to stand beside them, she knew it would be difficult to remain belligerent.

  The beast had spent hours resting his bulk across her feet, after all.

  He’d even licked her ankles.

  Now, as he settled his bony haunches on the cold stone floor with a deep canine sigh, she knew she was in trouble. Especially when Hector’s trusting gaze moved from her to his master, then back to her again. The hopefulness on his aged, white-muzzled face split her heart.

  “You needn’t tell me why you’re here.” James stepped closer, taking her by the shoulders. “We both know the reason. It had naught to do with a wee lost dog named”—he pretended to consider—“Birkie, I believe? If he even exists?” He arched a brow, waiting.

  “Birkie is real enough.”

  “The mite is no’ missing, is he?”

  “Nae.” Catriona shook her head, trying not to notice Hector peering up at her so steadily. “Birkie is in the antechamber of my quarters at Blackshore,” she admitted, certain Hector knew they were speaking of another dog. “Beadle, his brother, is with him, and one of our laundresses, Maili, will be looking after them.”

  “Ahhh…” Something very close to a smile flickered across James’s face. “Then I was correct in being flattered that you troubled yourself to come here.”

  “I do not understand your meaning.” She knew exactly what he meant.

  “Then you do need reminding.” His smile flashing dangerously again, he slid his hands from her shoulders down to her arms, gripping tight. “You came to see me. You knew that, once here, arriving so late in the day and on such a noble mission, I’d be honor-bound to offer you and your entourage accommodation. You hoped to claim the kiss I swore to give you if ever I saw you on my land again.”

  Catriona tossed her head. “Your opinion of yourself is grand.”

  He looked amused. “With good reason, as I’ll show you.”

  Eyeing her up and down, his gaze heated as it lingered on her amber necklace. Though—a thrill shot through her—she was sure he was assessing the swell of her breasts rather than the gemstones.

  She should be scandalized.

  Instead she felt breathless. Under his perusal, her breasts went full and heavy, her nipples tightening with prickling, needful sensations she’d never dreamed. She tilted up her chin, hoping she looked bold. In truth, she was sure she’d burst any moment if he didn’t make good on his wicked, sinfully exciting threat.

  “Did no one e’er tell you that lasses who dance along the edge of a fire burn their skirts?” He leaned in, a scant breath away from her. “You, sweetness, just marched straight into the flames.”

  “Say you?” Catriona didn’t flinch.

  He glared at her. “I do. And”—he grasped her chin, lifting her face to his—“you’re about to get the scalding of your life.”

  She met his gaze very directly. His words whipped through her, rippling along her skin and racing down her limbs, filling her with a delicious cascade of sensation.

  “Hector, guard!” James glanced at the dog, nodding approval when the beast pushed to his feet and went to the archway back into the great hall.

  Hector placed himself in the center of the entry, once again lowering his rump carefully as he sat. But he held his head alert and proud, prepared to turn away anyone who might approach the stair tower.

  “He listens well and heeds orders.” James turned back to her, the look on his face making the world tilt and spin away, leaving only the two of them. He was close to her now, so near that she could feel the heat of his hard-muscled body warming her own.

  “Hector knows what is good for him.” His voice held silky menace. “A pity you are no’ as wise.”

  Catriona bit her lip. To her way of looking at it, she was clever. He was about to kiss her, after all. This was her victory. Something she’d been yearning for since their first ill-fated encounter years before when he’d caught her in the hills above Castle Haven, searching for Grizel and Gorm, the Makers of Dreams.

  Their recent meeting in the wood—and especially his taunt when he’d come to her on Blackshore’s boat strand—only reawakened old feelings, leaving her no peace.

  Now…

  It was important that he made the first move.

  But there could be no harm in taking just one deep breath, letting her lungs fill, and—she could scarce believe her brazenness—allowing her breasts to rise and brush ever so slightly against his chest.

  “Ah, lass. You push me too far.” He closed on her then, bringing his huge, iron-hard body so near to hers that her back bumped against the cold stone of the wall. Heat poured off him, scorching her, branding her forever. He made a sound low in his throat and braced his hands on either side of her head, trapping her within the circle of his arms. “Ne’er say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I—”

  “Save your words. I willnae believe a one of them. Only this…”

  With masculine intent, he curled one hand about her neck and pulled her roughly against the unyielding wall of his chest. His arms were suddenly around her, and breath couldn’t pass between them. Catriona grasped his shoulders, digging the finge
rs of one hand into his hair and clutching the coarse wool of his plaid with the other.

  She gripped him fiercely, leaning into him. She could feel the entire length of him, granite hard and hot as flame, thrumming with a tightness that bespoke how much he wanted her. If she bore any doubt, the thick and rigid column of searing heat pressing into her hip proved his desire. Something inside her melted in response, releasing a spill of tingles almost too exquisite to bear.

  “James…” She gasped his name against his shoulder, the heady male scent of him filling her senses, making her giddy with sensations more glorious than anything she’d imagined.

  Before she could say more, or even think, he swept one hand down over her hip, splaying his fingers across her bottom. Even as he pulled her more intimately against him, he brought his other hand up to grasp the back of her neck, holding her firmly in place.

  “You’re a right pest,” he snarled. “Ne’er has a lass vexed me more.”

  Then he lowered his head, slanting his mouth over hers in a hard, devouring kiss. He plundered her lips with a savage fierceness that stole her breath and made the floor dip beneath her feet. Her heart hammered wildly and the tingles whirling inside her spun faster now, concentrating in one intensely sensitive place, low by her thighs. As if he knew, he tightened his grip on her bottom, his strong, warm fingers kneading her flesh.

  “O-o-oh…” She squirmed against him, clinging fast, desperate to prolong the startling pleasure.

  He deepened the kiss, his mouth fierce and furious. He groaned—at least, she thought he did—and then his tongue was probing her lips, seeking entry. She welcomed that intrusion, the burning pleasure inside her increasing as his tongue slid into her mouth, curling intimately over hers. It was now a slow, languorous kind of kissing so wondrous that she felt her entire body softening with sweet, molten heat. She wound her arms more firmly around his neck, fearing he’d stop kissing her, ending her bliss.

  But her pleasure only spiraled when he began stroking the sensitive skin beneath her ear, the side of her neck, and—she caught fire—when he moved his hand, letting his fingers drift over the top swells of her breasts. Somehow, her bodice came undone, the cloth gaping open so that her breasts spilled free. Cold air rushed across her nakedness. And then he was caressing her, roughly palming and kneading her fullness, circling his thumb over her nipple, teasing the taut peak with the tips of his fingers.

  Catriona gasped, her heart tumbling. The pleasure was almost unbearable. Her breasts swelled and quivered, aching for more of his touch. As if he knew, he made a sound low in his throat and shoved the gown from her shoulders, exposing more of her.

  “Sweet…” He bent his head to nuzzle her neck, flicking his tongue along her skin, nipping and tasting her.

  “Don’t stop kissing me.” She reached for him, taking his face in her hands, pulling him back to her. “Please, more kisses…”

  “Aye, more…” He crushed her to him, holding her more fiercely than before. His kiss was a maddening fever now, the hot, silken strokes of his tongue against hers sending waves of desire rushing through her. Until—just when she was sure she’d break apart—a loud burst of manly laughter and a thump intruded. A crash and the splintering of pottery followed immediately, along with more hoots and howls of masculine ribaldry.

  James’s men in the hall, ale-headed and knocking into tables and benches, lurched ever nearer to the stair tower’s archway.

  “Drunken fools.” He broke the kiss, dragging his mouth from hers. Swearing, he thrust her from him as swiftly as he’d seized her. He stepped back, breathing heavily. He also stared at her as if she’d grown two heads and cloven feet.

  Catriona blinked, disbelieving.

  He scowled.

  “That, Lady Catriona”—he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—“is why you need to stay safely behind Blackshore’s walls. Take heed. If you attempt such foolery again, coming here to parade yourself beneath my nose, pushing me beyond any man’s limits…

  “Then be assured the next time I kiss you, we will no’ be standing.” His tone was cold and angry. “We shall be prone, my lady. That, I promise you!”

  Pain, sharp and lancing, sliced into Catriona’s heart. She could only stare at him, mortification—and fury—sweeping her as the shivery heat inside her whipped into a seething cauldron of fury.

  “You bastard!” Eyes narrowing, she yanked up her gown and refastened her bodice with chilled, trembling fingers. “How dare you—”

  But he’d already stalked away. Hector hobbled along behind him, the dog’s tail no longer wagging but hanging between his legs.

  Catriona glared after them, her pulse pounding wildly until they were swallowed by the boisterous crowd in the hall. Then, her face burning, she snatched up her skirts and followed them into the chaos.

  But she didn’t return directly to the high table.

  She made certain that her path took her straight past the arrogant devil who’d dared to ravish her so heatedly only to shove her from him as if she’d turned into a writhing serpent in his arms.

  So she took pleasure in bending a freezing stare on him when he glanced her way as she cut a swath through his long-nosed, gawping men.

  He didn’t gape, but his brows snapped together, darkly.

  It was a look that suited her fine, as she’d only begun to annoy him.

  Soon, he’d learn her measure.

  And when he did, he’d discover he’d erred. The next time they kissed, they wouldn’t be prone. But he would be on his knees, begging for the pleasure.

  She’d make certain of it.

  Chapter Ten

  Hours later, James followed Catriona up one of Castle Haven’s winding turnpike stairs and then along a dimly lit passage. He took care to move silently and stay far enough behind her to remain unseen. But all his precautions couldn’t chase the damning notion that he was creeping along on cloven hooves. It scarce mattered that he only hoped to ensure that Colin, Hugh, or some other besotted, ale-taken fool didn’t accost her. He simply wished to see her safely to her guest quarters. Yet—he grimaced—each step of the way confirmed what he should’ve known.

  If he wasn’t already going to hell, he’d be on his way before the sun rose on the morrow.

  His moony-eyed men weren’t a threat to her.

  He was.

  He should turn around and take himself back down to the hall.

  His honor burned inside him, roaring for him to leave before he was no longer fisting his hands at his sides, but reaching for her. She was the last woman he should touch and the very one he didn’t dare to love. Every instinct screamed in protest, warning of trouble to come. Any moment she could pause, then swing about to face him.

  To his horror, he kept on.

  His heated awareness of her gave him no choice. Flickering light from the wall torches played over her gleaming, flame-bright hair, and his fingers itched to undo her braids so that her lustrous tresses would spill down her back to swing about her hips. The swaying of those hips stirred a throbbing heat in his loins, setting him like granite. And her light gillyflower scent drifted behind her, teasing and taunting him, heady as wine.

  He scowled, wholly captivated.

  She nipped around another curve in the passageway and he quickened his pace, not wanting to lose sight of her, wishing he could.

  His need to keep up with her warned him of his fast-approaching fall.

  Men didn’t tumble the sisters of rival chieftains.

  Most especially they didn’t ravish such maids beneath their own roof. Certainly not in the ways he burned to pounce upon Catriona. It scarce mattered that he now knew she’d greet his passion gladly. Or that the notion of taking her set a whirl of tantalizing images rising before his mind’s eye. She was a lady and a virgin, and—damn his honor again—he’d decided when he’d thrust her from him earlier that he wouldn’t be the one to steal her innocence.

  Yet, here he was…

  Trailing after her like
a rutting stag, trapped by her scent, and knowing she led him to a guest chamber where—were they at Blackshore—the strictures of hospitality would require that he strip before her maidenly eyes, allowing her, as lady of the keep, to bathe him.

  Praise God this was Castle Haven.

  He didn’t think he could bear it otherwise.

  Nae, he knew he couldn’t.

  He was close to bursting now. And the devil inside him clawed and twisted, straining to break free and scatter his restraint to the winds. Standing naked in front of her, stepping into a tub of steaming, scented water, and then feeling her hands soap and glide across his flesh—her questing fingers perhaps coming near or even grazing certain iron-set, aching flesh—was an agony no red-blooded, well-lusted man should be made to endure.

  Setting his jaw, he pushed the stirring thoughts from his mind. But before he could recuperate, Catriona finally came to a halt.

  James’s eyes rounded as she reached for the latch of a heavy oak door, opening it wide to sail inside the handsome, well-appointed bedchamber beyond.

  Unfortunately, the room wasn’t meant for guests.

  It was his.

  And he had to tell her at once.

  Castle Haven’s guest quarters were elsewhere, and he needed to speed her there before seeing her so close to his bed dashed his restraint.

  Though—his head was beginning to pound—what he most needed was to seize her, slide his hands down her back, over her hips, and then grasp her lush, well-rounded bottom so he could once again pull her hard against him. What he’d then do didn’t bear consideration. But if someone pressed him, he might own that he wouldn’t mind dragging his mouth over her smooth, silken nakedness, kissing her everywhere.

  Such were his desires as he reached the open doorway and spotted her in the middle of his bedchamber, looking about the room.

  Spotlessly clean, thanks to Isobel’s householding skills and Beathag’s fervor, the chamber boasted bright lime-washed walls with no less than three tall window arches, each one offering a sweeping view of the moon-silvered hills and the high moors beyond. Colorful tapestries were hung generously, lending warmth. And the pleasing scent of peat filled the air, blending nicely with whatever aromatic herbs simmered on the coals of a corner brazier.