Page 78 of My Brave Highlander

"You're chilled to the bone." He wrapped an already warm woolen blanket around her shoulders. It must have been one from his bed.

She shivered again, but with delight this time. She sighed, unable to believe how protected and cozy she felt in his arms.

Losing control to the overwhelming instinct, she relaxed back against him. Not wanting him to see her need, she turned her face away, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

He stroked her hair aside, his warm fingers brushing against the cool skin beneath her ear. Tingles of bliss showered down her neck and chest.

"Och," he said low, his fingertips tarrying against her throat. "I should not touch you, Isobel."

She turned her head and faced him. "I want you to touch me," she breathed.

His blue gaze, usually piercing, now grew darkened beneath a pained frown.

She knew he desired her. Even though she was still a virgin, she was not a naïve young lass. Being a woman of five-and-twenty, she had observed men closely for years, along with their responses. Dirk was a gentleman who hid his passionate nature deep within, but his eyes were most expressive. She could almost read his thoughts. Right now, his eyes said he wanted to kiss her… as he had that first night in the stable. His passion was unleashed then, at least for a few seconds. What might she do to release it again?

She turned to press the front of her body to his. He wore a long shirt and trews. The thin material could not disguise the hard muscles of his chest pressing into her breasts.

A low growl escaped his throat.

Breathing a light moan in response, she slid her arm around his trim waist. He was so tall and broad-shouldered he aroused her woman's instincts. She loved how he'd always protected her.

He pushed his fingers into her hair and stroked his thumb along her jaw, gently over her cheek. "Isobel," he said in a soft, bemused tone. "What am I going to do with you?"

"This." Reaching up, she pressed her lips to his. Sweet heaven, his lips were warm and firm.

"Mmm." His lips parted and he flicked his tongue against her lips. Instantly, need flooded her, causing her to open to him. His tongue darted into her mouth. He tasted of hot aroused male and she wanted more. She buried her hands in his hair, wishing she could climb his frame and feast upon his mouth. He was heat and flame… the only cozy warmth in this frozen landscape.

His hands on her derriere, he lifted her exactly as she wished, drawing her legs around his waist, and she locked her arms around his neck, his mouth never leaving hers. He tasted of fiery, peaty whisky, a dark earthy flavor blended with heated male.

He drew his mouth away and pressed his forehead to hers. "Mmm, you taste so sweet," he murmured.

She moaned, yearning for more kisses.

"We should not be doing this," he said.

Nay, do not stop. She had craved this for the longest time. She had waited forever to experience passion. Fearing he would stop, she held on tighter and kissed a slow, sensual trail along his bristly cheek to his ear.

He moaned and hugged her tighter.

She wriggled against him, her sensitive, wet and tingling center rubbing against his abdomen, only linen separating them. How she wished to feel his hot flesh on hers, his hard shaft. How she wished he would lay her upon his bed, strip the clothing from her body and take her. She would welcome his invasion.

"Saints, Isobel, we must stop," he growled, then let her feet drop to the floor as he set her down.

Her knees so weak she feared she'd fall, she shook her head and held on. "I wish to please you in… whatever way you desire."

He muttered Gaelic curses and dragged her arms from around his neck.

She glared at him. He was rejecting her again, after she'd made it clear how much she wanted him.

"You drive me insane. But I cannot simply take you. Do you not know there will be consequences?"

"And what is the consequence of never knowing what it could be like between us?" she asked, frustration fueling her courage. "I know not what true passion feels like. I had hoped to find love, to find passion. But instead, my brother sends me to a man with one foot in the grave and a barbarian. 'Tis not what I wanted. My mother always said I would find true passion. Naïvely, I believed her. But perhaps I am only a foolish romantic." Dropping her tear-blurred gaze to the floor, she shook her head. "I wish I was stronger. I wish I had no heart and no dreams. Then perhaps I could be a brood mare for the MacLeod chief, and a whore to his brother as well. And if they sent me away, I could be chattel to some other chief. It would be better if I had no soul."

"Damnation, Isobel. Be quiet," Dirk growled.

"Whose body is this?" She placed her hand on her chest and looked him in the eye once again.

"Don't be ridiculous. 'Tis your body."