The Highlander's Touch
Page 81

At other times she would feel his frustration while he was off with his knights, and without even knowing what he was angry about, she would be flooded by his raw masculinity that roared to wield a battle-ax and actively protect his homeland. Via their bond, she experienced masculine emotions and drives she’d never understood before, and was fascinated by the knowledge that he was feeling her more tender, womanly ones.
It wasn’t until she asked him if he knew of a puppy she might adopt that she choked on a deep, bitter swallow of the blackness inside him.
They were sitting on the stone bench by the reflecting pool—it had become a favorite spot of theirs—watching some children tossing a bladder ball in the courtyard. A small mutt had plunged into the melee and grabbed the ball between his sharp teeth, and when it had burst against his whiskers, he’d shot straight up into the air, yipping frantically, comically trying to scrape the remains of the skin off his nose. While the children had giggled helplessly, Lisa had laughed until tears sparkled in her eyes.
“I want a puppy,” she said, when her amusement subsided. “I’ve always wanted one, but our apartment was too small and—”
“No.”
Perplexed, her smile faded. A wave of sorrow engulfed her, radiating from him. It cloaked her in a deep sense of futility. “Why?”
He brooded, staring at the yapping mutt. “Why would you want a puppy? They doona live long, you know.”
“Yes, they do. They can live ten to fifteen years, depending on the breed.”
“Ten to fifteen years. Then they die.”
“Yes,” Lisa agreed, unable to fathom his resistance. Another wave of darkness and anger surged around her. “Did you have a puppy once?”
“No. Come. Let us walk.” He rose and extended his hand. Guiding her away from the playing children, he led her into a thick copse.
“But, Circenn, I don’t mind that a puppy will die. At least I get to love it for the time I have with it.”
He pushed her back against a tree and covered her mouth with his, savagely.
Her breath came out in a soft humph, as he crushed her between his body and the tree. She was smothered in his emotions: pain, hopelessness, and hunger tinged by a savage need to possess her completely, to brand her with his body. And something more, something that danced tantalizingly out of her reach.
“Mine,” he whispered against her lips.
“What a totally barbaric”—she drew a deep breath beneath the onslaught of his lips—“medieval, arrogant, warlord thing to say.”
“And true. You are mine.” He dragged his tongue across her lower lip, tasting, suckling. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips. He crowded her against the tree, pressing her into it. His blackness charged the air between them and infiltrated her, drenching her with his tension. He raised her skirts and slipped his hand up her thigh, abruptly burying his finger inside her. “You are wet, lass,” he said roughly. “Dripping for me yet I’ve scarce kissed you. I like knowing you walk around ready for me.”
He turned her around to face the tree. He shoved his tartan aside and pushed the folds of her gown out of his way, trapping the fabric between her body and the bark. He cupped her exposed curves, spreading and opening her for him. His breathing was harsh, and she gasped when she felt him heavy and swollen between her buttocks. Then suddenly he thrust into her.
He was too big from behind. Lisa tried to push him away with her hips, but he pushed back relentlessly.
She grabbed the tree with her hands, confused by the intensity of his emotions, doubly confused because she was caught up in the maelstrom of his fury. It imbued her with an unidentifiable rage that had no object she could discern, translating into a fierce need to possess, to dominate, to take even that which would, under other circumstances, be willingly given. The only release for the anger was in the taking.
His rage consumed her, and she bucked back against him and turned, forcing him from her body. She rammed the heels of her palms against his chest.
“I don’t understand you,” she snapped, her eyes flashing. Still, his intense darkness seeped inside her, driving her, goading her to release it somehow.
His eyes were dark, unfathomable pools, and danger radiated from him. He shoved her back against the tree.
She knocked his hands from her shoulders with a swift outward thrust of both arms. “Oh no. You said I get to be in control, too. Don’t think I’ve forgotten. You do what I want this time.”
“And what do you want, Lisa?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.