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Beast in a Kilt Excerpt
The next morning, Catriona waited outside Torr’s bedchamber door. He’d been out all night again, doing lord knew what. Through the crack in the door, she heard sounds of bathing and changing clothes. If she wished to seduce him, this was as good a time as any. Drawing a deep breath to calm her racing heart, she entered his chamber without knocking and closed the door behind her.
He stood by his bed, naked but for holding the plaid before him, hiding his most masculine parts. Heavens, his body was glorious, the muscles of his chest and arms even larger and more defined than a few years ago.
“Catriona. Go,” he commanded, his frown fierce.
Though defying his order took more strength than she knew she possessed, she shook her head and moved toward him. His sculpted arms, chest and abdomen mesmerized her. What a magnificent sight. She lifted her gaze to find him glaring at her, his jaw clenched hard.
“Iosa is Muire Mhàthair. Go now, lass, or ye shall regret much.”
She swallowed hard. Her trembling hands clutched at her sides, she approached him. “Torr, I have loved you since I was a girl of but ten summers.”
“Och. Damnation, Catriona, ye dinna ken what love is. ’Tis no’ all flowers, kisses and sweets.”
“I know that.”
“Ye are an overprotected, spoiled, half-English bairn. Ye live in a dream world and ken naught of what is real.”
His words pricked at her pride. Why could he not see she was a woman grown now? A woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
“Have you been in love before?” she asked, fearing his answer. What if he even now loved another?
“’Tis none of your concern.”
“I don’t think you have.” At least I hope you haven’t. She stroked unsteady fingertips over the hard, warm planes and muscled ridges of his chest. The dusting of hair and his male nipples fascinated her. A man’s chest was so different from a woman’s.
“Dinna challenge me this day, lass. I havena the patience for it.”
“You said that you wanted to, well, you know.” She could not make herself say that naughty word he’d said yesterday when he had her pinned to the wall.
“As I also said, I havena had a woman in months, and at the moment near any wench would do.”
His words had the effect of a slap. Could he be so cold and heartless as to not care whom he made love with? Too late, she realized he looked into her eyes, easily reading her thoughts and emotions.
“’Tis the way of men. We are no’ so selective as women.”
’Haps that was true. Certainly her brother had a reputation for having lots of lovers.
“But I’m the only woman here at the moment.”
He let out a long breath. “Ye want your brother or that damned MacPeter to kill me, is that it?”
“No. Never. Were he himself, Brodie would want me to be happy.”
“I canna make ye happy, lass.” His voice softened, as did his gaze. “I am cursed.”
“Not if you—” She broke off. Not if you love me. But mayhap he couldn’t. He did not care for her that much. “I will not go to the MacPeter without knowing what it would be like with you. I have wanted you, Torr, for a long time.”
His jaw muscle flexed. “Ye dinna ken what wanting is.”
“I do.” She yanked his plaid away when he was least expecting it, exposing him to her view. Goodness, she had not seen a grown man’s erect shaft before. His was long and thick and pointing up at her. It might have scared her, had she not loved him so much.
She swallowed hard again and glanced into his eyes.
“No’ so sure now, aye? I didna think ye would be.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Though terrified, she moved her hand slowly toward him and brushed it along his shaft. Hot, silky skin. She hadn’t expected it to feel so hard.
He sucked in a hissing breath and almost closed his eyes.
She stroked her hand up, curling her fingers around him until she reached the velvety sensual-shaped head. It jumped. She jerked back.
He watched her, daring her, beneath half-mast lashes. “Muire Mhàthair. Ye torture me, lass,” he said through clenched teeth.
He stood by his bed, naked but for holding the plaid before him, hiding his most masculine parts. Heavens, his body was glorious, the muscles of his chest and arms even larger and more defined than a few years ago.
“Catriona. Go,” he commanded, his frown fierce.
Though defying his order took more strength than she knew she possessed, she shook her head and moved toward him. His sculpted arms, chest and abdomen mesmerized her. What a magnificent sight. She lifted her gaze to find him glaring at her, his jaw clenched hard.
“Iosa is Muire Mhàthair. Go now, lass, or ye shall regret much.”
She swallowed hard. Her trembling hands clutched at her sides, she approached him. “Torr, I have loved you since I was a girl of but ten summers.”
“Och. Damnation, Catriona, ye dinna ken what love is. ’Tis no’ all flowers, kisses and sweets.”
“I know that.”
“Ye are an overprotected, spoiled, half-English bairn. Ye live in a dream world and ken naught of what is real.”
His words pricked at her pride. Why could he not see she was a woman grown now? A woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
“Have you been in love before?” she asked, fearing his answer. What if he even now loved another?
“’Tis none of your concern.”
“I don’t think you have.” At least I hope you haven’t. She stroked unsteady fingertips over the hard, warm planes and muscled ridges of his chest. The dusting of hair and his male nipples fascinated her. A man’s chest was so different from a woman’s.
“Dinna challenge me this day, lass. I havena the patience for it.”
“You said that you wanted to, well, you know.” She could not make herself say that naughty word he’d said yesterday when he had her pinned to the wall.
“As I also said, I havena had a woman in months, and at the moment near any wench would do.”
His words had the effect of a slap. Could he be so cold and heartless as to not care whom he made love with? Too late, she realized he looked into her eyes, easily reading her thoughts and emotions.
“’Tis the way of men. We are no’ so selective as women.”
’Haps that was true. Certainly her brother had a reputation for having lots of lovers.
“But I’m the only woman here at the moment.”
He let out a long breath. “Ye want your brother or that damned MacPeter to kill me, is that it?”
“No. Never. Were he himself, Brodie would want me to be happy.”
“I canna make ye happy, lass.” His voice softened, as did his gaze. “I am cursed.”
“Not if you—” She broke off. Not if you love me. But mayhap he couldn’t. He did not care for her that much. “I will not go to the MacPeter without knowing what it would be like with you. I have wanted you, Torr, for a long time.”
His jaw muscle flexed. “Ye dinna ken what wanting is.”
“I do.” She yanked his plaid away when he was least expecting it, exposing him to her view. Goodness, she had not seen a grown man’s erect shaft before. His was long and thick and pointing up at her. It might have scared her, had she not loved him so much.
She swallowed hard again and glanced into his eyes.
“No’ so sure now, aye? I didna think ye would be.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Though terrified, she moved her hand slowly toward him and brushed it along his shaft. Hot, silky skin. She hadn’t expected it to feel so hard.
He sucked in a hissing breath and almost closed his eyes.
She stroked her hand up, curling her fingers around him until she reached the velvety sensual-shaped head. It jumped. She jerked back.
He watched her, daring her, beneath half-mast lashes. “Muire Mhàthair. Ye torture me, lass,” he said through clenched teeth.
