“The racing of yer heart is telling me to keep kissing ye until I find what ye have hidden beneath yer stays.”
“Don’t you have enough women willing to be ridden because of lust alone? I am a virgin, and your words are misplaced.”
“How about me hand? Do ye disagree with where it is, too?”
His fingers pressed a tiny bit harder against her chest. Fear clawed at her as her nipples began to tingle and harden. She couldn’t seem to resist the urge to respond to him. It was instantaneous and overwhelming.
“You are toying with me. My brother told me that Scotsmen have honor, even if most of England claims otherwise. Do you plan to show me that or prove the rumors true? There are plenty of English that like to hate men born outside of England, but I have never been one of them. I prefer to judge for myself. Maybe that is a mistake.”
His nostrils flared, and she stared at the telltale sign that she had hit him in a soft spot. His hand stayed in place, seeming to grow hotter every moment that it remained against her tender flesh. It should have been impossible to be so aware of a touch, especially when she was so annoyed with him. Everything about their personalities felt as if it was designed to be opposite from the other.
“I deserved that comment.” Gordon’s tone was tight and his face even more so, but he lifted his hand away from her chest to gently stroke the side of her face with his fingertips. She shivered, drawing in a shuddering breath.
“But I just can’t find it in me to say I’m sorry when ye respond so much to my touch, lass.” His fingers made it to her hairline where he tugged on one small lock curling in defiance of the braids that held the longer strands and forced them to be neat.
“I am nae sorry, Jemma, and neither are you.” His voice was tempting, dark, and full of the promise of more delight should she yield to his will.
“But I am asking you to stop.” Because that was the wise choice. One that she detested, and she had to sink her teeth into her own lip to keep from retracting.
His fingers stilled her lips by gliding across them. She quivered and her gaze focused on his mouth, the longing in her belly urging her to gently kiss his fingers in invitation.
“I prefer my name on yer lips.”
She reached up and caught his wrist, but pushing it away caused her lips to lament the separation.
“Send me home, Gordon. I am asking you.”
Jemma could see the conflict in his eyes. It was the same one she felt prickling along her body. The yearning to touch and be touched in return, warring against the demands of honor. In that moment they were not so different in spite of their genders.
“Nae.”
He turned his back on her and moved toward the doorway with purposeful strides.
“Wait.”
He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down.
“Gordon Dwyre, don’t you dare turn your back on me like a coward.”
He growled and turned around in a swirl of Barras tartan, pointing a finger at her.
“Do nae ever call me coward, Jemma, unless ye want to experience just how much daring I have inside me.”
“Then do not turn your back on me just because you do not care for the fact that I am correct in saying that honor demands I return home before I am ruined, and you named as the blackguard who did the deed.”
He chuckled, but it was not a kind sound. “Ye would enjoy the deed, lass, be very sure of that.”
Her throat tightened, forcing her to swallow hard. His eyes filled with enjoyment to see it.
“Exactly why I must remain firm and return home today.” Jemma drew in another breath to force her passion to cool. “I will take my mare and do what is proper before this sinfulness has the chance to go any further. It is best for us both. Go and ask your priest if you think otherwise, but I am firm in this decision.”
“I can see that.” His expression became guarded and his tone too controlled to gain any hint as to his mood.
“Good. We are agreed then. Where is my mare?”
His face remained unreadable. “Where did ye leave her, lass? I’m not accustomed to looking after ye and yer possessions.”
“But surely your boys brought my mare back last night . . .” Her eyes widened with the horror of the possibility that she was without a horse. Amber Hill was too far to walk to.
“I surely did bring ye back with me, and that was were my attention was.”
A soft gasp betrayed just how disturbing she found the idea of being without her mount.
“Well then, I shall need to have the loan of a horse.” Jemma tried to ask nicely, but her voice was sharp with her rising distress.
“I’ve none to spare.”
Jemma felt her cheeks heat. “I watched your men gather up every English horse last night, sir.”
Gordon shrugged and closed the distance between them again. She felt his approach keenly, the quiver instantly returning to the back of her knees. Her insides tightened with anticipation, her breath freezing in her throat as she stared at his hand when it stretched out toward her. His hand cupped her cheek, smoothing over the bright
