her. When she lapped at his tongue, pleasure shot through him, making him squeeze her hips and grind her against him.
A last haze of sense returned to him. They were in the center of the park. No privacy. By the time they reached the inn, she would realize what she was doing. He knew her. He knew that tonight nothing would cool her ardor like the sight of a bed.
He scanned the area and saw a stone grotto only a few yards away. He took her elbow and led her inside, wondering if she would break away now, if she would come to her senses, but he didn't wonder for long. She reached up and kissed him, as she grasped his arms and squeezed the muscles there. He laid his hands on her face as he deepened the kiss, then slipped them down, glancing past the tips of her breasts.
She moaned against him and her hand flitted low on his torso. Without thought and greedy for her touch after her torture today, he took it and placed it against the ridge in his trousers. She froze and broke the kiss.
'I shouldn't do that,' she whispered.
'No' curious? You doona have to do more. Just feel me.'
She bit her lip, appearing to weigh his request, then she leaned up to kiss his chest in the V of his shirt. While he tried not to groan, she adjusted her hand on him—because she hadn't removed it.
He took her lips again as he dipped beneath the hem of her skirt and worked his hands up the sides of her thighs. He continued up, hungry to put his fingers inside her for the first time, to watch her come, but she stiffened and locked her legs together.
'No, MacCarrick.'
'Open your legs for me.'
'No, I-I can't.'
She was an innocent, he reminded himself, but he'd still hoped he could seduce her into giving him anything he wanted. 'If you let me, I'll make you feel even better than the kiss did.'
She removed her hand from him and put her forehead against his chest, shaking her head, as if she regretted that she couldn't.
Growling his frustration, he rasped against her neck, 'Then tell me I can kiss your breasts.'
She gasped.
'I think it will please you.'
'You've thought about this?'
'Every night since I met you.' He was kissing lower and lower until he reached the line of her bodice. 'Anna?'
When she finally whispered 'Yes,' he tugged the cloth down.
With the first mere brush of his lips against her nipple, her head fell back and she moaned. He'd known how much she would love this, had suspected he could make her come just from pinning her arms over her head and slowly tonguing her. And he'd hated the impossibility that a man like him would ever witness it. Now he suckled hard, savoring her flesh.
'Oh, my God,' she cried, and his cock pulsed with need. He put her hand back on him and forced her to rub it up and down.
He alternately sucked at the crest and flicked his tongue until she arched her back, offering. When she was in this state, he put his hand behind her head and pushed her against the grotto wall, pressing her hand between them.
'MacCarrick, what do you want of me?' she whispered wildly.
What did he want? Everything and nothing. With Annalía, he'd bloody well take whatever he could get. 'I want to see you come tonight. One way or another.' When she frowned in confusion, and removed her hand, his lips found hers, but she turned her face from him. 'I can't think. My head's spinning.'
He knew she couldn't think—or else she'd deny him. He hated that he was the type of man a fine lady like her shouldn't—wouldn't—consider for anything more. He pressed his hand against her skirt between her legs to palm her through the material.
'Wh-What are you doing?' Her eyes opened wide, meeting his own, and she let out a tremulous breath. He leaned down to press his lips to the top of her breast just as he stroked his fingers against her. 'Oh, my Lord,' she moaned and relaxed into him.
'You like this.'
'Yes,' she cried.
'Do you want me tae keep touchin' you?'
When she nodded eagerly, he made some sound of amusement, then said, 'No' so ladylike right now?'
Her whole body went rigid, and she pushed at his chest. She snatched up her blouse and swatted at his hand, though he resisted releasing her. When she peered down at his hand, shoved into her skirts, her face and chest colored, her eyes widening in horror. Too late, he remembered how she'd reacted the last time he'd made a comment like that.
Humiliated. She'd reacted as if she'd been hit.
He pulled his hand away. 'Anna, I should no' have said that—'
'No, but it's true, isn't it?' She gave him a tight, false smile that didn't reach her eyes. And he knew the bloody choker would come back the next day like a collar. He hated the damn thing now.
He wanted to know who'd hurt her—besides himself. Who'd hurt her originally.
And he wouldn't mind knowing why he wanted to kill that person.
Chapter Twenty-one
At odd times throughout the last two days, memories of the time in the grotto would surface, making Annalía blush uncontrollably. Actually, at most times. It was happening now, as she rocked along in the warm coach trapped with a man so intense she could feel him three feet away.
Worse, whenever she replayed the events of that night, she wanted to repeat them, no matter how sharp her shame was. What they'd done had only served to make her cravings for him a thousand times worse. She wanted to go back to that night and take what he had offered. She wanted to go back and give him what he seemed to need.
But even he must think that her actions were bad. Not so ladylike, he'd said when she answered that she wanted more—and she thought he'd…laughed. A barbaric Scot had teased free the fire in her blood, and then had ridiculed her reaction. Her behavior must have been wildly amiss. Why else would he continue to take the chair or the floor without a word of protest when they stopped for the night? Why else would he not even bother to try to seduce her again? Before, he'd always found excuses to touch her, was always staring at her, and now he'd stopped.
Each night she lay awake waiting, hoping he would take the bed again. Because then she could rebuff him! Yet nothing happened, nothing but mounting exhaustion and disappointment for her.
Last night, she'd realized, miserably, that she'd never planned to rebuff him.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Why should she be surprised? One couldn't escape one's fate. She'd tried so hard, been the opposite of what everyone expected of her. She'd tried, and all because of some rough Highlander's seduction, she'd failed. A seduction that vanished as if never there.
These thoughts made her head hurt, so she leaned against the coach side near the window and tried to sleep. She needed to make up for two nights without, and a breeze was blowing in the window. Sunlight teased her face through the tree leaves. Wonderful….
When Annalía woke a short time later, she blinked her eyes to focus. Feeling heavy in her body, feverish, she glanced down, saw his huge hand slowly stroking her nipple through her blouse.
'Sleep well?' he said, his voice rumbling against her ear.
She scrambled away. More awake, she realized she'd been lying half on his lap, clutching his shirt. On the opposite seat.
While she marshaled her scattered wits, determining the most effective way to curse him for touching her while she slept, he said, 'You talk in your sleep.'
