Taken by Angeline Fortin (great books of all time TXT) 📗

sending a chill through her heart.  “Am I supposed to stand by and watch you get yourself killed?”

“That is no’ for ye to decide,” Laird replied.  “Ye’ll remain here at Dunskirk until this is over.”

“Stay here?  Uh-uh, I’m not going to sit around and wonder what’s happening.  This is my life, too, and I’m going along.”

“I said ye’ll stay here where ye belong.”

“This is not where I belong!” she shouted at him.

“It is!”  Laird grasped her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake.  “Yer my responsibility, lass.  Mine.”

“Yours?” Scarlett shot back mockingly.  “You think just because you almost shagged me back at Crichton that I’m yours?  I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Shagged?”  Some of the heat faded from his eyes, his grip relaxed ever so slightly but Scarlett was still mad.  Madder than she had ever been.

“Yes, shagged.  As in screwed, did the nasty, got busy, fornicated…” His eyes blazed with comprehension at last.  “Fucked,” she spat the ugly word.  “Admit it, all of this is just because you want to fuck me and haven’t managed to get under my skirts yet.”

“Ye think all I want to do is fook ye, lass?” he said in a thick, dangerous brogue.  “I can fook any lass in Scotland if I wanted to.  ‘Tis no’ that hard to get beneath their skirts.”

Braggart.  Bastard.  Scarlett sneered but bit back the stab of hurt that followed his words.  I don’t care, she told herself.  He could screw all the ‘lasses’ on the planet if he wanted.  All she wanted from him – until she tracked down Donell and knew otherwise – was that damn sword and a way home.

“Go to it then.”  She swept her hand toward the door.  Tears clogged her throat.  No, that was it.  A way out and nothing more.  “There’s the door.  Have at it.”

“Ye want me to find another to warm my bed?”

No!  “Sure, knock yourself out.”

With a hard look, Laird turned toward the door.  Her heart pounded with something akin to panic, and Scarlett was hard put to restrain the bit of herself that wanted to chase Laird out that door and beg him to come back.

But Laird didn’t leave.  Instead he drew down the flap, casting the tent in near darkness but for the single tallow candle Maris had left burning for her.  “I’m afraid I cannae do that, lass.”

“And why is that?”

“Because there is only one woman I want.”

25

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked apprehensively as James unpinned his kilt from his shoulder and tossed it to the side.

His molten eyes met hers but he didn’t answer. Instead he toed off his boots and proceeded to unfasten his sporran.  Slipping it off, he advanced slowly.  He lifted the hem of the loose shirt he wore and peeled it over his head in a smooth motion.

There were no words on his tongue now; only a memory of the taste of her and James had to have more.  Scarlett gasped and backed a step away but there was nowhere she could run from him.

Not anymore.

The muscles in his chest bunched and leapt as he balled the garment up and flung it to the side.  His chest was incredible.  Massive with thick bands of muscle reminiscent of a certain Shreveport werewolf she and every other red-blooded American woman had admired on TV.  But this was real, incredibly lifelike and right in front of her.

“What are you… Geez… You can’t just… wow,” she exhaled the exclamation with a sigh and shook her head as her eyes drank him in.  Just so many muscles.  Her fingers itched to touch him.

Laird prowled toward her until he was almost within reach.  His chest was wide and magnificently sculpted in the candlelight with just enough dark hair arrowing downward to draw her eye and make her mouth water with anticipation.  “I’m still… mmm, those … I’m still mad at… wow, just wow.”

His abs rippled like sand dunes under his taut, tanned skin as he unbuckled his belt.  He certainly looked hotter than the Sahara.  “Don’t think you can… Oh my God.”

Her Scottish laird flung the kilt aside as he reached her.  His arm wound around her waist and lifted her against him, carrying her backward.  She slammed against the support post as his lips descended upon hers, muffling her gasp of surprise.  A gasp that transformed into a moan readily enough as he forced her lips to part.  Desire kindled within her as his tongue plunged deeply and Scarlett raked her teeth across it, biting down gently.  A low growl escaped him.

Then the fires began to rage once more and Scarlett surrendered.  She was done fighting with him.  Done fighting the irresistible hunger he inspired in her.  She doubted that this was all in the grand design of her temporal displacement.  Surely there was more to it.  She could have gotten laid anywhere.  Whatever her purpose was, she didn’t care.  She had never wanted anything so much as she wanted Laird.  Never had to have anything more.

Drawing on his lower lip, Scarlett nipped there for good measure before kissing him fully.  His short beard pricked at her chin but she held him close, urging him closer as she ran her hands over his naked chest, thrilling at the smoothness of his skin and the rigidity of his fine physique.  Kneading upward, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.  Her fingers digging, curling into his long hair.

Lifting her legs, she entwined them tightly around his hips as his pushed up her skirts and his hands cupped her bottom, squeezing hard as he fit them together, thrusting erotically against her.  His erection was long and thick, insistent. She welcomed the invasion, already hot and ready from her thoughts of him, from the sight of him.  Any reservations she had about where this all might lead were fading fast.

His lips branded a path down her neck, his whiskers rasping, exciting.  Scarlett bit his shoulder, his neck.  Provoking him, then licking away