The Lover

She hadn’t expected this wild hunger in herself. Nor had he, she realized. The expression on Niall’s beautifully sculpted features looked grim as, with one powerful arm behind her back, he held her against his chest, the bold evidence of his desire pressing against her.

Sabrina flinched, feeling the hard outline of his manhood through his plaid and her layers of skirts.

Seeing her reaction, Niall at last remembered his original intent. With a dark flicker of a smile, he pressed closer, grinding himself into her slowly, sensuously, until every fiber in her body screamed with life, until heat leapt between them, scorching and primal.

Her breath abated, then, as he caught her hand and deliberately drew it beneath his plaid, against his bare flesh.

“Touch me,” he ordered huskily, forcing her palm against the rigid blade of his aroused manhood, making her feel his naked maleness.

She was startled by the enormous pulsing size of him, solid and hot and so very large.

“Now are you afraid, mistress?” he whispered. “Does it frighten you, the thought of having my flesh deep inside you?”

The bald question jolted her out of her daze. He was deliberately trying to shock her, she knew.

Sabrina shook her head, trying to clear it as she stared up at him. Curse the rogue and his sophisticated sexual games! And curse herself for letting him maneuver her like a spineless puppet. She was no better than all the other foolish lasses who swooned over him.

Faith, but she had to do better than this.

“I did not come here, sir,” she whispered finally as she struggled to pull her fingers from his grasp, “for a lesson in male anatomy.”

While he stared down at her, Sabrina reached for the table, fumbling for her goblet. With the other, she pulled the plaid a scant few inches away from his body.

Taking a deep breath, she dumped the entire contents of the wine cup against his skin, drenching his bare loins.

Her unexpected act dredged a sharp gasp of pain from Niall, followed by a vivid oath. “By the bloody de’il!”

Yet it did have the desired effect of making him release her.

Abruptly.

Stunned disbelief warred with fury in his expression as his hands curled into fists.

Warily, Sabrina took several defensive steps backward. “Perhaps that will cool your ardor, my lord,” she murmured dryly. “I am through performing for you like a dancing bear at a fair. You must judge for yourself if my response to your kiss was adequate. On that evidence alone you must make up your mind regarding our marriage. Now, I believe this interview is concluded.”

Setting the goblet down on the table with a thud, she gathered her skirts, then swept across the room and out the door, as regal as any queen, leaving Niall to stare after her, thunderstruck.

If not for the pain of having his arousal so abruptly chilled and his bruised ribs wrenched, he would have laughed. Mistress Duncan had won that round, he would give her that.

He shook his head in amazement as wine trickled down his bare legs to soak the floor.

He had only intended to kiss her; never more than that. He’d attempted to frighten her away with a display of passion, yet it hadn’t worked in the least. She hadn’t taken fright. Instead, she had tested his self-control severely. He was still heavily aroused, still felt her sweet fire. Even now, the stirring image of her dark eyes, warm and liquid with wanting, made him burn with need.

Niall cursed again as he unwound his plaid and began to dry his loins of the sticky-sweet wine, yet an unwilling grin tugged at his mouth as he recalled her bold stunt.

He was dealing with a woman of intelligence, of no little mettle. Sabrina Duncan wouldn’t cry craven at the first show of adversity. Thus far she had held her own in every encounter, parrying his thrusts with a cool wit and a rapier-sharp tongue. She was unique in his experience, and remarkably invigorating.

He prized cleverness in a lass. And in truth, she greatly underestimated her own appeal, believing she had no claim to beauty. Her comeliness was not readily apparent at first glance, Niall reflected, remembering the elusive sweetness of her skin. There was a quiet, fine-boned quality to her features, which the drab-colored garments she wore did nothing to compliment. And somewhere obscured beneath the high-necked bodice and confining stays, there was a sweet-breasted figure he longed to explore.

She was fresh and lovely, all wanton innocence—and far more of a temptation than he wished. He’d been startled to discover the spark of passion hidden beneath that mousy exterior.

Perhaps in his resentment at being forced into marriage, he had indeed misjudged her. She had a spirit he could admire, Niall conceded, recalling the defiant tilt of her chin. For a moment the mouse had transformed into a tiger, a change that was incredibly appealing. And the fire in her dark, lustrous eyes when she was angered…Some man would find it irresistible. He did himself. She tugged at something in him that he preferred not to acknowledge.

To a man of his jaded appetites, Sabrina Duncan was a novelty—a lass who could resist his advances. Amazingly enough, he was beginning to tire of the female sex. Beautiful women were his vocation, yet their attractions, even the hot, potent body of his lush former mistress, Eve Graham, had begun to pale. For months now he’d been experiencing a vague feeling of discontent, of restlessness, with his relationships. He eased his carnal needs in soft lips and smothered lie-words of love—fleeting words spoken for the pleasure of the moment and forgotten just as easily—and wished for something more. All women were beginning to feel unsatisfyingly identical beneath him.

Except Sabrina Duncan.

Still…it did not follow that he wished to wed her. He would much prefer to find some other means of protecting her clan and satisfying Angus Duncan’s need for a leader, without having a bride forced upon him. Yet it was too much to hope that Mistress Duncan would voluntarily withdraw from the proposed alliance.