The Laird's Willful Lass (The Lairds Most Likely 1)
Her smile was tremulous. “If you do, I’ll be all starry eyed, and there will be no hiding what we’ve been up to.” She bit her lip and despite her denial, the need to kiss her gripped him with talons of steel. “You go ahead, and I’ll come behind and try and look as if I’ve spent the day innocently sketching the landscape.”
Damn it, she was right, but he didn’t like it. He wanted to shout it from the mountaintops that this exceptional woman was his and that he dared heaven and earth to take her away from him.
Then as he stepped back, he remembered that she was going to leave anyway, that this was a temporary liaison, and that once her father could walk again, she’d be on her way back to Florence.
“I’ll kiss you a thousand times tomorrow, lassie, to make up for it.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Bravely clinging to the smile, she raised her hands to her hair. “Am I tidy, or do I look like you’ve tumbled me six ways to Saturday?”
He smiled. “You look bonny.”
Impatience flattened her lips. “That’s no answer.”
“But ye always look bonny to me.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “Don’t use your Scottish charm on me, Mackinnon.”
“It’s worked so far.” He tucked a few strands of hair back into her simple chignon.
“Fergus…”
“You look windswept but decent.” He feared that her kiss-reddened lips and the somnolent satisfaction in her eyes were more likely to give her away to an observer than untidy hair.
“That’s good.”
“And your hair is often a rat’s nest. You’re always tugging at it when you work.”
“You noticed that?”
“I notice a lot.” He shrugged. “I love watching you.”
She shot him a cross look. “More Scottish charm. Stop it.”
With a brief laugh, he caught her hand and carried it to his lips. “I’m only speaking the truth. Now we must go in, before I give in to my base urges and rush ye back to the lodge. I’m letting you sleep alone tonight under sufferance.”
Her eyes softened to black velvet. “Blast you, Mackinnon, I’m trying to act as if nothing has happened, and you go and say that.”
“Think about tomorrow, Marina,” he murmured, then took mercy on her and lifted her up into her sidesaddle.
As he rode his pony down the hill, he suspected he, too, looked as if he’d spent the day in a heaven a thousand miles away from mundane life. He’d have to be careful, or his secret rendezvous with Marina would end up being no secret at all.
“I will. I’ll also think about today,” she said softly from a few paces behind him, and only with the greatest difficulty did he resist dragging her off that pony and kissing her until she couldn’t stand up.
By God, it was going to be a long wait until the morning, when he had her to himself again.
Chapter Nineteen
Who would imagine such an independent miss would settle with such ease into life as a man’s mistress?
The next few weeks passed in such a haze of happiness and physical satisfaction that Marina regretted the passing of each glorious, golden day. She’d resisted giving in to Fergus for many reasons, not least her fear of subjugating her will to his. Two such determined personalities were sure to clash, but so far, he proved to be a more reasonable man than she’d thought was possible when she first set eyes on him. She was sheepishly aware that he might say the same thing about her.
There were differences of opinion, but to her surprise, he turned out to be willing to listen to her. On rare occasions, she even found herself coming around to his way of thinking.
There was one place where they always agreed. In the big, extravagant bed in the luxurious hunting lodge. The merest touch of his hands on her skin set her blood singing with delight. She smiled to recall the day he’d pleasured her with his mouth, followed by his shocked gratification when she’d returned the favor.
Each day, she come back to the castle in a glow of sensual bliss. She was afraid it must show, but nobody, including Papa, had remarked on the change in her.
Which suddenly struck her as odd, given how well her father knew her.