Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Scarlett forced herself to focus on the stew instead of the sound of Robert moving behind her. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor.
“There’s more water in the tub,” she said without looking up. “After me bath, the woman brought in another bucket. Ye can go ahead and get warm.”
There was a pause, long enough for her to imagine him standing there, considering her words.
“Aye?” His voice was husky. “Ye worry I’ll catch a cold?”
Scarlett swallowed a mouthful that suddenly seemed harder to get down. “I only said there’s water.”
“Aye,” he murmured, the sound closer now and more amused. “And yet, ye said it like a wife who cares.”
Her spoon stilled. “Don’t flatter yerself, Me Laird. I’d say the same to a stray dog.”
Robert’s quiet laugh slid through her like smoke. He didn’t reply, only moved toward the bath. She heard the water shift and the low exhale he gave as he sank in. Scarlett tried to eat, but the sound, the splash of water, and that deep sigh made her pulse quicken.
She stabbed at a piece of meat and muttered to herself, “God’s sake, it’s only a man bathing.”
But it wasn’t only a man. It was him.
The air in the room felt thick with heat and the faint scent of soap and pine drifting from behind the screen.
Her fingers tightened around the spoon. She tried to think of anything else—her sketchbook, the village, her paints—but her mind betrayed her.
She saw him instead, the broad line of his shoulders, the rasp of his voice when he was amused, the look in his eyes when he wanted her.
She blew out a breath and dropped the spoon back into the bowl. “This is absurd,” she whispered.
“Something wrong?” His voice drifted lazily over the divider, already edged with teasing.
Scarlett jumped a little. “Nothing. Just me trying to finish me food.” “Good,” he said. “A woman needs her strength.”
Her stomach fluttered. “For what, exactly?”
The splashing stopped. His answer came low enough to raise the hairs on her skin. “For whatever the night brings.”
She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. Her throat felt dry, her thoughts scattering as she heard him rise from the water. The faint scrape of the basin, the rustle of a towel, and the sound of fabric against damp skin. It was too much.
When he finally stepped out from behind the divider, her spoon nearly slipped again. He was bare-chested once more, firelight catching on the ridges of his torso, water tracing down his skin. The towel around his hips hung low, far too low.
Her gaze snapped upward but not quickly enough. He had already caught her looking.
Robert’s mouth curved slightly. “Enjoying the view, are ye?” “I…” Scarlett’s voice came out thin and fast. “I wasnae looking.”
“Aye,” he said mildly, stepping closer. “Ye keep saying that, but I’ve yet to believe it.”
She turned back to her bowl, grasping for composure. “Ye should eat before it goes cold.”
“I will.”
He came to stand beside her, close enough that his shadow stretched across the table. Scarlett’s pulse leapt, but she pretended to adjust the quilt around her shoulders.
Robert reached past her, and his arm brushed her hair as he took a piece of bread from the tray. He tore a bite with his teeth, and she caught herself watching the movement, the strong line of his jaw, the way his lips closed around the bread, and wished she hadn’t noticed.
“Ye’re more obvious with yer stares now,” he said quietly, without looking at her.
Scarlett blinked fast. “Ye’re imagining things.” “Am I?”
His voice dropped lower, that rough tone that always seemed to find her heartbeat and twist it. “Tell me, Scarlett… are ye nae going to finish yer food?”
She lifted her chin. “Aye, I will.”
“Good,” he murmured, eyes steady on her face.
Her breath came quicker. “Are… are ye hungry?”
Scarlett had no idea why she asked that, seeing as he was obviously eating.
Gods, it’s like me mouth is disconnected from me head.
He tilted his head with a ghost of a smile at his mouth. “Aye, lass. It’s night. I’m definitely hungry.”
Something in his tone made her heart stumble. He wasn’t talking about food. The look in his eyes said enough… quiet hunger.
Scarlett’s fingers clenched around the edge of the quilt. “It’s one of yer nights, then?” she asked softly.
He moved closer. “Aye,” he said at last. “It is.”
Scarlett steadied her voice. “And if I said I wanted to sleep instead?”
His gaze locked on hers. “Then I’d let ye,” he said quietly. “But we both ken ye willnae sleep.”
Color heightened her cheeks, but she kept her head held high. “Ye think so highly of yerself, do ye?” “I think truth needs nay polish.”
The warmth of his nearness filled the space between them. Scarlett’s nerves felt alive. She wanted to move, to break the tension, but her body wouldn’t obey.
Robert reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek. The touch was light, almost reverent, but it burned. “Five nights,” he murmured. “That was the bargain.”
Scarlett’s heart beat faster. “And this is one of them.”
His thumb traced the line of her jaw, stopping just beneath her chin. “Aye. But it’s still yers, Scarlett. Ye can send me away.”
She stared up at him, her voice caught somewhere between defiance and want. “I should.”
“But ye won’t,” he said softly.
Scarlett’s hand moved before she could stop it, her fingers brushing his chest, light and uncertain.
His heartbeat thudded against her palm. “Ye’re warm,” she said quietly, not sure why.
He smiled faintly. “So are ye.”
She tried to look away, but his hand caught her chin, guiding her gaze back to his. The way he looked at her made her pulse stumble.
“This night’s mine,” he said. “But I willnae take what ye willnae give.”
Scarlett searched his eyes, finding only honesty there. Honesty and restraint that felt far more dangerous than desire.
“And if I daenae know what I want?”
He leaned in, his mouth a breath from hers. “Then I’ll help ye find it.” Her pulse stumbled. “Robert…”
“Tell me, lass,” he said softly. “Will ye deny me tonight?”
She tried for another jest, but the words came quiet, trembling. “I won’t.”
Robert stilled. “Say it again.”
Her voice wavered. “I willnae deny ye.”
Something in him broke loose. His mouth found hers in a kiss that began soft—a breath, a touch—and then deepened into something fierce. Scarlett gasped against him, her hands rising instinctively to his shoulders. His skin burned beneath her palms, warm and solid and alive.
When he drew back, it wasn’t distance he sought but control. He rested his forehead against hers, and their breaths mingling. “Ye drive me mad, woman.”
Scarlett smiled faintly. “Good. Then we’re even.”
His low laugh rumbled through his chest. “Ye’ve a cruel streak, Scarlett McLaren.”
“And ye’ve a terrible habit of underestimating me.”
He brushed his thumb along her jaw, his expression shifting from teasing to something raw. “Do ye ken what ye do to me?” She met his gaze. “I think I’m learning.”
Robert kissed her again, slower this time. Less like a demand and more like a confession. Scarlett melted beneath the weight of it, the warmth of his hand at her waist, the press of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
The world narrowed to sound and touch, the crackle of the fire, the whisper of rain, and the soft catch of breath between them.
“Robert…” she murmured. “Aye.”
“I shouldnae…”
“I ken.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “But I cannae stop.”
Neither could she.
Before she could form a reply, his mouth was on hers again, stealing her thoughts.
He kissed the corner of her lips, the line of her jaw, the frantic pulse at the base of her throat.
Scarlett’s head fell back, a soft, yielding sigh escaping her as his lips worked a magic that made her bones feel like liquid.
“Robert…” His name was a plea though for what, she didn’t know. “Aye, I like it when ye call me name,” he whispered against her skin.
His hands moved to the laces of her undergarment dress, his fingers deft and sure. “Let me see ye.”
The fabric whispered away, pooling at her waist then falling completely as he helped her out of it. He looked his fill, his eyes dark and intense, tracing the lines of her body in the dim light.
“So bonnie,” he breathed, the words full of reverence. “A vision.”
His mouth found the hollow of her throat then lower, tracing a path of fire down her sternum.
Scarlett’s hands came up, her fingers tangling in his damp hair, holding him to her as he neared the peak of her breast. He teased her, his breath ghosting over one taut nipple before he finally, finally took it into his mouth.
A sharp, broken cry tore from her. Her back arched off the bed, her hips lifting in a helpless, seeking motion.
The sensation was exquisite, a direct line of pleasure that pulled at the very core of her.
He lavished attention on one breast then the other with his tongue and teeth until she was writhing beneath him, a litany of soft moans and gasps the only language she possessed.
“Please,” she begged, the word raw and unfamiliar on her tongue.
“Please, what, Scarlett?” he asked, his voice thick with his own desire. He kissed his way down her quivering stomach, his hands splaying on her hips to still her. “Tell me.”
But she couldn’t. She could only feel the overwhelming need, the ache building deep within her.
She was wet, a slick, throbbing heat between her legs that she was acutely, shamefully aware of.
It was a desperate readiness she had never known, and when his hand slid down, his palm cupping her through the soft thatch of curls, she jolted.
“Gods, Scarlett,” he groaned, the sound pained. “Yer so ready for me. Like silk.”
His words sent a fresh wave of heat through her. He parted her folds with a touch so gentle it made her want to weep. And then his finger was there, circling the very center of her need, and she cried out, her eyes squeezing shut.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice soft but firm.
She forced her eyes open, meeting his burning gaze. He held it as he slowly, so slowly, slid a finger inside her.
She gasped, her inner muscles clenching around the delicious, filling intrusion. “Oh…”
“Aye, just like that,” he soothed, beginning a slow, rhythmic stroke that made her whimper. “Yer perfect.”
It was too much and not enough. The coil of pleasure tightened with every pass of his hand, but it hovered just out of reach. She was panting, her body straining, chasing a release she couldn’t name.
Then he moved. He shifted down the bed, his kisses trailing over her hip bones, and she knew his intent.
“Robert, wait… ye cannae…” she protested, a flush of modesty seizing her.
He looked up, his eyes glinting in the near darkness. “I can. And I will. This night is mine, remember? And I intend to learn every taste of ye.”
Before she could form another thought, he lowered his head.
The first touch of his tongue was an electric shock.
Scarlett’s whole body bowed off the bed, a sharp, wordless cry ripped from her throat.
It was an intimacy so profound it shattered her.
He held her hips firm, his tongue a wicked, clever instrument that laved and teased the very spot his finger had been stroking.
“Oh, God… Robert!” she moaned, her hands fisting in the sheets.
He groaned against her, the vibration sending another jolt of pure pleasure through her. “So sweet,” he muttered, his voice muffled against her skin. “Like heather and honey.”
He added a second finger, stretching her, filling her as his tongue worked its relentless magic. The world narrowed to the point where his mouth met her body, to the building pressure that was becoming unbearable. She was babbling, a stream of yes and please and his name, over and over.
“I cannae… I’m going to…” she sobbed, on the very edge of a precipice.
“Let go, Scarlett,” he urged, his voice a rough command. “Come for me, lass. Let me feel it.”
His words were the final key. The coil snapped.
A wave of pleasure, so intense it was almost painful, crashed over her.
She screamed, her body convulsing around his fingers, her vision whiting out as the sensations ripped through her in endless, shattering waves.
She was aware of his mouth on her, gentler now, drinking her in, of his low, approving groans as he guided her through the storm.
When the last tremor finally subsided, she lay boneless, utterly spent. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. Robert moved up her body, his own breathing harsh, and gathered her against him. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, and her swollen lips.
“Are ye all right?” he asked.
Scarlett nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Aye. Just… thinking.”
“Of what?”
“How the rules keep changing.”
He gave a quiet sound, something between a sigh and a laugh. “Aye. Seems neither of us is very good at following them.”
She smiled faintly. “Good thing, then. I’ve never cared much for rules.”
He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch almost reverent. “Sleep now, lass.” “Will ye?” she murmured.
Robert hesitated then gathered her close until her head rested against his shoulder. “Aye,” he said softly. “I will.”
Her body softened against his, the heat between them fading into a calm that felt almost fragile. The rhythm of his breathing steadied hers until her eyes closed.
As she drifted toward sleep, one last thought lingered; she no longer knew where duty ended and desire began. And perhaps, she realized, she didn’t wish to find the line at all.