Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
James had just banked the fire when the pounding came, sharp and insistent against the heavy wood of his chamber door. James stilled, jaw tightening, before striding across the room and wrenching it open.
There she stood, breath quick, hair loose about her shoulders, clad in nothing but a thin chemise that clung to her form in the flickering torchlight. His gaze dropped before he could stop it, tracing the pale line of her throat, the rise and fall of her chest, the bare curve of her legs.
“Have ye lost yer senses, woman?” he growled low, stepping aside as she pushed past him without waiting for permission. “Ye walk the halls half-dressed at this hour, have ye nay regard for yerself?”
She turned on him at once, eyes blazing, as though his words were naught but sparks to a flame already raging.
“I have regard for somethin' far more pressin' than yer rules, me Laird,” she shot back, pacing the chamber like a storm caged in stone.
“The four weeks are near spent, and the whole castle whispers of a wedding that isnae to happen.”
James shut the door firmly behind him, the sound echoing between them like a challenge.
“Lower yer voice,” he warned, though his own pulse had begun to thunder in his ears.
She laughed, breathless and sharp, turning on him again with wild frustration in her gaze. “Lower me voice? I have been silent for weeks while ye parade me before yer people like a prize ye’ve already claimed.”
His eyes darkened, stepping closer, drawn despite himself. “Mind yer words, lass,” he said, voice dropping to a dangerous calm, “for ye ken well why this farce exists.”
“Aye, I ken,” she snapped, lifting her chin, refusing to yield even as he loomed nearer. “But ye cannae expect me to come up with so many lies for why the preparations for the wedding have nae began. Many wonder why the clans have nae been called to the castle already.”
He exhaled slowly, forcing control into his voice even as heat coiled low in his chest. “All of this was meant to protect ye,” he said, quieter now, though no less firm. “And it has done just that. Let them all wonder why the preparations are nae done.”
She stepped closer instead of retreating, her voice softening but growing more intense.
“And what of now, James?” she asked, “What do we tell them when the day comes and there is nae wedding to be had?”
His hand flexed at his side, resisting the urge to reach for her. “We will find a way,” he muttered, though the certainty he once carried had begun to fracture.
Eloise shook her head, frustration bleeding into something far more vulnerable.
“That isnae an answer,” she whispered, and that whisper carried more weight than all her earlier fury.
He swallowed, his gaze dragging over her again despite himself, the sight of her undoing the careful distance he had tried to maintain.
“Ye shouldnae be here,” he said instead, grasping at discipline like a lifeline.
She let out a disbelieving breath, stepping even closer until scarcely a breath separated them. “Stop telling me what I shouldnae do,” she murmured, her voice trembling now for an entirely different reason. “For once, tell me what ye feel.”
“What I feel doesnae matter,” he said at last, though his voice had roughened, betraying him. “This is an arrangement, nothing more.”
Her eyes flashed, hurt and anger warring within them. “Ye lie,” she said softly, and that softness cut deeper than accusation.
He reached out before he could stop himself, fingers closing around her wrist to still her restless pacing.
“Careful, lass,” he warned, though his grip lacked true force.
She didn't pull away. Instead, she stepped closer into him, her free hand pressing lightly against his chest, as though testing the truth of him.
“If it is nothing,” she challenged, voice barely above a breath, “then why do ye trouble yerself in such a way to keep distance between us?”
His control snapped like a frayed rope pulled too tight. In one swift motion, he caught her shoulders, pulling her flush against him, his breath hot against her lips.
“Because I am a man,” he said roughly, his voice low and strained. “And ye stand before me like this, defying me at every turn, and expect me to feel nothin''? I feel everythin'. The very heat in me rises with every heave of your bosom.”
Her breath hitched, her hands gripping his tunic as though she needed the anchor.
“Then stop pretendin',” she whispered, her gaze flickering to his mouth before returning to his eyes. The challenge in her voice, the vulnerability beneath it, unraveled the last of his restraint.
The world seemed to narrow to that single moment, to the heat between them, to the unspoken truth neither dared name.
His hand rose to her jaw, thumb brushing her skin in a touch far gentler than his words had any right to be.
Then he kissed her. It was not soft, nor tentative, but fierce and consuming, as though all the tension between them had found its only escape.
She answered him just as fiercely, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as though she feared he might vanish.
For a heartbeat, for a single reckless moment, everything else fell away.
Then he tore himself back as though burned.
He stepped away, dragging a hand through his hair, breathing hard, his expression dark with something far more dangerous than anger.
“Damn it,” he muttered, turning from her as though distance alone might restore order.
She stood frozen where he had left her, lips parted, eyes wide with something that looked too much like heartbreak.
“James…” she began, but he cut her off with a sharp shake of his head.
“Nay,” he said firmly, forcing coldness back into his tone. “This is exactly what I sought to avoid.”
He turned to face her again, though he kept his distance now, as though she were a flame he dared not touch again. “I was meant to protect ye, nae bind ye to somethin' that will vanish in a matter of days.”
“And what about what just happened?” she asked quietly.
His expression hardened, though it cost him dearly. “It was a mistake,” he said, each word deliberate, controlled, and utterly false.
The hurt that flashed across her face struck him deeper than any wound he had taken in battle.
She drew herself up, pride returning like armor. “Very well, me Laird,” she said, her voice cool now, though it wavered at the edges. “Then I shall remember that.”
Without another word, she turned and left him, the door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the chamber.
Eloise had scarcely taken three steps into the corridor when she heard the door behind her burst open. Before she could turn, strong hands caught her, and she gasped as the ground seemed to vanish beneath her feet.
James lifted her as though she weighed nothing, one arm beneath her knees, the other braced firm at her back, and she instinctively clutched at his shoulders. Heat rushed through her at the sheer strength of him, at the ease with which he carried her, her heart racing wildly in her chest.
“James, what are ye doing?” she demanded, though her voice lacked the sharpness it had held only moments before.
He didn't answer her at once, only strode back into his chamber and kicked the door shut behind them.
Then, with a look that burned through her, he said low, “I'm doin' what I should have done long ago.”
Her breath caught as he crossed the room and lowered her onto the bed, far more gently than she expected from a man who had just stormed after her. She pushed herself up on her elbows, eyes wide, watching him as though he were some unpredictable force she couldn't quite understand.
“Ye’ve lost yer senses,” she murmured, though her pulse betrayed her, fluttering fast and unsteady.
He shook his head slowly, stepping closer, his gaze fixed upon her with an intensity that made her stomach tighten.
“Nay,” he said quietly, “I’ve found them.”
There was something different in him now, something stripped of restraint, and it made her breath shallow. She swallowed, her voice softening despite herself.
“Then ye’d best explain yerself, me Laird.”
Instead of answering with words, he reached for her, his hands coming to her shoulders, firm yet careful. She tensed at first, uncertain, but then his touch shifted, slower, deliberate.
He kissed her neck. A soft sound escaped her before she could stop it, her eyes fluttering closed as his lips pressed into her skin.
“Ye are sweet as honey, lass,” he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful.
She let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the edge of the bedding.
“What do ye do to me?” she replied faintly.
He huffed a quiet breath, his fingers working along the sides of her body.
“I mean to please ye,” he said.
Her body betrayed her entirely then, leaning into his kiss and touch as though it had been starved of such care. His hands moved with surprising skill along her body, sending warmth spreading through her in slow, intoxicating waves.
“James…” she whispered, unsure whether she meant to protest or plead for more.
He didn't stop, his hands sliding lower, tracing the line of hips.
“Lay back, lass,” he said softly, though the command held none of its usual edge.
She obeyed without thinking, her breath growing uneven as sensation unfurled through her. Every inch of her seemed to awaken beneath his touch, as though she had been half-asleep until now.
When his hands moved back up to her cleavage, she startled slightly, her breath catching as his touch brushed her creamy mounds.
“What are ye about now?” she asked, though the question came out as a soft whisper.
He glanced up at her briefly, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
“Trust me. I willnae do more than ye allow,” he said simply, and there was something in his voice that made her do just that.
His hands worked gently at first, and pushed the fabric of her chemise down exposing her bosom.
“James…” she moaned.
He didn't answer. Instead he kissed her rosy peaks, softly.
A quiet sigh slipped from her lips as the tension melted beneath his touch. She felt his tongue roam over her sensitive points.
“I didnae ken it could feel like this,” she murmured, her voice dazed.
A faint smirk touched his mouth. “There is much ye daenae ken.”
Her head fell back against the bed, her breath uneven as his hands moved slowly along her breasts, careful, deliberate, yet charged with something far more dangerous beneath the surface.
Every movement sent a shiver through her, her fingers curling into the blankets as though to steady herself.
“This is… unfair,” she whispered, though there was no strength left in her protest.
He paused briefly, his hands stilling, his gaze lifting to hers. “Unfair?” he echoed quietly.
She nodded faintly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes half-lidded. “Aye… for ye ken exactly what ye are doing.”
Something dark and heated flickered in his expression at that. “And that is a bad thing?” he asked, his voice low.
She swallowed, her gaze dropping to his hands before lifting again, meeting his eyes.
“Nay,” she said softly.
His hands resumed their movement, slower now, more deliberate, as though he were savoring every reaction he drew from her.
“Good,” he murmured, his voice roughening, “for I’ve nae wish to pretend otherwise any longer.”
Her breath caught again, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he must hear it.
“Then tell me,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, “what is this, if nae a mistake?”
He stilled once more, his hands resting lightly against her, his gaze locking with hers in a way that stole the breath from her lungs. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, quietly, he said, “I daenae plan on bedding ye this night, lass. I only wish to pleasure ye for a short while.”
Her brow furrowed slightly, frustration flickering through the haze of sensation.
“Pleasure? But how?” she murmured.
A faint, almost rueful smile touched his lips. “Aye,” he said softly, “ye will see.”
Eloise watched him, as he lowered his head onto her chest. He kissed her breasts, then moved lower and lower over her belly until he was between her thighs. Her chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath, her thoughts were tangled and uncertain.
I should be angry. I should push him away and stop this madness.
Yet all she could feel was the warmth of his hands, the nearness of him, the way her body seemed to respond to him without her permission. He pushed her chemise up to her waist.
He groaned at the sight of her naked body. She felt vulnerable yet thrilling at once.
“Ye are a dangerous man,” she said quietly.
His expression softened just slightly, though the intensity remained.
“Aye, I am,” he admitted, “and ye are a dangerous woman.”
Then he hungrily kissed the inside of her thighs. She gasped in response.
What does he mean to do?
She quickly got her answer as she felt his mouth move over her soft mound of curls between her thighs.
“Oh, James,” she gasped.
“I thought I commanded ye to obey me. To trust me,” he said looking up at her.
She nodded her head, yes. And then leaned back and gave him complete control.
She felt his tongue press against her pearl. She shivered. This feeling was new to her. It was unlike anything she expected. He pressed again, then kissed, then licked. All in a rhythm that made a light pulse start to brew deep within her.
“Oh, James,” she moaned.
With that moan she felt James move faster, his tongue skillfully tickling her rosebud. She writhed on the bed, feeling the loss of control.
“What is happening to me?” she whispered.
“What I promised, pleasure,” he said.
The pulsing deep inside of her grew until it exploded into a release. A tremor tore through every inch of her body. She felt the throbbing between her thighs.
“Oh! Oh! James!” she shouted.
“Aye, that's it, lass. Let go for me,” he groaned.
And she did. The delight of shivers overtook her as she melted into the bed and thought…
I am undone. How can I ever leave now?