The Highlander And The Wolf Princess. Marguerite Kaye
between them which made him opaque. Used as she was to almost complete transparency, it was frustrating, but also a challenge, something she could rarely resist. We Faol heal very quickly,’ Sorcha explained.
‘All the same, you need to rest.’ He meant to help her back to bed, but as he moved to do so, she stepped warily backwards, tripping on the sheet, and they fell together onto the bed.
It had been so long, so very long, since Conall had lain next to any woman, far less a captivating creature like this. She was so close he could feel the soft feathering of her breath on his cheek, count the thick dark lashes that framed those mesmerizing eyes, which were locked on his. ‘I should—you should rest,’ he said roughly. But he couldn’t seem to move. He didn’t want to move.
‘I’m not tired,’ Sorcha replied. Though the Faol were an innately sensual race, she had always instinctively guarded against intimacy of this sort. Seeing others’ innermost thoughts, their lives and futures laid bare, made her reluctant to be revealed herself. Knowing all, she had no wish to be known. Until now. Now, all she could think about was being closer still to this forbidding, powerful Highlander. Her body yearned for it. He made her feel safe and vulnerable at the same time. She edged a little towards him. Her toes brushed his legs. .
Conall’s erection hardened. He should move. He meant to move, and he did move, but in quite the opposite direction from that he intended, pulling her to him, so that they lay breast to breast, thigh to thigh. Her nipples were hard. His shaft was harder. Her breath was a whisper on his skin. Some irrevocable internal command compelled him to kiss her. So he did.
Sorcha had never allowed any man to kiss her, but as Conall’s lips touched hers, resistance was the furthest thing from her mind. His mouth was warm, every bit as sensuous as it looked. He tasted dark and dangerous. A rush of heat flushed her, from her neck down, her belly up, as his tongue touched hers. He pulled her hard to him and kissed her more deeply. It felt as intense as her shifting did. Her nipples peaked against the rough expanse of his chest. Her pulses began to flutter unevenly.
She was lying on top of him, the hard length of his erection pressing into her belly, his hand cupping her bottom. His breathing was as ragged and harsh as his appearance. His stubble rasped her delicate skin, yet his mouth was a delight. As he rolled her onto her back, she could almost taste the scent of their arousal, a bittersweet blend of salt and spice. Running her fingers across the span of his shoulders, she marvelled at the power in his bunched muscles. So this was what a man felt like? So different from what she had expected.
She tried to tug his shirt free from his belt, wanting to test the feel of his skin. His firm hand on her wrist halted her. His lips deserted hers. For a long moment he gazed at her in bewilderment. She had a fleeting glimpse of it then, his essence. Dark, hard, glittering like the rocks which formed Kentarra’s citadel. Then, as he rolled himself off the bed with an exclamation that sounded horribly like disgust, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Chapter 2
Conall cursed, struggling to extinguish the flame of desire that seemed unaccountably persistent. He had forgone any right to desire long since. ‘I don’t know what possessed me,’ he said brusquely, concentrating on righting his plaid.
‘Nor indeed do I.’ For the second time in less than an hour, Sorcha fought her way through the mists which engulfed her usually clear head. ‘Who are you? And what is this place you’ve brought me to?’ she asked, surprised that she had not thought to do so before.
‘You’re in Castle Kilfinnan. My home.’ Seeing the surprise on her face, Conall laughed harshly. ‘Did you take me for a poacher? Or a sheep rustler? Aye, I can see from your face that you did. They’re my sheep that wolf I took you for has been slaughtering. These are my lands. And this is my castle.’ He made an ironic bow. ‘Conall Macpherson, Laird of Kilfinnan at your service,’ he said with a twisted smile.
It made sense now, that air he had about him, a sort of natural authority. ‘Sorcha Tolmach, Princess of the Faol,’ Sorcha riposted, irked by having misjudged him, and even more irked that he had noticed.
‘A Princess! What the devil are you doing travelling about the Highlands unchaperoned?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘It most certainly is, while you’re on my lands, under my roof.’
Sorcha sighed dramatically. ‘I am going to visit my elder brother. And despite what my other brother Eoin might say, I don’t need his permission to do so.’
‘Nor anyone else’s I take it? If you’ve a vengeful husband trailing in your wake…’
Sorcha gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Faol don’t marry as you humans do. We take a life mate, but I have not yet agreed to be claimed. So you need have no fear of having to face one of our legendary warriors.’
‘I have no fear of anything nor anyone alive.’
He said it not boastfully but bleakly. She met his eyes, like chips of blue granite, and shivered. ‘I believe you,’ she said softly.
Conall shrugged. ‘So you are not married—claimed. Why is that?’
‘’Tis not for the want of trying, on my brother’s part. Since Eoin took a life mate himself, he has been overly keen on my doing so, too.’
‘But you’re set on disobeying him, are you?’
Now it was Sorcha’s turn to shrug. ‘It’s not that,’ she said, twisting the end of the sheet with her fingers. ‘It’s just that none of my suitors have been the one destined for me.’ She blushed faintly. ‘I have a gift for knowing the future. When I meet my life mate, I’ll know immediately.’
Conall raised his heavy brows. ‘You can foretell?’ he queried sceptically. ‘You’re some sort of witch?’ It would explain her effect on him.
‘My powers are not dark,’ Sorcha said indignantly.
Intrigued, Conall sat back down on the bed beside her. The mattress sank under his weight, rolling Sorcha towards him. ‘What about the past, can you see that?’ he asked, deliberately leaning even closer.
‘No.’
‘I’m glad of that. No one would wish to view my past.’
Her heart was pounding. Not wolf-fast but slow, heavy. The scent of him was wrapping itself around her. He was close enough for her to count the hairs in the rough stubble on his chin. ‘Why not?’
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