Her hands dropped to his waist. She could feel the buckles of his kilt. And beneath the heavy fabric, the hardness of a man, aroused, pressing against her belly in silent, heated demand. She'd never felt it before, but she knew fine what it meant.
All she had to do was say yes, and he'd make her his wife in body as well as name.
Yes? Or no? She teetered on the brink. Cameron had been everything that was kind and honorable. He'd rescued her from life with Grandad, offered her his name and a life she hadn't even dared dream of. He'd even cut his own flesh to protect her good name.
She owed him this. And she wanted him.
His big hard body pressed against her, hot and heavy with desire.
Wanting poetry and walks and flowers? Instead of this? Was she mad?
But if she gave in to him now, she knew she'd regret it in the morning.
He'd married her only to get control of his inheritance. He'd known her a bare handful of minutes before he'd proposed marriage. An hour or two later they'd stood before the minister, exchanging vows. And now he had her, as good as naked, in his bed.
Who Jeannie McLeay was, what kind of person she was, what might her fears and hopes and dreams be—none of that had mattered to him in the least. As long as she wasn't related to him and was free to marry—that's all he'd cared about.
Now in the warm, dark night, in a soft feather bed with firelight gilding their limbs, she could have been anyone, any willing girl who'd agreed to marry him and lie in his bed. It wouldn't matter to him.
But Jeannie wanted very much to matter to this man. And for that, she had to make him notice her. Not only her body, but her—a person.
I'll not do anything you don't want. He was a man with a reputation for keeping his vows. She closed her eyes briefly, hoping it was true.
"Cameron?"
"What?" He cupped her breast in his hand and thumbed the nipple gently. She shuddered helplessly.
"S-stop."
"Why? Don't you like it?" His voice was deep, soft. Knowing. His hand kept moving. Shivers of pleasure rippled through her.
"Yes—n—" She dragged in a deep breath. "Y—you said you wouldn't—" She ended on a gasp.
"I said I wouldn't do anything you didn't want." He kissed her. "Do you not want me to do this?" His fingers wandered, leaving trails of heat and desire. "Or this?" He sounded almost amused. As if he knew full well how much she liked it.
He was altogether too sure of her surrender. She took a deep breath, pushed his hand away and tried to wriggle out from under him. "I said no," she panted. "And you promised."
He sat up abruptly, staring down at her with a stunned expression. He wasn't used to being told no, she could see.
He'd given her so much. Who was she to deny him his rights? She braced herself for his reaction.
Cameron blinked at the determined scrap of femininity before him. His breaths were deep and ragged as he worked to secure the remnants of his control.
His new bride had just put him very firmly in his place. Again.
He'd almost broken his promise, he thought ruefully. So cocksure—cock-ready!—he'd been that he could seduce her, that it was only nerves that had caused her ludicrous demand for a courtship. Who did their courting after the wedding?
But apparently she meant it. He glanced again at her pale, set face. Her slender body was stiff, and braced for . . . what? Did she expect him to explode in anger? Force her?
She did.
The realization shocked him. Did she know him so little?
The truth of that hit him hard—because of course she didn't know him, had no way of knowing that he'd never forced a woman in his life. Nor had he ever raised a hand in anger to any woman or child. Or ever would.
He wanted her more than any female he'd ever encountered. Her kisses and caresses had fired his blood like the strongest whisky. His body was rampant and aching, desire thick in his blood.
But she'd known him barely a day. And women were different. Women needed time.
