The Eternal Highlander by Lynsay Sands, Hannah Howell

creature, one whose name she still felt almost afraid to say aloud.
    Then again, she mused, he did not feel as if he was a dead man. He felt warm, strong, and alive. There was a glow of health to his lovely skin. He certainly did not smell of the grave. Yet, if one could believe all warnings given and tales told, the devil was prone to trick the unwary with beauty and lust. Cathal was beautiful and Bridget suspected that warm, itchy feeling he stirred within her was lust.
    Cathal watched the expressions darting across her lovely face. She had made no accusations, but he was sure she had guessed the truth, or part of it. He took hope in the fact that she was not terrified. There was the occasional glint of fear in her eyes, but no more, and he felt he could deal with that.
    “I will ne’er hurt ye, Bridget,” he said softly and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “I swear it.”
    “And why should I accept your vow?” She shivered when he touched a kiss to her right cheek, feeling the warmth of his lips flow through her veins.
    “Ah, I think ye do already.” Cathal felt the subtle changes in her breathing and knew she was stirred by his kisses. “I think ye ken that ye are safe with me. I think ye also ken that ye are safe with Jankyn, Raibeart, and Mora. Aye, and many others.” He lightly rubbed his lips over hers and reveled in the faint trembling of her lithe body.
    “And there are others I am nay safe with, ones who wish me gone.”
    “I willnae allow them to harm ye.”
    “Ye may try. It doesnae matter. Ye have no right to hold me here.”
    “Why are ye so anxious to leave, lass? Can ye no spare a week or two for the ones who saved your wee life?”
    “How devious ye are to play upon my sense of gratitude.”
    “Stay. Give me one week. If ye cannae abide marrying me, can see naught to gain, then we can discuss your continuing on to your cousin’s.”
    “A week?”
    “Aye, one week.”
    “I should send word to my cousin. She must be fretting o’er the fact that I havenae arrived yet.”
    “I will see that she is told that ye are safe and hale.”
    Bridget was about to tell him that one week would not change her mind about leaving, when he kissed her. His surprisingly soft lips pressed against hers, rubbing and nibbling, quickly robbed her of the ability to think clearly. When he nipped a little sharply at her bottom lip, she gasped softly. For a brief moment she was startled by his tongue in her mouth, but the stroke of his tongue against the roof of her mouth quickly changed shock to pleasure.
    A soft growl escaped her as an exciting heat flooded her body. She wrenched her hands free of his grasp and wrapped her arms around his neck. Every part of her suddenly felt intensely alive and needy in a way she did not completely understand. An equally soft growl escaped Cathal and it heightened the pleasure she felt. A wildness was stirring to life inside her and she both feared and welcomed it.
    Then, abruptly, he was gone. Bridget felt the loss of his warmth so keenly she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She realized she was breathing as if she had just run a long race, her breasts ached, and there was an odd feeling between her legs, a heated blend of pleasure and pain. A quick glance at Cathal, who now stood by the side of the bed, revealed that he was suffering some of the same feelings. She wished she could find more comfort in that. He had awakened something inside of her and she suspected it would be impossible to put it to rest again.
    Cathal took a deep, slow breath to steady himself. While he did not indulge in the sensual gluttony some of his kinsmen did, he was no virgin. Yet, no woman had ever stirred his lust into such a swift frenzy with just one kiss. He was not sure if that was good or bad. He only knew he wanted more. There was passion in Bridget Callan and he intended to claim it for his own.
    “Enough wooing for now,” he said as he strode toward the door. “Tis late and ye