Read Online How to Abduct a Highland Lord by Karen Hawkins - Free Book Online
Authors: Karen Hawkins
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Historical, Regency, Man-Woman Relationships, Love Stories, England - Social Life and Customs - 19th Century, Scotland - Social life and customs - 19th century, Clans - Scotland
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moments, his breeches followed suit, and he stood before her, naked.
The firelight flickered over his body, tracing the ridges of his chest, caressing the flatness of his stomach, limning the powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders. He was beautiful. She’d forgotten how just the sight of him could warm her with anticipation, even now.
“Why are you still dressed?” he asked harshly.
“I was cold.”
His lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. “If we are to make a child, you will have to make sacrifices.”
She managed to nod. “Of course.” She reached up and untied her gown, her gaze still fixed upon him. There was something intent about him, something coiled. His eyes were dark, his body tense, as if he were about to pounce.
Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, she decided, looking up into his blue, blue eyes and noting the thick curl of his lashes. He would pounce, and it would feel ever so wonderful. She knew that already. He was a heartbreaker, exquisitely skilled in bed and ready to take his pleasure by giving it.
She bit her lip to fight a shiver. She wanted to throw her arms around Jack and kiss him mindlessly, encourage him to continue with this seduction.
She wanted to put a hand to his cheek and rub her palm over his shadow beard, letting the stubble rasp against her skin.
She wanted to twine her arms around his neck more tightly and pull his mouth to hers and taste once again that hot, smoky passion that simmered between them.
Oh, God, this is really it.They were alone in his bedroom, they were married, there was nothing stopping them from consummating their union. Nothing at all.
She gave a nervous glance around. “Ah, this is a lovely room.”
His gaze never wavered from her. “Lovely, indeed.”
Cheeks hot, Fiona tried to find something to distract her unruly thoughts long enough for her to regain control of herself. “It’s an exquisite chamber. Is the rug an Aubusson?”
“Yes.” Jack walked across that very rug toward the bed, his movements fluid and deadly. “The rug is Aubusson.”
“And the clock is—”
“Ormolu.” He paused beside the bed. “The chairs are Hepplewhite. The table is a Pembroke, and the painting over the mantel is by Rubens. Anything else you wish to know?”
“You certainly know your furnishings. I don’t believe my brothers even notice ours.” Fiona sent Jack a curious look. “Why do you know the names of all this?”
“Because it is mine.”
“And yet…you didn’t bother with the name of my footman?”
“Footmen, like all people, come and go. This house will be here as long as I am.”
She forced herself not to look at him, standing so beautiful and naked beside the bed. Ah! The picture above the fireplace. “Th-that is a lovely painting.” It depicted a red-haired lady looking into the face of her lover, her expression one of sensual longing. “She’s, ah…naked.”
“As all beautiful women should be.” The bed sagged where he sat on the edge, his hip now against her leg.
She tried to move away, but the sheets held her in place.
He placed his hand over her knee. Fiona sat stock—still, her heart pounding so loudly she wondered if he could hear it. “Jack, perhaps…perhaps we should wait a bit, until—”
“No. You wanted this marriage, MacLean. You wanted it so badly you took my freedom to get it. And now you’ve got it.”
She glared up at him, anger burning away some of her trepidation. “I didn’t want to be tossed onto the bed and—” She tried to calm her quavering voice. “Jack, there is no reason we cannot at least proceed with civility.”
“Civility? Was it civil when you had me abducted and dragged to the altar like a sack of potatoes?”
She hated it when he was right. Really,really hated it. She took a deep breath and tried
The firelight flickered over his body, tracing the ridges of his chest, caressing the flatness of his stomach, limning the powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders. He was beautiful. She’d forgotten how just the sight of him could warm her with anticipation, even now.
“Why are you still dressed?” he asked harshly.
“I was cold.”
His lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. “If we are to make a child, you will have to make sacrifices.”
She managed to nod. “Of course.” She reached up and untied her gown, her gaze still fixed upon him. There was something intent about him, something coiled. His eyes were dark, his body tense, as if he were about to pounce.
Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, she decided, looking up into his blue, blue eyes and noting the thick curl of his lashes. He would pounce, and it would feel ever so wonderful. She knew that already. He was a heartbreaker, exquisitely skilled in bed and ready to take his pleasure by giving it.
She bit her lip to fight a shiver. She wanted to throw her arms around Jack and kiss him mindlessly, encourage him to continue with this seduction.
She wanted to put a hand to his cheek and rub her palm over his shadow beard, letting the stubble rasp against her skin.
She wanted to twine her arms around his neck more tightly and pull his mouth to hers and taste once again that hot, smoky passion that simmered between them.
Oh, God, this is really it.They were alone in his bedroom, they were married, there was nothing stopping them from consummating their union. Nothing at all.
She gave a nervous glance around. “Ah, this is a lovely room.”
His gaze never wavered from her. “Lovely, indeed.”
Cheeks hot, Fiona tried to find something to distract her unruly thoughts long enough for her to regain control of herself. “It’s an exquisite chamber. Is the rug an Aubusson?”
“Yes.” Jack walked across that very rug toward the bed, his movements fluid and deadly. “The rug is Aubusson.”
“And the clock is—”
“Ormolu.” He paused beside the bed. “The chairs are Hepplewhite. The table is a Pembroke, and the painting over the mantel is by Rubens. Anything else you wish to know?”
“You certainly know your furnishings. I don’t believe my brothers even notice ours.” Fiona sent Jack a curious look. “Why do you know the names of all this?”
“Because it is mine.”
“And yet…you didn’t bother with the name of my footman?”
“Footmen, like all people, come and go. This house will be here as long as I am.”
She forced herself not to look at him, standing so beautiful and naked beside the bed. Ah! The picture above the fireplace. “Th-that is a lovely painting.” It depicted a red-haired lady looking into the face of her lover, her expression one of sensual longing. “She’s, ah…naked.”
“As all beautiful women should be.” The bed sagged where he sat on the edge, his hip now against her leg.
She tried to move away, but the sheets held her in place.
He placed his hand over her knee. Fiona sat stock—still, her heart pounding so loudly she wondered if he could hear it. “Jack, perhaps…perhaps we should wait a bit, until—”
“No. You wanted this marriage, MacLean. You wanted it so badly you took my freedom to get it. And now you’ve got it.”
She glared up at him, anger burning away some of her trepidation. “I didn’t want to be tossed onto the bed and—” She tried to calm her quavering voice. “Jack, there is no reason we cannot at least proceed with civility.”
“Civility? Was it civil when you had me abducted and dragged to the altar like a sack of potatoes?”
She hated it when he was right. Really,really hated it. She took a deep breath and tried
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