kicked his foot out of the stirrup, where Sorcha replaced it with her own, and pulled her up in front of himself with very little distress. Alec was plenty distressed, though, by the fact that her skirts only hung to her midcalf as she straddled Radbourne’s mare. Damn lucky horse. Alec shook the highly inappropriate thought away.
“Sorcha,” he began. He’d yank both of them from the saddle if Radbourne didn’t unhand her.
“You look like you could use a moment to collect yourself, MacQuarrie.” The viscount flashed his pearly white teeth at him. Alec realized that not only did he have a raging manhood that was most obviously drawing attention, but he also had descended incisors. “You’ll want to take care of that before you return to Castle Hythe. Bring the groom with you?” Radbourne tossed over his shoulder as he kicked his horse into movement.
Bloody hell, he’d made a mess of things. Alec seethed as he watched the blasted pack ride off with Sorcha. How could she kiss him, run her hands across him, drive him to the brink of madness, and then ride off so willingly with those mutts? But he already knew the answer. She was right where she wanted to be. In the company of drooling, flea-ridden wolves.
~*~
Sorcha was finally right where she’d always wanted to be.
For nearly a year, she’d plotted and planned, looking for opportunities to locate the Lycan she was destined to spend her life with. She sagged against Lord Radbourne’s very hard, very warm chest and closed her eyes, blocking out the dark countryside they passed. Now that she was right where she’d wanted to be for so long—specifically, in the arms of a Lycan—all she could think was that it wasn’t where she belonged at all.
Havers! She’d kissed Alec! Caitrin’s Alec, not that he belonged to her friend, but still she’d always thought of him in those terms. Mo chreach! She’d actually pulled his head down to hers and she’d kissed him. She’d kissed him! What was worse was that she didn’t feel bad about it at all.
At least she didn’t think she did.
On the contrary, it had been heavenly. Her first kiss, and it had been perfect.
Even through the fine lawn of his shirt, she’d felt the muscles of his chest and back with her fingertips, and she’d held on for dear life, clutching him to her, wishing she never had to let him go. But then she had. His voice had seeped into her consciousness, telling her they shouldn’t. And her heart had nearly broken. What a foolish thing to have done! What madness had driven her to kiss Alec MacQuarrie? Of all the men of her acquaintance, she had kissed the one man—no, vampyre—whose heart was irrevocably lost to her or anyone else. It was utter insanity.
“You do seem prone to finding trouble, lass.”
Radbourne’s husky voice broke her from her reverie. His breath warmed her cheek, and Sorcha’s eyes flew open to find the viscount staring down at her with a most concerned expression.
She forced a smile to her lips, hoping he wouldn’t see through her feigned cheerfulness. After all, this was the man she was supposed to be trying to charm, not a brooding vampyre who was incapable of loving her. “I doona ken what ye mean, my lord.”
He refocused on the road before them, fanning his hand across her middle and securing her against him. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean, sweetheart. First, you beguiled a groom who is quite possibly half in love with you and willing to face the wrath of the dragon who is the Duchess of Hythe to win your favor. And then there’s MacQuarrie. Between you, Cait, and Rhiannon, I can’t help but wonder if all you Scottish lasses have the ability to enchant poor men with only the bat of those absurdly long eyelashes.”
Sorcha’s heart leapt to her throat. Alec? Could she enchant him? Had Radbourne possibly seen some sign of affection, some sign that Alec had felt a bit of what she’d experienced in his arms? Was that too much to hope
“Sorcha,” he began. He’d yank both of them from the saddle if Radbourne didn’t unhand her.
“You look like you could use a moment to collect yourself, MacQuarrie.” The viscount flashed his pearly white teeth at him. Alec realized that not only did he have a raging manhood that was most obviously drawing attention, but he also had descended incisors. “You’ll want to take care of that before you return to Castle Hythe. Bring the groom with you?” Radbourne tossed over his shoulder as he kicked his horse into movement.
Bloody hell, he’d made a mess of things. Alec seethed as he watched the blasted pack ride off with Sorcha. How could she kiss him, run her hands across him, drive him to the brink of madness, and then ride off so willingly with those mutts? But he already knew the answer. She was right where she wanted to be. In the company of drooling, flea-ridden wolves.
~*~
Sorcha was finally right where she’d always wanted to be.
For nearly a year, she’d plotted and planned, looking for opportunities to locate the Lycan she was destined to spend her life with. She sagged against Lord Radbourne’s very hard, very warm chest and closed her eyes, blocking out the dark countryside they passed. Now that she was right where she’d wanted to be for so long—specifically, in the arms of a Lycan—all she could think was that it wasn’t where she belonged at all.
Havers! She’d kissed Alec! Caitrin’s Alec, not that he belonged to her friend, but still she’d always thought of him in those terms. Mo chreach! She’d actually pulled his head down to hers and she’d kissed him. She’d kissed him! What was worse was that she didn’t feel bad about it at all.
At least she didn’t think she did.
On the contrary, it had been heavenly. Her first kiss, and it had been perfect.
Even through the fine lawn of his shirt, she’d felt the muscles of his chest and back with her fingertips, and she’d held on for dear life, clutching him to her, wishing she never had to let him go. But then she had. His voice had seeped into her consciousness, telling her they shouldn’t. And her heart had nearly broken. What a foolish thing to have done! What madness had driven her to kiss Alec MacQuarrie? Of all the men of her acquaintance, she had kissed the one man—no, vampyre—whose heart was irrevocably lost to her or anyone else. It was utter insanity.
“You do seem prone to finding trouble, lass.”
Radbourne’s husky voice broke her from her reverie. His breath warmed her cheek, and Sorcha’s eyes flew open to find the viscount staring down at her with a most concerned expression.
She forced a smile to her lips, hoping he wouldn’t see through her feigned cheerfulness. After all, this was the man she was supposed to be trying to charm, not a brooding vampyre who was incapable of loving her. “I doona ken what ye mean, my lord.”
He refocused on the road before them, fanning his hand across her middle and securing her against him. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean, sweetheart. First, you beguiled a groom who is quite possibly half in love with you and willing to face the wrath of the dragon who is the Duchess of Hythe to win your favor. And then there’s MacQuarrie. Between you, Cait, and Rhiannon, I can’t help but wonder if all you Scottish lasses have the ability to enchant poor men with only the bat of those absurdly long eyelashes.”
Sorcha’s heart leapt to her throat. Alec? Could she enchant him? Had Radbourne possibly seen some sign of affection, some sign that Alec had felt a bit of what she’d experienced in his arms? Was that too much to hope
Similar Books
