and evil young child he had ever seen. “You apparently don’t begin to see how stupidly you’ve behaved. Something should be done. You’re not a child, but you’re acting as recklessly as one. You should indeed be cast over someone’s knee and seriously reprimanded!” He again repeated the one question thatripped cruelly into her heart. “What were you thinking? What would your father say?”
He was older than she, but not by that much, only by five years. Yet it still seemed he was thinking of her as the little girl he had seen so many times years before. He hadn’t realized that she had grown up, that she was a mature and independent woman now.
Able to fight her own battles.
She would force him to realize it, she determined.
“Me? I should be switched? You bastard! You are the one at incredible fault here. You should be beaten senseless. Hanged, no less. What would
your
father say about you? Swimming naked in a pool. Recklessly, irresponsibly. Like a child. A—a—grown child. Diving in here, accosting a young lady, a guest in your home. Damn you, damn you, a thousand times over, accosting
me
—”
“When you wished to be accosted by someone else?” he demanded. His eyes narrowed sharply upon her. “I didn’t accost you, Alaina McMann, but perhaps you should be forewarned: A naked nymph swimming bare as a jaybird in a pool certainly appears to be inviting a man’s intentions,” he said angrily. “Any man’s intentions.”
“Oh! Oh!” What a fool she had been. It was a private spring pool, yes, private to the McKenzies.
And Ian McKenzie was here.
Again she tried to wrench free from him. He was incredibly strong and determined. She slammed at him with such a vehemence that she heard a grunt from him, but he didn’t intend to let her go. Suddenly his arms swept completely around her as he struggled to her keep her still. It was far more wretched a position than any she had been in before; she was flush against his naked body, and thereby forced to stillness at last.
No, she was actually desperate to be dead still then. Because his body was all but meshed with hers. She could feel the crispness of his chest hair against the softness of her breasts, touching her so tightly in the water. It was such an acute sensation she wanted to scream.
There was more to feel. More of him. oh, it was all so much worse! She could feel the hardness and heat of his muscled form, feel his hips, his thighs… feel…
Her cheeks burned. The very length of her body burned.
Dear God, oh, God…
Her struggle with Peter O’Neill now seemed like such a petty nuisance. She’d known how to move then, how to get the upper hand, how to hurt him and free herself. Her father had taught her how to fight. He’d taught her a great deal himself, and he’d given in to her every whim as well, hiring a fencing master when she declared an interest in swords, teaching her how to ride, how to aim, how to shoot, how to dislodge an attacker.
But now, when she so desperately needed her lessons to pay off, she couldn’t free herself.
And even the pounding of her heart seemed to bring her more closely against the force of this man. More aware of the length of him.
She couldn’t meet his eyes.
Had to meet his eyes.
Had to…
Find a way to escape his touch.
Swearing beneath her breath and pathetically close to tears, she tried very hard to stare defiantly up into his eyes.
Fighting wasn’t working.
She could take no more of this. Feeling him. The heat, the fire, the sheer strength of his hold. How could he do this? Perhaps it didn’t occur to him that this could be the most humiliatingly uncomfortable moment of her entire life; perhaps he thought that her nudity was a casual thing to her, since he was convinced she had been intending to entertain Peter O’Neill and had probably entertained him—or other men—before.
She wanted so badly to hurt Ian McKenzie for the way he was looking at her—slash him through with a
He was older than she, but not by that much, only by five years. Yet it still seemed he was thinking of her as the little girl he had seen so many times years before. He hadn’t realized that she had grown up, that she was a mature and independent woman now.
Able to fight her own battles.
She would force him to realize it, she determined.
“Me? I should be switched? You bastard! You are the one at incredible fault here. You should be beaten senseless. Hanged, no less. What would
your
father say about you? Swimming naked in a pool. Recklessly, irresponsibly. Like a child. A—a—grown child. Diving in here, accosting a young lady, a guest in your home. Damn you, damn you, a thousand times over, accosting
me
—”
“When you wished to be accosted by someone else?” he demanded. His eyes narrowed sharply upon her. “I didn’t accost you, Alaina McMann, but perhaps you should be forewarned: A naked nymph swimming bare as a jaybird in a pool certainly appears to be inviting a man’s intentions,” he said angrily. “Any man’s intentions.”
“Oh! Oh!” What a fool she had been. It was a private spring pool, yes, private to the McKenzies.
And Ian McKenzie was here.
Again she tried to wrench free from him. He was incredibly strong and determined. She slammed at him with such a vehemence that she heard a grunt from him, but he didn’t intend to let her go. Suddenly his arms swept completely around her as he struggled to her keep her still. It was far more wretched a position than any she had been in before; she was flush against his naked body, and thereby forced to stillness at last.
No, she was actually desperate to be dead still then. Because his body was all but meshed with hers. She could feel the crispness of his chest hair against the softness of her breasts, touching her so tightly in the water. It was such an acute sensation she wanted to scream.
There was more to feel. More of him. oh, it was all so much worse! She could feel the hardness and heat of his muscled form, feel his hips, his thighs… feel…
Her cheeks burned. The very length of her body burned.
Dear God, oh, God…
Her struggle with Peter O’Neill now seemed like such a petty nuisance. She’d known how to move then, how to get the upper hand, how to hurt him and free herself. Her father had taught her how to fight. He’d taught her a great deal himself, and he’d given in to her every whim as well, hiring a fencing master when she declared an interest in swords, teaching her how to ride, how to aim, how to shoot, how to dislodge an attacker.
But now, when she so desperately needed her lessons to pay off, she couldn’t free herself.
And even the pounding of her heart seemed to bring her more closely against the force of this man. More aware of the length of him.
She couldn’t meet his eyes.
Had to meet his eyes.
Had to…
Find a way to escape his touch.
Swearing beneath her breath and pathetically close to tears, she tried very hard to stare defiantly up into his eyes.
Fighting wasn’t working.
She could take no more of this. Feeling him. The heat, the fire, the sheer strength of his hold. How could he do this? Perhaps it didn’t occur to him that this could be the most humiliatingly uncomfortable moment of her entire life; perhaps he thought that her nudity was a casual thing to her, since he was convinced she had been intending to entertain Peter O’Neill and had probably entertained him—or other men—before.
She wanted so badly to hurt Ian McKenzie for the way he was looking at her—slash him through with a
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