Sins of the Highlander (A Highland Erotic Romance) (21 page)

In the Scottish Highlands, two warriors are about to clash over a woman of passion…

Highland Obsession

Copyright 2012 Dawn Halliday

“Watch out for your fingers…HIGHLAND OBSESSION is on fire—a scorching page turner from cover to cover! Sexy Highlanders and wickedly erotic romance, Dawn Halliday is the HOTTEST new voice in Scottish romance.”

-New York Times Bestselling Author Monica McCarty

They were the unlikeliest of friends debauching their way through London: The Earl of Camdonn, a nobleman of vast wealth and power, and Scottish laird Alan MacDonald, a respected Jacobite with ambitions of his own.

But their friendship is destroyed when Alan marries the beautiful Sorcha Stewart—only to witness Cam kidnap her from their bedroom. Then Alan learns the truth: his bride was not an innocent. She took a lover before him—his friend—who taught her the ways of pleasure.

Now, Alan will do anything to get his wife back. Cam fights to redeem his honor, even as he refuses to give up his desire. Torn between love and duty, Sorcha must watch as the two men she desires go to war over her. And when the battle lines are drawn, all three lovers are lured into a triangle of forbidden passions…

Excerpt from
Highland Obsession:

Cam dismounted and tethered his horse to the spindly trunk of a juniper. Though a full moon had brightened the night sky earlier, clouds had gathered and now a soft mist fell. The horses’ heavy breathing steamed the air and their intermittent snorts contrasted with the whisper of water on the bushes and grass.

Ignoring the needles scraping his arms, Cam glanced back at MacLean, who remained mounted, waiting for Cam’s instruction. The man and his horse formed an inky shadow in the increasing gloom.

The ground sank under Cam’s feet and leaves rustled as he moved to take measure of the small valley below. He scanned the stables and few dark outbuildings hardly visible through the rain, but his gaze came to an abrupt stop when it collided with the largest dwelling in the enclave—Alan MacDonald’s two-room cottage near the banks of the loch.

Sorcha and Alan were inside. Alone at last on the first night of their marriage.

Hours ago, from behind an old cairn, Cam had watched the villagers dance around a bonfire as the lively tune of their fiddles and pipes echoed through Glenfinnan. Cold to the marrow of his bones, he’d stared past the stones down at them, at her. Sorcha smiling shyly as Alan led her in a reel, her skirts swishing around her calves. She looked as a young bride should: beautiful, happy. Innocent.

But she wasn’t innocent.

Her father had tried—and failed—to keep a tight rein on her. Now it was Alan MacDonald’s job. Cam knew Alan would do it better.

Smoke puffed in small clouds from the chimney and light spilled out from the cottage windows onto the water, making it glitter as it splashed gently against the pebbled shore.

Again Cam glanced at MacLean, who sat patiently upon his horse, reins held loosely in his meaty hands. “Wait here. Come only if I call for you.”

MacLean nodded. Cam didn’t allow his gaze to linger on the big man—he didn’t want to see any sign of disapproval, though logic told him MacLean followed him blindly with no interest in separating right from wrong. If Cam saw disapproval in MacLean’s expression, he’d be conjuring it from a blank slate.

Swiping the back of his hand over his stinging eyes, Cam stared at the cottage. He had no choice but to go down there. He had to see it through to the end. Maybe then his obsession with her would end.

“Stay out of sight,” he murmured to MacLean.

“Aye, milord.” MacLean’s rough voice came from behind him, but Cam hardly heard. He was already striding down the wet slope toward the cottage.

Sorcha. Her name rose in his mind, peaked and receded like a delicate wave. How had it happened this way? And why, for God’s sake, did it even matter? He’d thought Sorcha was a toy, an entertaining plaything. A dalliance. Nothing more. How wrong he was.

Over a month ago, her father had left Cam’s service and moved his family to Glenfinnan. The day before she’d gone, she met him in his bedchamber. After they made love, she’d clung to him, and her eyes had glistened with tears as they’d murmured their farewells.

Cam assumed he’d forget about her. He predicted he’d easily find another skirt to amuse him. Instead, he’d thought about her daily. He ached to see her, to hold her again. To touch her silken skin. To see her generous smile, then kiss her into submission.

When he learned of her upcoming marriage to Alan MacDonald, something had snapped in his consciousness. Thoughts of her began to occupy his every waking moment. He’d tried to stop. He’d schooled himself to restraint and resolutely kept out of her affairs.

Today was her wedding day. And, God help him, today he hadn’t been able to stay away.

He reached the edge of Alan’s cottage and placed his palm flat on one of the cold, wet stones. Slowly, he walked around the back to the closest window, dragging his fingers across the jagged surfaces of the stones as he went. Now completely hidden from MacLean’s sight, Cam peered inside.

There was Sorcha, closer to the window than he’d expected, facing away from him. She stood still, her dark hair a satin waterfall cascading down her back. Beyond her, the large, cluttered space contained a rough-hewn dressing table, several chairs and chests, a long bench, and a bed built into the wall. A peat fire flickered in the fireplace at the room’s far end. Rustic, but comfortable. Nevertheless, far below Alan’s means.

Cam sensed movement deeper within and ducked away, his pulse surging to a frantic cadence.

Breathing heavily, he leaned back against the wall. Out of all the men in the world, why did it have to be his closest friend who’d taken her to wife?

Cam turned his face up to the rain and savored the feel of the stones digging deep into the flesh of his shoulders. What in the devil was he doing, slinking about like a common low-bred thief? Longing for something he could never have? He hated himself for it.

Yet he couldn’t stop.

He turned and looked in the window once again. Alan sat on the edge of the bed now. He’d removed his plaid, and his white linen shirt covered him to midthigh. He spoke softly, much in the same way Cam had seen him calm a jittery horse.

Sorcha took a step away from the window. Cam couldn’t see her expression, only the dark fall of her hair shimmering in the light of the tallow candles as she moved. She wore a thin linen nightdress that shifted provocatively with the sway of her hips.

Alan was ignorant of Cam and Sorcha’s previous carnal acquaintance. If he knew, he never would have married her. Cam was familiar enough with his friend’s personality to know this as absolute fact. It was clear Sorcha hadn’t revealed anything of her experience during the short period of their engagement.

Ultimately, Cam couldn’t blame her for hiding the truth. Her father had placed her in this position, and she would die before dishonoring him. Furthermore, her blasted Highland morals wouldn’t allow her to embarrass or anger Alan, her laird and future husband.

And now they were married. Joined together . . . as one . . . until death. Cam winced.

Bloody hell.

Would she continue to play the part of the timid virgin tonight? Would she cry out as she had when Cam took her maidenhead? After she had made that small, frightened noise, he had frozen in place, hating to have caused her pain. But she’d clutched him tight and whispered to him, saying it was all right and encouraging him to continue. Soon she had arched up to meet him, making a little sound of pleasure with each thrust.

Cam would never forget that night. When he had broken through the shield of her virginity, her reaction had been honest. With Alan, it would be a deception. Cam tried to take some comfort in that, and failed.

Sorcha sat on the edge of the bed beside Alan, turning so Cam could see her profile. Her eyes were downcast. A lock of hair fell across her face, and she reached up to brush it away with trembling fingers.

So she did choose to play the pious fraud. Cam grimaced, clutched the windowsill, and watched.

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Secrets of an Accidental Duchess

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Haymore

With her pale hair and slim figure, Olivia Donovan looks as fragile as fine china, and has been treated as such by her sisters ever since a childhood bout with malaria. But beneath her delicate facade, Olivia guards a bold, independent spirit and the kind of passionate desires proper young ladies must never confess…

It was a reckless wager, and one Max couldn’t resist: seduce the alluring Olivia or forfeit part of his fortune. Yet the wild, soon-to-be Duke never imagined he’d fall in love with this innocent beauty. Nor could he have guessed that a dangerously unpredictable rival would set out to destroy them both. Now, Max must beat a Madman at his own twisted game-or forever lose the only woman to have ever won his heart.

Excerpt from
Secrets of an Accidental Duchess:

Max flinched, a subtle withdrawal. “It’s very complicated.” His lips twisted. “I suppose it comes down to the fact that I’ve always known I’d make a very poor husband. I wouldn’t want to cause any woman unhappiness, so I’ve known for a long time that marriage wasn’t for me.”

“Oh.” She looked up at him, confused on many levels. “Then what—why are you— Why did it seem like you wanted to—?”

She stopped speaking abruptly as the truth slammed into her. She didn’t think she could get any hotter from embarrassment, but now she was certain she must be scarlet. She tore her gaze away from him again.

Suddenly, the pressure of his palm on hers took on a completely different meaning, and she yanked her hand out from under his like it had scorched her. She turned wide eyes on him. “Oh. Oh, dear.”

His brow furrowed, and he leaned closer to her, the concern deepening on his face. “What’s wrong—?”

She raised her hand to stop his words, then closed her eyes and bent her head forward with a groan, slapping her palm over her forehead. “I am so stupid.”

“Olivia—”

“I should have known
that’s
what you wanted from me.” She braced herself, removed her palm from her forehead, and looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Max. I won’t…I thought you understood—I’m simply not the kind of woman who’s free with her…favors.”

The last word almost caught in her throat, and she coughed, even as her traitorous body rebelled against her words. She was flushed and needy. Whenever his skin touched hers, it relieved some of the ache while at the same time spreading the desire for
more
.

Max spoke softly. “I know that.”

“Do you? Are you certain? Because—” She hesitated, then gazed at him. “I’m so confused. I don’t know what this is…” She waved her hand between the two of them. “But…I can say with almost complete certainty that it is becoming a rather unusual friendship.”

“I’m very attracted to you, Olivia.”

His words made her body jolt backward. “What?”

Her voice came out in a squeak. There it was again—she sounded, and certainly looked, like a complete ninny.

“I’m attracted to you,” he repeated. “And I believe you’re attracted to me, too.”

Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t say she wasn’t attracted to him—that would be a lie. “Be that as it may,” she managed, “it doesn’t… I can’t…” She sucked in a breath. “I told you—I want to be the spinster aunt. By that, I don’t mean the
disgraced
spinster aunt.”

His green gaze narrowed. “Do you think that’s what I’d do? Disgrace you?”

No, he’d touch her all over with those big hands of his. He’d relieve her need, bring her pleasure…

Oh, Lord. The way she was beginning to think about Max was utterly scandalous and improper. She must
not
think of what he’d do to her. Goodness, her body was running hot one second then cold the next. She was completely out of her depth.

“I don’t know,” she said breathlessly. She shook her head. “This discussion is highly…”
embarrassing, awkward, distressing
, “…improper.”

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, but a smile teased at the corners of his lips. “You brought the subject up.”

“Because I felt it must be brought up before things went too far. I was feeling…” She searched desperately for the right word.

“…an attraction,” he finished for her.

She screwed her eyes shut. “Yes. An attraction.”

After a long silence, he murmured, “It doesn’t need to be like this.”

“Like what?” Her voice was a wisp of sound on the air.

“Upsetting.”

“What should it be like?”

Her hand was resting flat on the rock, and he lifted it in his own. When she didn’t move away, he turned it over and placed a soft kiss in her palm, his lips and fingers warm against her skin.