Compromising Positions Read Online Free PDF Page A

hesitate. She grabbed the arm he offered and slid onto the horse, settling into the saddle behind him. She sat astride, like any good Scotswoman would, although she wore nothing under her plaid.
    “Do ye ride?” he asked over his shoulder.
    “Aye.” She nodded against his broad back, her arms going naturally around his waist. Her fingers could feel the hard muscle of his abdomen, even through his plaid.
    “Good.” He smiled—she couldn’t see it, but she could hear it in his voice. “Then I won’t hafta tell ye t’hold on.”
    Kestrel took off like a shot and Kirsten gasped, holding tight to Donal MacFalon while clenching horse flesh between her quivering thighs. She pressed her cheek against his back, clinging to him, feeling the steady rhythm of the animal beneath them both as they headed back toward the castle.
    But that was nothing compared to the animal Kirsten felt coming alive within her since she’d seen this man and caught his scent across the clearing.
    She felt Donal’s thighs flexing against her own as he guided the horse on a path through the woods, and the scent of the man, even though she was currently a woman and not a wulver, made her salivate. Her whole body seemed to want to melt against his on the saddle, as if the motion of the horse could drive them together and make them one.
    He didn’t have to tell her to hang on—but she did. She hung onto him as if he was her second skin, as if she could crawl inside him. She clung to him, trembling, not understanding her own feelings at this closeness, at the way they moved together on the saddle.
    Kirstin thought she felt him chuckle at the way her fingers locked feverishly around his waist, at the way she clutched him between her legs, and wondered if he knew she was bare and exposed beneath her plaid.
    Because Donal MacFalon seemed determined to give her the ride of her life.
     
     

Chapter Two

    “Kirstin!” Sibyl’s eyes widened, at first in shock, then in happy surprise.
    Kirstin slipped into Darrow’s room, afraid of what she might find. Donal came in behind her—he’d shown her to Darrow’s room himself—and stood just inside the half-open door, watching as Kirsten crossed over to a bed so big it made the giant, wulver man in the center of it appear small.
    “Sibyl.” Kirstin cupped the Englishwoman’s sweet, freckled face, brushing her auburn hair away and kissing her cheek, so very glad to see her whole and unharmed, after her sacrificial ride from the wulver’s den to Castle MacFalon. Donal had assured her Sibyl was fine, but it was good to see it for herself. “How is he?”
    “He’ll live.” Sibyl sat back down in the chair beside the man’s bed, continuing to tear sheets to make dressings. Sibyl frowned at the wulver tossing and turning on the mattress. He gave a low growl in his sleep, shaking his head, and for a brief moment he hovered between human and wulver form—a sight Kirstin was used to, but one that gave both Sibyl and Donal pause. Sibyl met Kirstin’s gaze and she saw tears in the redhead’s eyes. “No thanks to the cowardice of Alistair MacFalon.”
    Kirstin swallowed hard at the name, seeing a dark cloud pass over the Englishwoman’s face. Sibyl had been promised to Alistair—Donal’s older brother, who had been laird of Clan MacFalon until his recent demise—and had been willing to sacrifice herself in marriage to a cruel man she didn’t love in order to save the wulver pack.
    Sibyl couldn’t have known—and Kirstin certainly hadn’t realized, when she put the Englishwoman on a horse and sent her away from the wulver den, heading back toward Castle MacFalon—that Alistair was setting a trap for the wulver warriors, using his betrothed as bait. He’d also kidnapped Darrow’s mate, Laina, just in case the wulvers decided not to pursue the Englishwoman who had been living in their midst.
    But it had been Alistair’s intention all along to lure the wulver army out of their mountain den and