Highland Surrender Read Online Free PDF

her lips. One finger joined another and another as he traced the soft curves and tiny valleys of her ears and jaw and throat. Her pulse thrummed, like the flap of a thousand swans leaving the surface of a loch.
    When his lips brushed, feather soft, against the corner of her mouth, she nearly bolted upright. But she fought the urge to flee,and instead lay unresponsive as he trailed tiny butterfly kisses following the path where his fingers had explored.
    A sweet, unexpected torment.
    And always, he’d come back to the edge of her lips, never kissing her full-on. She flushed with heat and nearly turned her mouth toward his just to end the teasing. But she could not. Would not. A Sinclair could withstand any torture, no matter how it was delivered.
    She felt the moisture of his lips on her skin and the cool aftermath as the night air continued the kiss. She tried to think of Margaret or her father, or anything besides the sensations swirling within her. She should hate this, despise him, writhe away from his grasp. To find pleasure in his touch would be her ultimate defeat.
    But his hands traveled lower, growing bolder and more firm, sliding over her shoulder and along one arm, then back to cup her breast. Her eyes popped open then, and she caught him by the wrist, trying to still his ministrations. But he persisted, gently squeezing the fullness of it and rubbing his thumb over the tip. It sizzled like fire from his fingers. She gasped and would have begged him to stop had he not chosen that moment to at last kiss her mouth. Traitorous relief flooded through her.
    This was no chaste peck like he’d given her upon the chapel steps. That kiss had been for God and for the priest, but even in her innocence, she knew this kiss was for Myles himself. He pressed firm, teasing her mouth with his own. His lips were soft, so much softer than she expected, and felt at delicious odds with the scrape of his jaw. He smelled of wine and cloves and leather, a scent mingled with the fragrance of her own body, creating a potent mixture.
    He bent his head lower, gently nipping at her skin and then soothing away the tiny injuries with his tongue. She moved toescape the tender assault, but he followed and pressed his leg between her own, pushing them apart. She felt unraveled. Adrift. Disloyal. He was a despicable Campbell, but somehow her body had forgotten and overruled her mind. She grabbed at his arms in useless defense, for with each movement, he somehow melted closer, like hot wax, conforming to her every peak and valley. His hand caressed her hip, pulling her tight against him, then pushing her back so he might slip his hand between them.
    Her face turned toward the wall as his fingers sought out her most feminine folds, but a shameless whimper betrayed her shock of pleasure as he easily slipped within them. Faithless, perfidious limbs, useless now when she needed her strength. This enemy had tapped her will like sap from a tree, but with all she had left, she brought her leg up, pushing against the mattress to twist herself free. To no avail. Her pitiful actions only granted him more generous access to her very core.
    “Ah, God, Fiona,” he murmured against her breast and drew his tongue across its center, “what perfection.”
    She tried to push his head away, but his close-cropped hair beneath her fingers felt of mink, enticing rather than repelling. Oh, what a traitor she was, giving up all Sinclair thought to simply feel beneath this Campbell’s touch.
    She was sweet as a peach and ripe for the plucking, her skin silky smooth and pliant beneath his hands. As he savored each kiss and caress, the reckless urge to take this coupling to its completion assailed him. He had sought to woo her, to gently introduce her to the ways of sin and sacrament, but her body was primed, slick with want as she twisted against him. She was as eager as he to take this journey onward. He could tell by theflush of her skin, the pant of her shallow breath.