Highland Awakening by Jennifer Haymore Page B

here, quiet and strong and holding his hand, was like a soothing balm to his soul. He never talked comfortably with women. He always avoided attachments like this, had always known such relationships would be destined for failure. He wouldn’t think of the destiny of this particular relationship, though. Not right now. He was going to remain in the present and drink in all the peace she offered him, like the greedy bastard he was.
    He stroked the top of her hand, loving the feel of her skin under his thumb.
    She was still engaged to marry that damned Henry Whitworth. But Cam wasn’t going to think of that right now, either. He’d tuck that problem aside. But God knew, he’d be dealing with it later.
    —
    They talked for a very long time, Cam telling her about his brother Knights and their experiences in the army before the Highland Knights had been formed. Esme spoke of her stories, her inspiration for them, and of the research she’d done.
    In a lull in the conversation, Esme glanced at Cam to find him looking at her, a softness in his gaze she couldn’t even begin to decipher.
    No, that was wrong. Perhaps she could decipher it. It might be…affection. As one might feel for a sister or a good friend. She desperately hoped that was all it was, even when a part of her scoffed—loudly—and knew that it was so much more. Of course, the traitorous part of her wanted it all.
    “We’re friends, aren’t we?” she asked hopefully. Naively, perhaps.
    “Aye, lass.” His voice was a low rumble. “Friends…and more.”
    “We cannot be more,” she breathed. But the tone of his voice sent heat spiraling through her, and she knew he could read it in her eyes.
    He stood, pulling her up beside him, and before she could protest, he kissed her, slow and long and languid, his arms wrapping around her and pressing their bodies tight together. God, he tasted so good. Like whisky and strength and masculine appeal.
    He ran his hand down her back, exploring her curves thoroughly now that the only thing between his fingers and her skin was the thin material of her nightgown.
    He pulled back for the second it took for him to say, “So bonny, lass,” and kissed her again.
    He stroked the dip in her waist, then glided his hand over the curve of her hip and thigh. When his arm had descended to its limit, he bunched up her nightgown in his hand and wrapped his palm around the back of her thigh, just beneath her bottom. She gasped at the sheer intimacy of the touch.
    But she didn’t pull away. Instead she thrust her body into him instinctively, and as he held her tight, locked against him, she could feel his hardness pressing into her stomach.
    “God, lass,” he murmured, nibbling kisses over her jaw. “I want you. So bad. Tell me yes. Tell me to take you. Here, now.”
    She wanted him, too. She wanted to live all the things she wrote about; experience what she’d never believed was possible. This man could give all that to her, and she sensed he’d be generous in doing so.
    But if she pursued this course, chances were high that she’d once again become a topic of gossip and scandal. And that would not only hurt Henry, it would also damage her entire family.
    She’d done so much wrong, so much to hurt Trent and the rest of the family. Her panics and public awkwardness were incontrollable parts of her personality that she’d always struggled with but had never been able to conquer. While the desire to explore the forbidden with this man was strong, it was controllable. Indeed, it was one thing she
could
control.
    “I need you, lass,” Cam murmured. “You…fill something inside me. Something that’s missing in my soul. You can replenish it for me. Make me whole again.”
    She wanted him to an extent that scared her. But he was a man, and she knew from her research that men were prone to say and do things that they didn’t necessarily mean when driven by these primal urges. He might mean those pretty words, but she