Prisoner of Desire by Isadora Rose Page B

Isobel could feel the finely honed muscles of his form, and his face was no less pleasing, the dark hair that sat atop his chiselled face thick and lustrous.
    Becoming aware of her appraising stare, Alasdair’s eyes widened incredulously. He did not truly want her to lie meekly underneath him just because he had coerced her into doing so, but he had not expected the young maiden to show such evident desire for him, for he was certain that that was what he could read upon her face. He had not realised until this moment how much he wanted her to desire him, but now there was nothing he wanted more. ‘So, what do you say, little lady?’ he asked hoarsely, his patience sorely strained. ‘Will you accept me?’
    ‘Oh, what choice do I have?’ She blushed hotly, for it galled her deeply that after the desperate fight Glen Carrick had put up against this invader they had lost so spectacularly and she was trapped here in the arms of their conqueror – arms that, to her horror, were nowhere near as repulsive as she had expected they would be.
    ‘As intelligent as you are beautiful, my Isobel,’ he said triumphantly, for the deepening flush of her skin betrayed her physical reaction to his proximity. ‘A kiss to seal the deal then, I think.’
    ‘A kiss?! Now? I...no!’ Isobel spluttered furiously, a rising panic taking hold of her, but his lips descended forcefully upon hers and cut short her protests. The instant their lips touched Alasdair groaned loudly, for already his primal need to claim her in every possible way was overwhelming him.
    He could not hold himself back, not now that she was in his arms and her wonderfully full breasts were crushed against his chest, her nipples already protruding through her gown and tantalisingly evident - and especially not when the low moan he faintly registered her making told him that she was feeling the same heady, intoxicating desire for him. Isobel was his, and now that it seemed that she stirred him in a way that no woman had before, Alasdair resolved with a fresh thrill that nothing would stop him from tearing every last ounce of pleasure he could from her, with her permission or without it.
    Isobel had been so determined not to give in to Alasdair no matter what, but as his arms tightened possessively around her, one around her waist holding her against him and the other pushing up so that he could fist his hand through her tousled hair and twist her head to force it ever closer to his, she could think of nothing but him and how amazingly pleasurable his kiss and caresses were, much to her consternation.
    As she became aware that her body was betraying her and responding to him with a wanton, desperate need for him to deepen the kiss yet further, she struggled to fight through the breathless, aching desire that had gripped her against her will. Twisting in Alasdair’s arms, she placed the palms of her hands against his broad chest and shuddered again, this time with heated desire as she felt the muscles throbbing through his tunic; but regardless of the sensations flooding her body, she tried to push him away.
    ‘Isobel, Isobel!’ He nodded smugly as he finally pulled his lips away from hers, still holding her close. ‘There is no need to feel ashamed; you are to be my wife, and it is only right and good that you should desire me as much as I want you, lass.’
    ‘I don’t desire you!’ she denied instantly, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
    ‘Liar!’ Alasdair grinned widely, pleased to see that her spirit was still intact. ‘Isobel, you may hate me if you wish, but I assure you that your body will come to love me and my cock,’ he finished arrogantly to a burst of bawdy laughter from the assembled men.
    Isobel shook her head obstinately, the renewed sobbing of the women in the hall doing nothing to calm her. ‘You are a bastard, Alasdair Donachie!’
    ‘Entirely so. Douglas?’
    ‘Aye, Alasdair?’ Douglas said instantly, coming towards them and casting