The Highlander's Triumph by Eliza Knight

was almost enough to make Mariana go back to her room. Almost. But not quite enough.
    Suppressing a disgusted groan at herself, she waited for the men to finally saunter off, and then she waited a little longer just to be s afe. Peeking around the corner, she looked up and down the corridor to make certain it was completely empty. Confident she was alone, she slid with her back against the wall all the way to Brandon’s door. This time, without hesitation, she turned the handle and pushed it open.
    The room was black, not even a faint orange glow of embers in the hearth. Mariana was thankful for the darkness, and quietly closed the door behind her. Darkness meant she could escape. Darkness meant he might not even be there, and this harebrained idea could be completely forgotten as she went back to her own bedchamber.
    “Took ye long enough,” he grumbled. The man hardly sounded like one about to be entertained by a female.
    In fact, he sounded downright ornery. Mariana tried not to be taken aback. The thought had never occurred to her that Brandon might not enjoy pleasures of the flesh, with or without women. There had been a man the French king offered her to, who was thoroughly against the notion. He made her moan loudly while bouncing on the bed as he wrote letters at his desk, in order to trick anyone who listened outside the door.
    Heat infused her face and she backed away, prepared to leave. If he didn’t want any woman here, her own presence would only blacken any future moments they might have together.
    “Well, lass, will ye stand by the door all night?” Wood scraped across the floor, followed by the sound of his booted footsteps. She felt the faint breeze of his movements and an expectant chill skated over her skin.
    Brandon was growing closer. Her buttocks hit the door, and she reached back to grasp the handle, opening it just an inch before he pressed the door closed with his hand which must have lingered just above her head. They were mere inches apart. His breath fanned her cheek, smelling like ale and spice. Was he drunk? She suddenly prayed he was good and in his cups.
    “Ye’re not going anywhere. The men think I need ye, and I’ve a mind to see if I do.”
    For a moment she thought he might know it was her, that they shared such an intense bond he could sense her even though he couldn’t see her. But then reality came back to slap her hard. He didn’t know who she was at all. Brandon only knew that Ronan was sending in a maid to ease whatever ache the men seemed to think he had. ’Haps they thought—
    “Has been too long since I had a woman.” His hand pressed hotly against her hip. “And I’ll never have the woman I want.”
    Her heart skipped a beat. He loved another. And was using her, or whoever he thought she was, to ease his heartache. Mariana knew a bit about that. Knew the pain she was experiencing now at hearing his words.
    Brandon’s lips skimmed along the line of her jaw. “Ye smell like lemons.” His teeth grazed her lower lip, his warm whisky-laced breath mingling with her own rapid, but quiet, exhalations. “Why are ye so nervous?”
    His voice had turned soft, coaxing. The moment she spoke, he would know who she was, and while he thought her someone else, anyone else, the draw of his sensual magic kept her rooted in place, unable to move as he nibbled at the column of her throat.
    She shook her head again.
    “Not nervous?”
    Again she shook her head. His hand slid over her hip to her buttocks, gripping one cheek in his hand, massaging the muscle until she thought she was going to fall to the floor.
    “What about now?” he asked.
    “Nay,” she whispered, hoping a lowered voice would disguise her accent. She waited for him to shout about her being an imposter, but he didn’t.
    In fact, he pressed his warm lips to hers. Took possession of her mouth just like he had the first time they kissed. His velvet-soft tongue swept inside to melt against hers, to swirl and tease,