The Striker Read online

  His jaw scratched the tender skin of her chin, but she didn’t care. Closer . . . Harder . . . She wanted to be consumed. She wanted to melt into him. To become one.

  His hand was no longer in her hair. It was on her bottom, lifting her . . .

  The floor dropped out of her stomach. A rush of liquid warmth flooded between her legs. She could feel him, the hard column of his manhood fitted intimately against her. It felt . . . big. Powerful. And really, really good.

  Especially when he started to move his hips in insistent little circles. Her stomach dropped again, and the place between her legs grew even warmer and more needy. Her body trembled. She ached to press back. And she would have, had the sound of the door opening not torn them apart.

  He released her so suddenly she stumbled and might have fallen had she not hit the stone support of the wall behind her.

  “MacLean, are you—” The man stopped, and seeing them, he swore. Still in a lust-induced daze, it took Margaret a moment to recognize Eoin’s foster brother standing in the doorway. “Oh hell, I didn’t meant to . . . interrupt.”

  Though there was nothing overtly lascivious or suggestive in his tone, the way his eyes slid over her bruised mouth and still-heaving chest when he said the last made her stiffen.

  Eoin recovered faster than she did. He stepped in front of her. The instinctively protective gesture—as if he could shield her from the embarrassment of being discovered in such an intimate embrace—was surprisingly sweet. She felt a strange swell of warmth fill her chest.

  “I will join you in a moment, Fin,” he said sharply.

  Fin gave him a slow smile. This time there was no mistaking the suggestiveness. “Take as long as you need.”

  Margaret couldn’t see Eoin’s expression, but from how fast his friend left the room, she suspected it had been threatening.

  By time he turned back to her, however, the look was gone, replaced by the inscrutable mask. “I owe you an apology. That never should have happened.”

  Looking at his hard, implacable features, it was hard to believe this was the same man who’d been kissing her so passionately a few minutes before.

  What was it about Eoin MacLean that drew her? She’d known handsome men before, and even a few who were as tall and powerfully built. She’d also met serious men—although maybe none who were quite so intense. But she’d never met a man whose gaze could level on hers and make her feel as if he knew what she was thinking.

  She tilted her head, studying him contemplatively. “What did happen?”

  For one brief moment their eyes connected and she felt the force of it like a steel vise around her ribs. “I don’t have any idea.”

  The blunt admission charmed her, and she couldn’t resist giving him a teasing smile. “Well, in case you were wondering, I think that signifies as ‘liberties.’ ”

  He surprised her with a sharp laugh, and then a smile—a crooked half-curl of his mouth that hit her square in the chest. The furrowed lines between his brows disappeared, and the smile transformed his features, making him look boyishly charming and so handsome she thought she might just be content to stare at him forever.

  “Ah, yes, I can see the difference now,” he said dryly.

  “I thought you might. And I can see what you meant about pups.” Her smile turned wry. “Although I didn’t mean to offer quite that big of an invitation.”

  He sobered instantly. “I didn’t mean what I said. I spoke out of anger. You did nothing wrong. What happened was my fault.”

  “What happened happened. It was no one’s fault.” She fought back a smile. “I’m glad to hear I didn’t do anything wrong though. In case you are wondering, I don’t have any complaints on your end either.”

  He bit out a sharp laugh and shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe she was teasing him about something so intimate. “Good to know.”

  They shared a moment of silence that was surprisingly comfortable. She liked him, she realized. This quiet, serious, intense young warrior. She liked seeing the cracks in his reserve and the dry sense of humor that emerged. She liked making him smile, and seeing those lines between his brows disappear. She liked the way he looked, the keen intelligence in his eyes, the way he held her as he kissed her, and the way he’d jumped to protect her both on the dance floor and when Fin had interrupted them.

  She liked him . . . a lot.

  Maybe her thoughts were more transparent than she realized. His half smile fell, and his eyes softened almost imperceptibly. “Fault or not, it cannot happen again.”

  She wanted to argue, but how could she? He was right.

  “You should go,” he said. “Comyn is probably wondering why you haven’t returned to the Hall.”

  If there had been anything in his voice to suggest he cared, she might have hesitated. Instead, she nodded and did as he’d bade. But her chest ached as she walked away. There was something about Eoin MacLean that called to her, that felt special, that made her want to hold on to him and never let go.

  She told herself she was being as foolish as Annie, the thirteen-year-old butter girl, who’d followed the sixteen-year-old stable lad, Padraig, around moon-eyed for nearly a month last year, thinking she was in love.

  Daughters of powerful lairds didn’t fall in love.

  She bit her lip. At least she hoped they didn’t.

  6

  EOIN KNEW he should be trying to think of ways to impress Bruce, but he was too distracted. As the hunting party of a dozen men rode through the forested valley to the southwest below castle hill known as the King’s Park on a cool, gray morning, he wasn’t thinking about traps, strategies, terrain, or even the stag he’d just brought down. He couldn’t think about anything but the kiss he was supposed to be forgetting.

  What the hell had come over him? His physical weakness for the lass was unsettling. It wasn’t like him at all. He’d never done anything like that in his life. He’d been moments away from pushing her back onto that bench in the mural chamber and doing something stupid. Something very stupid. Something that could have brought him a whole shite heap of trouble. From Bruce, from his father, and from MacDowell.

  And she would have let him. That was what he couldn’t get out of his blasted mind. He could have had her, and the knowledge taunted him—and tempted him—far more than it should.

  He still didn’t know how it had spun out of control like that. One minute he’d been kissing her and she’d been responding—in a way that made it clear that it wasn’t the first time she’d been kissed—and the next he’d had his cock wedged between her legs and they’d practically been swiving with their clothes on. The feel of that softly curved bottom in his hand and the press of her hip as she rode against him was not something he’d soon forget.

  Hell, it was not something he’d ever forget. He’d probably go to his grave thinking about that kiss and those sweet little insistent moans.

  He adjusted himself for what felt like the dozenth time as they’d ridden this morning as he swelled with the memory.

  As the track through the forest widened, Fin rode up beside him.

  “What’s the matter with you?” his foster brother said in a low voice. “You’ve barely said a word all morning.” He shot him a knowing sidelong glance. “Or maybe I don’t need to ask. From your dark expression, I take it you didn’t finish after I interrupted yesterday? The way the lass was moaning, I thought she wouldn’t be able to wait.”

  Eoin’s jaw hardened, his mouth clenching with anger and distaste. He sent Fin a dark glare. “I told you last night nothing happened. What you saw was a mistake.”

  Fin laughed. “It might have been a mistake, but if that was ‘nothing,’ I wouldn’t mind a taste of it. Where do I get in line?”

  If they hadn’t been riding, Fin would have been on his back. As it was, Eoin contemplated leaning over and wrapping his hand around his neck. Instead, his fingers tightened around the reins until his knuckles turned white. “Stay away from her, Fin. I mean it.”