A Highland Duchess by Karen Ranney Page B

led her to the stairs, as if she were a child and couldn’t find her way, or perhaps they were both children, giving each other comfort in the night.
    No, nothing so innocent. This brigand was temptation himself.

Chapter 9
    S lowly and together, they mounted the stairs, then wordlessly continued down the corridor, still linked by their joined hands. He saw her to the door, opened it for her, and stood aside.
    This moment felt as if it were a beginning, not unlike a dance when musicians tuned their instruments in the corner of a ballroom. First came the discordant notes, then the sudden rich weeping of a violin, sweeping the dancers onto the floor, shoes sliding across the waxed boards.
    Her heart beat in time as if to make up for the lack of music. Her feet ached to dance across the space between them, demand he hold her in his arms and make proper her wish to be embraced.
    How very handsome he was, his Celtic heritage showing in his high cheekbones, sharply angled jaw, and chiseled features.
    Who was Ian, the brigand? Scientist, abductor, or simply a sorcerer, conjuring up a spell, throwing up a handful of dust and having it return as diamonds?
    If she didn’t move, he was going to kiss her. If she didn’t say something now—something strict and proper—he was going to embrace her.
    When he reached for her, she didn’t step back, and when he lowered his head, she only closed her eyes and waited.
    He kissed her as if he’d never kissed anyone before, as if a kiss were something to be savored, a rarity. Tenderly, delicately, slowly, he explored the shape of her mouth with his.
    She was almost dizzy from it, enough to reach up with both hands and rub her palms against the soft fabric of his jacket, to feel the firmness of his muscles beneath the cloth, sensing the strength and the tension in his shoulders and neck.
    The door frame pressed against her bottom, but she wouldn’t have moved had someone shone a lantern on them. This shadowed and silent moment, near desperate with desire, was something she’d never forget.
    She swayed, a helpless sound escaping her.
    Kiss me more.
    He kissed her as if he’d heard her entreaty, as if he were starved for kisses and she was the only one he would ever kiss for as long as he lived. She hooked her hands around his neck as he gripped her waist.
    She could feel the heat of his palms as if her clothing were not a barrier.
    Abruptly, he pulled back, his mouth no longer on hers. His breathing was harsh, his eyes dark.
    He reached up slowly, giving her time to understand, and unlaced her hands from around his neck, allowing her to step down from her toes.
    “Do not presume upon my honor, Emma,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s not made of stone. I’d say it’s more like sand around you.”
    She lowered her head, closed her eyes, and willed her heart to cease its riotous race. What had she done?
    Kissed a man. Kissed a man in utter delight and desire. Instead of shame, she only felt wonder.
    She clasped her trembling hands together, taking a step back. Should she feel ashamed? She didn’t, and she wouldn’t.
    She glanced up. His look was so intent it seemed to vibrate between them.
    “From the moment I climbed into your window I’ve wanted to kiss you senseless,” he said. “I didn’t know that just being around you would render me the same.”
    “Senseless?”
    His lips quirked in a half smile. “Without a doubt,” he said.
    He bent, pressed his lips against her forehead, an avuncular gesture that managed to be tender, also.
    Turning at the door, he gave her one last look. Instead of speaking, however, he simply left her, closing the door behind him.
    S he thought about the kiss all night. She thought about it when she should have been sleeping. Instead, Emma paced from one side of Ian’s bedroom to the other, conscious of two things. She’d never before shared a kiss that left her so confused, and she wasn’t acting like a prisoner.
    The fact was, ever since she