Highland Knight by Hannah Howell Page B

herself, to rid herself of all signs that could tell him how badly she wanted him. The ache twisting her insides would undoubtedly take a lot longer to quell. When long minutes passed and he said nothing, mutely preparing to leave the tent, she frowned at him.
    “Sulking, are ye?” she goaded him.
    “Nay,” he replied, looking at her. “I am trying to get out ere I forget that I should heed a lass’s nay and return to that bed.”
    She slowly sat up. The look in his dark eyes told her that remaining sprawled on her back was more invitation than she wished to give him at the moment. Seeing how he desired her was also more temptation than she had the will to resist right now. His plan to put some distance between them—quickly—was a very good one, but his arrogance demanded some response.
    “That nay would still be said.”
    “Would it? Oh, aye, I suspicion your mouth could still form the word, but the rest of ye would be loudly crying aye . Just as it was but moments ago.”
    “’Twas naught but the mindless response of a body to a skilled touch. A response ye got only because I was asleep.” She realized that goading him was not a particularlywise thing to do when he suddenly strode over, yanked her into his arms, and gave her a kiss that curled her toes.
    Cameron was breathing hard when he set her back on her feet. His only consolation was that she was, too. It had been foolish to let her goad him. He had just begun to get his lusts under control and now they were raging mindlessly again. Yet he did not want her passion to be born of no more than a skilled touch. He wanted it to be for him, the man, and for him alone. Vanity, he told himself. It was just vanity. That claim rang hollow, but he clung to it
    “Ye want me, lass,” he said as he buckled on his sword. “’Twill nay be long now ere ye decide that denying yourself the pleasure we can share isnae worth the ache ye are left with.”
    Avery took a deep breath to reply, but he was already leaving. There was a brief moment of amusing confusion as he tangled with young Donald, who was just arriving to help him dress. Once Cameron was gone, Avery let out a long, slow sigh of relief. The man could certainly heat up a tent.
    As Avery washed up and dressed in her old, muchmended gown, she tried to decide what her next step should be. She did not need Cameron arrogantly telling her that she wanted him, ached for him. It was a truth she had lived with since setting eyes on the rogue. She was also more than ready to surrender to that, to gamble that his desire was born of more than lust. As Elspeth had shown her, there were some men who needed to be given everything a woman had to give before any of those deeper, softer emotions were yanked free.
    She would probably be memorable, Avery mused, if she left Cameron with the worst case of unfed lust any man had ever suffered. Unfortunately, that was a memory that could easily be banished by a rousing night or two in the arms of a skilled courtesan. She needed to fill his mind and body with sweeter, more heated memories. If he still sent her away, she wanted him to be unable to forget how fierce their passion had been, how good she had felt in his arms, even how she smelled and tasted. She wanted him so soaked in the memory of her that no other woman could fully banish her from his mind. If he was going to ache after she was gone, it would not be for what he had never had, but for what he had lost and could find nowhere else.
    The only problem was in how to give Cameron what he wanted, yet not give him a complete victory. Seducing him for a change was one possibility. It would certainly shock and surprise Cameron if she became the aggressor instead of simply responding to, then retreating from, his advances. That alone made the plan an attractive one. It would also make it clear from the beginning that she was giving him what they both craved, willingly, freely; he was not taking or conquering anything. He would