Ravished by Redcoats (Highland Heat Book 1) by Chera Zade Page B

“And here I thought, when I was sent to Scotland, that I’d find nothing but barefoot, mule-headed peasant women of no fascination whatsoever. What a delight to see you struggling to keep your story straight. You’re doing a decent job of it, too. Admirable, really.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a small leather bound book. The book . I tried to disguise my immediate interest, but he must’ve seen it. “This is what you were looking for, isn’t it?”
    “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, crossing my arms over myself.
    “I never let it out of my sight.” He tossed the book casually onto his writing table, then closed the door behind him, latching it, locking us both inside. “But I suppose there are any number of other things in this room that a Jacobite spy might be interested in…”
    “I told you that I’m no spy,” I insisted, fists clenched at my sides.
    “Where is it that your family hails from, Mistress…?”
    I declined to fill in my surname. “Right here, near Cluny Castle.”
    Loyal to Clan MacPherson, I wanted to say, but did not. The chief of Clan MacPherson was in the employ of the British, his men part of a regiment. He was thought not only loyal to the English, but fiercely so. And yet I knew his son, my beloved Ewan, was raising funds and an army to restore Charles Stuart to the throne. And that my brothers were helping him do it.
    The question was, did the Major know it?
    “Major, I must now insist that you unlatch the door and leave me to my business about the tavern. It isn’t proper for us to be locked together alone in a bedroom and I should hate to see such a mark to your honor or mine.”
    The English were always very prickly about their honor. Not in the proud way of a Scotsman, but in a stilted, panicky way, as if they walked about wearing pristine white and were afraid to smudge it.
    But not Major Anderson.
    He merely chuckled. “Well, if you’d like the door open while I strip and search you I’m happy to oblige, but I thought you might prefer privacy.”
    With that, he crossed the room in two long strides and tugged a bit on the ribbon adorning my stomacher.  
    “Get your hands off me or I’ll scream!” I cried.
    “You won’t scream,” Major Anderson said, bringing his mouth so close to my ear that his breath warmed my neck. His breath smelled faintly but pleasantly of cloves and claret—not grog, like every other man in the tavern. He’d clearly brought with him his own stores. “If you scream, then I’ll be forced to arrest you and your father under suspicion of treason.”
    ~~~
    I didn’t scream.
    I didn’t move to stop him, either. Not when the Major’s dextrous fingers slipped beneath my clothes under the pretext of searching for whatever it is that I might have stolen from his room. I might say I stayed silent and still because I was terrified. I might even lie to myself and say it was because I hoped it would be over swiftly and being manhandled by a British officer would be a small price to pay for my freedom. But the truth is that I didn’t move to stop him because his twinkling blue eyes held me transfixed. And at the feel of his cool, proficient fingers upon my fevered skin, I became instantly aroused.  
    Perhaps it was because I was an innocent and the Major was not; he knew how to rouse a girl’s passion by patting her hips, squeezing her bottom, staring her in the eye all the while.  
    Or perhaps it was because I was a wanton.  
    Having come so close to carnal bliss with my love, then being denied all touch since, my body’s cravings simply overwhelmed me. To my great embarrassment, my nipples hardened the moment they were revealed. And a flush of heat spread down my neck, to my belly, between my legs, forcing from me a groan. “I’m going to undress you now,” said the Major.
    “It’s—it’s not necessary.”
    “Oh, but it is.”
    “No,” I said, gasping over my own sudden lusts. “You can’t. I’ve