The Virgin of Clan Sinclair by Karen Ranney

black.
    He touched her face, so suddenly that she jerked, startled. He didn’t withdraw his hand, though. Nor did he stop looking at her in just that way, as if he would steal her soul if he gazed hard enough.
    What was her soul worth?
    Not the amount he’d offered. Not ten times that amount.
    “No,” she said, the answer coming without conscious thought. Perhaps she was being obstinate. Or maybe she simply couldn’t be purchased that easily.
    “No?”
    His eyebrows lowered as he stared at her. His gaze seemed to light on each feature as if he were comparing her to the beauties he knew and finding her lacking in so many ways.
    “It’s my book. My effort. My hours of thinking and worrying. Did I tell that right? Did I say it correctly? Will a reader understand?”
    “Oh, I think you wrote it perfectly,” he said, dropping his hand.
    “You do?” Should she be so pleased at his comment?
    “That’s just the problem, you see. It doesn’t read like a book. It reads like a journal. As if you’ve experienced all those things in reality.”
    She couldn’t breathe.
    “As if you and I had done all those things together.”
    A spear of heat traveled to the core of her.
    “As if that episode on the desk happened in my library at Huntly. Or when Lady Pamela unveiled herself. That could have occurred in my bedchamber.”
    Her face was going to catch fire. Her lips felt singed.
    “And the part about the attic? We have an attic just like that at Huntly. It’s like you visited it, saw the small windows, pulled out that table from storage and dusted it with the back of your dress.”
    Donald had mounted Lady Pamela on that table in defiance of all propriety and reason. They might have been interrupted by a maid at any time.
    She cleared her throat. “It’s a work of fiction,” she said. She could barely speak.
    Was this part of his offensive? Torment her until she agreed?
    “You really should leave,” she said, her voice sounding husky.
    “Perhaps I should.”
    She nodded.
    “Otherwise, I might do something inexcusable.”
    What was wrong with her? Her pulse shouldn’t be racing. Her breath shouldn’t be tight. She should move away, away now, before he came closer, bending his head, and then she felt his lips pressing against her temple.
    She closed her eyes, feeling his breath on her ear.
    “Such as toss you onto that settee,” he whispered, “to see how much of your book is real and how much imagination.”
    She shivered.
    “Are you Lady Pamela?”
    In her heart of hearts she was, but only partially. She dreamed, she envisioned, she imagined, but only as far as her knowledge could take her.
    Was she to be punished for her curiosity? For wanting to know, for being impatient to know if the coupling between a man and woman was as wondrous as it seemed to be? The books she’d read had informed her about the physical act, but what about the emotions?
    Virginia looked at Macrath and her eyes sparkled. Hannah smiled at her husband and her cheeks bloomed with color. Logan and Mairi were nearly combustible in the same room. Even she, a virgin, could feel the heat between them.
    Was it so terrible to want to know?
    His lips left her skin and she immediately felt cold.
    Would he say something cutting now? He’d tried everything else, bribery and cajoling.
    Then his lips were on hers. They were full, pillowy soft, urging her to forget her resistance and her will. She hadn’t expected that softness. He wrapped his arms around her and she had no recourse but to allow him to do so.
    She raised her head even farther, her mouth dropping open to welcome him. Fire raced through her at the touch of his tongue.
    Take me. Take me on the settee, on the floor, standing up next to the fireplace, in front of the mirror.
    Unbutton my dress and worship me with your hands, your lips, your mouth. Praise my breasts, trail your fingers through the hair guarding my womanhood. Enjoy me and let me do the same.
    She wanted to be naked, or at