Free How to Abduct a Highland Lord by Karen Hawkins Page B

us if we have the same thoughts about”—she gestured vaguely with one hand—“this.”
     
     What more did she want? If she was looking for some emotional promise, she was doomed to disappointment. He had no heart to give, and was glad for it.
     
     “Fiona, I think I’ve already proven my abilities to provide what I have promised. Haven’t I?” He grinned when her cheeks pinkened more. “You may rest assured that I will fulfill my part of the bargain. Then you can fulfill yours. Although,” he drawled, “had I known marriage would be so stimulating, I might have rethought my position on never marrying.”
     
     Her gaze was riveted on his face. “Really?”
     
     “Oh, yes. I would have done so several times, at least. Perhaps even once a month.”
     
     “That is not funny, Jack.”
     
     “I think it is.”
     
     She stirred restlessly, then sat up. “Goodness, I still have my boots on.”
     
     “So you do.” He sat up and slid a hand down her leg, pulling her foot into his lap. “Allow me.”
     
     “I can untie them.”
     
     “You already tried and made knots of them.” He deftly tugged on one knot, getting it undone fairly quickly, then tugged her foot from the boot. The warmth of the leather made him remember the feel of her boots upon his ass, an erotic moment he’d never forget.
     
     He dropped the boot over the edge of the bed and turned to the other, which soon joined its mate on the rug. “There.” He settled back onto his pillow, pulling her against him.
     
     She sighed, resting her cheek against his chest. “We always did well in bed.”
     
     “Yes, we did.” Somehow, over the years, he’d forgotten how well they’d matched. He slid his fingers over her cheek and buried his fingers in her hair.
     
     She lifted her face and met his gaze. “It was in other areas that we did not fare so well.”
     
     He paused, his fingers still in her curls. She was right. He had two very vivid memories of Fiona from long ago. One of her lying naked upon a blanket under a warm summer sun, her peach-hued skin flushed with passion, her hair curling wildly about her, a satisfied-woman smile on her lips. He’d been young and bursting with pride that he’d been her first and had still managed to give her that glow.
     
     The other memory was not so pleasant. He was standing in the rain, the world scented with lilac, as he read her words on an ink-smeared scrap of paper, thunder roaring in the distance.
     
     Jack refused to remember the pain that day had caused him, the weeks and months of desolation. He’d learned his lesson well, though; he’d never again allowed himself to believe in love or anything else he couldn’t see. Since then, life had been much simpler and far less painful.
     
     He regarded her through half-closed eyes, glad his heart was now Fiona-proofed. It was a good thing he hadn’t realized how her brothers had interfered in their relationship by letting slip Jack had a mistress. He had, of course. He couldn’t remember the woman’s name now, for there had been too many, but he’d had a mistress since he was seventeen. It was his right as a man of independence, something his parents would have regarded with disapprobation, which had made him all the more determined to enjoy it.
     
     He’d been mad to think of marrying Fiona, a fact that had dawned on him within days of her jolting rejection. Mad to think that passion alone was enough to carry them across the bridal bridge.
     
     Oh, but what a passion it had been. Every moment had been consumed with thoughts of her, of her hair, of her scent, of the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed.
     
     Thank God he’d eventually gotten over that madness. He would make certain those old feelings—so strong and out of control—remained naught but the fantasies of the wild youth he’d once been.
     
     Suddenly, he realized that the worst thing he could do was stay where he was, snuggled in bed with