Free Beyond the Highland Mist by Karen Marie Moning Page B

her nostrils. Scent of leather and man. Of power and sexual prowess. Of confidence and virility. Scent of everything she’d imagined in her dreams.
    “Ah, my heart, there is a price—” he murmured.
    “You have no heart,” she informed his chest.
    “True,” he agreed. “You’ve thieved it. And last night I stood before you in agony whilst you ripped it asunder—”
    “Oh give over—”
    “You have odd sayings, my heart—”
    “Your heart is a puny black walnut. Wizened. Shriveled.” She refused to look up at him.
    He laughed. “Lass, you will keep me amused long into my twilight years.”
    “Coffee,” she muttered.
    “The toll troll must be reckoned with.”
    “And just what does the toll troll wish?”
    “This morn, ’tis simple. Other days it may not be. Today your coffee will cost you only a wee kiss.”
    “You think to dole out the coffee to me in return for kisses?” she exclaimed, disbelieving. And in spite of herself she tilted her head back and met his gaze. Well, almost. Her eyes snagged and held about three inches below his eyes on his perfectly sculpted, beautifully colored lips. A man’s lips should not be so well formed and desirable. She forgot about coffee as she thought about tasting him, and her traitorous knees started to get all wobbly again.
    “Go ahead,” he encouraged.
    The bastard. He knew she wanted to kiss him.
    “I know you don’t want to, lass, but you must if you want your coffee.”
    “And if I don’t?”
    “You don’t get your coffee.” He shrugged. “Really, ’tis a wee price to pay.”
    “I don’t think this is quite what your mother had in mind.”
    He laughed, a dark, sensual purr, and she felt her nipples tighten. God in heaven, he was dangerous. “My mother is half responsible for me, so don’t offer her up for sainthood yet, my heart.”
    “Quit ‘my hearting’ me. I have a name.”
    “Aye, and ’tis Adrienne Douglas. My
wife.
Be glad I seek only a boon for a boon and don’t simply take what’s mine by right.”
    She grabbed his hand quick as lightning and deposited the requisite kiss on it, then flung it back down. “My coffee,” she demanded.
    The Hawk’s dark eyes simmered with impatient sensuality. “Obviously, lass, there is much I need to teach you about kissing.”
    “I know how to kiss!”
    “Oh? Perhaps you should demonstrate again, for if that was your idea of a kiss, I’ll have to demand a more generous boon.” He smiled at her, his lower lip curving invitingly.
    Adrienne closed her eyes to escape the sight of his perfect lips and realized the moment her lids fluttered shut that she’d made a serious tactical error. The Hawk cupped her face with his hands and backed her against the wall, trapping her with his powerful body. Adrienne’s eyes sprang open instantly. “I did
not
close my eyes so you would kiss me!” she exclaimed, but her denial lost its force when she met his gaze. His intense ebony eyes scrambled her wits, making her ache to accept the pleasure he offered, but she knew she must not. Adrienne tried to free herself from hisgrip, but his hands on her face were firm. “Hawk! I don’t think—”
    “Yes, you do, lass, and entirely too much,” he interrupted, his hooded gaze mocking. “So stop thinking for a moment, will you? Just feel.” He kissed her swiftly, taking erotic advantage of her lips, which were still parted in mid-protest. Adrienne pushed at his chest, but he paid no heed to her resistance.
    The Hawk buried his hands in her hair, tilting her head back to kiss her more deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth. His lips were demanding, his embrace possessive and strong, and when he leaned his hips against her body, he was insistently, undeniably male. He challenged her with his kiss, wordlessly demanding that she acknowledge the tension and heat that existed between them—a heat that was capable of incinerating a tender heart or welding two hearts into one. Desire shuddered through her so