Free Seduced by the Highlander by Julianne MacLean Page A

pleasure her and punish her, both at the same time.
    “Maybe I’ll change my mind about that,” he said in a low voice of sensual allure. “Because if I made love to you, lass, you’d have no choice but to lift the curse, in order to save yourself.”
    She shot him a threatening glare. “Go ahead. I dare you to do it. But keep in mind, Lachlan MacDonald, there are always choices. Perhaps I’d let myself die, just to spite you. Then you’d be cursed forever.”
    A dark shadow of surprise passed over his features. “That’s insane.”
    She shrugged arrogantly. “Perhaps. But it’s not as if I have much to live for. I have no memories, and everyone I know is using me for their own purposes—whether it’s to lift a curse or get their hands on a fortune that may or may not belong to me.”
    She would never do it, of course. She wanted to live. She wanted that more than anything, or she wouldn’t be here.
    Finally, he rolled onto his back again, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, and groaned irritably. “You are mad,” he said. “Fine. If you must have your way, I will be a gentleman for the night, and take the floor.”
    He rose, fully nude, and reached for the folded woolen blanket that was draped over the brass footboard.
    Catherine couldn’t look at him. He was too attractive, too spellbinding. Instead, she turned her gaze to the fire, where the flames seemed to dance with delight as he moved across the room. When at last she heard the sound of the blanket unfolding and flapping outward to cover him, she carefully looked down.
    He was stretched out on his back on the braided rug at her feet.
    “Thank you.” She stood up and stepped over him. “Now close your eyes and don’t look.”
    “How you torture me so,” he said with frosty sarcasm, covering his eyes with a hand while she removed her skirts and bodice and hung everything on the chair. Wearing only her shift, she dashed across the floor on her tiptoes and scrambled into the bed. Quickly she turned down the lamp and drew the covers up to her ears.
    Everything was quiet in the room except for the sound of the fire snapping in the grate. She rolled over and faced the wall, and was very aware of Lachlan’s movements as he, too, rolled to face the other direction.
    *   *   *
     
    Contrary to whatever form of torture Lachlan expected to endure while sleeping naked in a room with Raonaid (he’d had visions of waking up with his wrists tied to the bedposts while she chanted some dark spell), he somehow managed to sleep for an hour or two. When he woke, it was nearly dawn and the rain was no longer beating against the window. The fire had gone out, and the only warmth came from a few red-hot embers, pulsing like quiet heartbeats in the ash.
    He rolled to face the bed. Raonaid, too, was curled up on her side, facing him. The sight of her lovely, curvaceous figure in the dim light was enough to affect the tempo of his heart. He felt yet another unwelcome surge of arousal in the pit of his stomach, which fanned the flames of his discontent, because he was sick of the torture. He was a man forced to live alone, without intimacy in any form, for if he ever made love to a woman, he would become a murderer.
    As a result, he’d had very few intimate encounters since the night of the curse in Kilmartin Glen. In the early months, a few generous young lassies had been willing to pleasure him with their hands and mouths, but even that had troubled him, and he had not enjoyed the experiences.
    He remembered pulling one eager lassie to her feet halfway through a session of oral frivolities, apologizing to her gruffly, then stalking off and concluding the matter with his own hand, outside in the bailey, alone in a dark corner behind a wagon stacked with empty whisky barrels. It had been a low moment.
    Now, he yearned not only for sexual release, but for any form of intimacy. It had been a long time since he’d been touched by a woman. There had been no