Free Her Highland Defender by Samantha Holt Page B

burning sensation settled in her throat. Foolish lass. She was likely running to Fraser again. Why did her sister refuse to listen to her? What had she ever done to be so disliked?
    “Is all well?”
    His deep tones licked through her, like fire racing across a thatched roof. She turned in Blane’s direction. With the sun behind her, she was able to make out the dark, slightly long hair, his wide shoulders and the line of his mouth. Her mind filled in the rest for her. She’d touched every part of him so intimately that she knew his features by heart.
    “Aye.” Ceana tried not to sigh.
    Blane took the sheet from her, folded it and placed it down. “Do ye want me to go after her?”
    She shook her head. “I’ll no’ drag her back again. ‘Twill only make her hate me more.”
    “I dinnae think she hates ye.”
    “She does.”
    “Why try to protect ye then? She’s quite fierce when it comes to her big sister.”
    “Pray tell me she hasnae said something to ye?”
    He chuckled. “Nay, but the cold looks and stares are enough.” A warm arm came about her shoulders. “Dinnae worry about her. She’s no’ daft. She’s just trying to find her place in the world.”
    Ceana peered up at him. “Ye speak as though ye know from experience. Do ye have sisters?”
    In their time together, Blane had spoken little on his family, save that he had no wife or children awaiting him. She hadn’t asked for fear of finding herself falling further into his thrall. It was easier to think of him as a nomad warrior than a warm, caring man with a family who might be missing him.
    “Nay.” His voice was slightly hollow.
    The temptation to ask more, to let herself fall a little deeper into his world burned bright, but the stiffening of his body beside her warned her not to follow that treacherous path. Blane Ross was a man with secrets and who knew what she could unlock if she delved deeper.
    “I’d better finish these,” she murmured, unwilling to draw herself from the warm protection of his arm.
    “Aye, but first...”
    Blane turned her in his hold. A rough fingertip came to her chin. It traced along the ridge of her jaw, to her ear and back again. She drew in a shaky breath and peered up at him. Ceana had no way of being certain but the thick, swirling sensation in her belly told her his gaze was upon her, deep and intense. If she could see his eyes clearly, would she understand this man better?
    Either way, that imprint of sensation from that finger lingered on her skin so strong that it left her unable to deny the effect he had upon her. This was growing more powerful than a mere need for the touch of a man. This was eating into her very soul. When he left, she suspected he’d leave behind a tiny wound. A wound that would likely scar forever.
    It mattered not, however. For she had lived with scars for a lifetime. Those small, insignificant ones that reminded her of her inability to live fully. Those tiny knocks and scrapes she received every day that told her of her limitations. But with Blane those boundaries vanished. He made her feel more alive and free than anyone had ever managed. Even her husband.
    The thought frightened her for a moment. Danny had been good and kind and sympathetic. But she didn’t want sympathy. Blane didn’t treat her as someone to be pitied. He treated her like a flesh and blood woman with real needs.
    An icy trail of fear trickled through her. These thoughts were dangerous. She shouldn’t be comparing him to her husband.
    The finger trailing across her lips soon vanquished the fear, replacing it with simmering tension that coiled in and around her, like a tangled web. It confused and drew her in, aye, but it also cocooned and protected her. Ceana parted her lips when the roughened tip touched the crease of her mouth.
    On instinct, she darted her tongue out and tasted the salty tip of his finger. A rumbling groan reached her ears and the web tightened, leaving her trembling with anticipation.