Page 62 of Steel & Surrender

Yet he was right. What did she think she was doing?

Greig pushed himself up and then gently pulled up her lèine, covering her bared breasts with a tenderness that made her throat ache.

She didn’t want tenderness now.

Damn him. She wanted passion, joy—an experience she could take with her to the grave. Something no one could ever rob her of.

But for Greig, the temporary madness that had come over him had ended, and now, sanity had returned.

His gaze shuttered, his jaw tightening, as he sat up and moved away from her.

He then started clearing up the things he’d roughly pushed aside when their kiss had caught flame. His movements were jerky and sharp.

“Greig,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so breathy, so desperate. “Are ye vexed?”

He stiffened, cutting her a veiled look. “Not with ye, lass,” he rasped, “but with myself. Ye have been good to me, have given me yer time and yer patience, yer friendship. And this is how I repay ye.”

“Ye make it sound as if I wasn’t willing.” Heat rolled over her. She had never wanted anything more and wished him to know it. “But I was.”

Greig stilled, his features hardening into a bullish expression she’d come to know well. “Perhaps … but one of us should have known better. I was the one who took liberties, not ye.”

As Greig had expected, going down the mountain was even harder than climbing it.

However, it wasn’t just his leg that was bothering him, but his conscience.

Ye bastard.

Brìghde traveled a few yards behind him, silent now.

He hadn’t meant to, but he’d offended her.

Not that he’d kissed her, had half undressed the lass and sucked on those delicious tits as if they belonged to him when they didn’t—but that he’d told her it was all a mistake.

The moment the words left his lips, he’d wanted to call them back, for he’d seen the hurt that flared in her grey eyes.

Now he berated himself.

What was he thinking? Had he confused gratitude and friendship with something else?

His need for her had caught him unawares.

Now, Brìghde would pay the price.

The climb had bound them together. The descent pulled them apart.

The memory of just how soft her lips had been, just how sweet her mouth had tasted, barreled into him then, and his gut clenched. And then, to his further ire, his rod stiffened at the memory of her breasts bared to him, with those plump pink nipples begging to be sucked.

He thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

Even now, his bollocks ached at the memory of how she’d moaned and sighed under him.

And when she had palmed him, his self-control had nearly snapped.

It had been a while since he had lain with anyone, a while since he’d lost himself in a woman’s softness and heat.

And Brìghde’s hand on his prick had made hunger clench low in his gut.

His body responded to her too well—and it only made his shame burn hotter.