The Highlander's Time

gotten into me. To talk to you like that, and in front of your clansmen, was unforgivable.”
    Her body froze as he slid the bolt home. Her pulse blasted in her ears while he removed his cloak and placed it on the peg next to hers. There was something intimate about seeing the two garments side by side. Intimidating, too. His was huge. Hers, not so much. “Iaen, I can't tell you how sorry I am. Please, forgive me.” She stood when he kept moving closer. “I'll do anything to make it up to you.”
    He strode forward, his frown deepening into a scowl. “Are you afraid of me, wife ?”
    Damn straight she was. She shook her head. “Maybe a little.” Okay, that was terribly definitive. Step for step, he tracked her around the table. “No,” she squealed as he caught her.
    “Do you expect me to beat you, wife ?”
    Jerked against him, her hands plastered to his tunic-covered chest, the rock hard muscles beneath her palms had her shivering with fear. The forearm holding her firmly to his frame didn't leave a doubt that Iaen did what he wanted to, when he wanted to do it.
    “'Tis a simple aye or nay question.”
    “I know it is.” What do you expect me to say? Sure, go ahead and hit me if it makes you feel better . Plucking up her courage, she blurted out the first thing that sprang to the tip of her tongue. “I think beating a woman is deplorable.”
    The exasperated rush of air wafting across her hair warned her to keep her wits about her. “I hate the idea,” she corrected in the right language.
    “Good.”
    “Huh?”
    “I donnae wish to repeat myself.”
    “Okay.”
    His gaze drilled into the top of her head. “You may speak your mind to me, though I prefer it be behind the closed door of our chamber.”
    “Really?” She couldn't have heard him right.
    “Aye.”
    It reminded her of the relationship her parents had. They weren't perfect. Nope. They had arguments, but when they did, they didn't throw verbal barbs at each other around her. Instead, they'd go to their bedroom, shut the door and get it out in the open where they could deal with it. A few times, she heard the shouting, a few curses or a threat of separation, but it was all bluster. Normally, supper, or if the disagreement happened late at night, breakfast the next morning was a chilly affair, but by the time her dad got home from work, all was practically fine. “How is your arm?”
    “Would you clean the wound for me?”
    A shadow of a smile slipped across her lips. He dipped his head to nibble on her ear lobe. Delicious tingles traveled up her arms and her nipples hardened to tight buds. “Are you giving me busy work, milord?”
    “That I am, milady.” He stroked his hand up her back to twine his fingers in her hair. The other went south to cup her ass through the layers of clothing. The firm grip, massaged her tender flesh, and pulled her against his erection nestled into her belly. A soft gasp rushed from her lungs.
    A quiver of desire strolled up her inner thighs to mingle in her core. “Yes,” she whispered when he picked her up and set her on the tabletop. They weren't even naked yet but her brain was already spinning in a sensual haze. Tugging on his long hair, she steered his mouth to hers. Initiating the kiss, emboldened by him, she slanted her lips on his.
    He growled when she didn't deepen the kiss. Her brief stint at being in the lead ended in the sweep of his tongue across her lips and his gentle grip on breast. The truth was she liked how they came to an unspoken compromise with sex. When she fell short, he took over. When he was uncertain if she was game, such as last night when she'd initiated a different position, he accepted the change with gusto. An addictive gusto she wanted to foster.
    Surprisingly, she like her men open minded.
    Curling her arms around his shoulders, their tongues mating, she squirmed against him. Her body desperate for his. The table was hard against her back, but she didn't care. All that mattered was the man doing amazing things to her body. She quivered when he bunched her skirt around her hips, his hand smoothing over her naked thighs to where her panties covered her heat.
    His fingers stilled.
    She gazed at him, her blush returning. “Sorry, I can't get used to drawers.”
    Other than the baggy wool long-john-esque underwear being about as sexy as a parent lecturing a teenager on the birds and the bees, she had a real problem with the knowledge they were hand-me-downs. There was just