The Taming of a Highlander (Midnight in Scotland, #2)

by Elisa Braden

She’d hoped—foolishly, it seemed—that he would take her work seriously. Instead, she suspected he was laughing. If only she were writing a comedy.

To Kate, love was indistinguishable from a consuming parasite of the mind.

Her head tilted. “Broderick MacPherson,” she breathed. “Tell me I’m nae seein’ what I’m seein’.” “Can ye bluidy well answer the question, Annie? I didnae come here for—” “Ye’re jealous.” He snorted. “Rubbish.” “Aye. Possessive, too.” She chuckled and shook her head. “It’s like watchin’ a unicorn dance a reel with an elephant durin’ an eclipse, and I would have wagered every copper pot in my kitchen that it was impossible, but … there it is, plain as boiled tatties.”

“In the Bridewell, the only safe place was the Dark Cell. No window. No light. I came to crave it, would have the gaolers toss me in there as often as possible.” He stroked her hair, knuckling the curls near her damp cheek. “That’s where I live. In the black. But every now and then, my wee, bonnie wife smiles, and a bit of light comes for a visit. Then, she laughs, and that light dances.” He quirked a smile of his own. “Ye’re a flame in my darkness.

But if there’s breath in my body, I’ll always find ye. No matter where ye are or how dark it seems.”

“No chance of clear thinkin’ with you. I cannae recall my own sodding name until ye scream it for me.”

“But I’ll always love you more,” she despaired, cradling his beloved face and tracing the scars along his brow and mouth. “You own my heart, Broderick. I’ll never have yours.” “My heart? Christ, woman, dinnae ye realize yet?” “Realize what?” With a single thrust, he forged inside, driving a pleasured gasp from her throat. “’Tis you, Kate Huxley MacPherson. I didnae have a heart before ye wandered into the dark and decided ye belonged here.” He began thrusting rhythmically, forcefully. “Do I love ye? Aye.” More thrusts. His hand tangled in her hair. He lowered his head and breathed deep. “I love ye. But that’s a weak fucking word for what I feel, Kate.”