“You donna know the half of it,” he bit out, and dipped his head to kiss her. Margot stubbornly turned her head, but Arran was not deterred—he lightly bit the swell of her breast above the bodice of her gown, and she gasped with pleasure. “Is this no’ what you want, then?” His breath was hot on her skin. “To show me just how much you missed your poor, dear husband, the damn fool you left behind?”

Her pulse soared with fear, with want. “I would prefer a gentler reunion,” she lied.

“Then you might have taken a gentler leave of me,” he snapped, and pressed his body against hers.

She could feel all of him—the hard plane of his abdomen and muscular legs, his enormous erection. Margot was losing herself in the sensation of his hands and mouth on her. She closed her eyes and tried to drag air into her lungs, alarmed by how badly she wanted him, however he would have her—in his bed, or on her knees. “Are you such an animal that you would force yourself on me?” she demanded, desperate to stop herself from giving in completely.

“Are you such a witch that you would have me stop?” he breathed into her neck before biting her ear as he pressed his erection against her.

His sensual assault was intoxicating and exhilarating, an explosion of light and color and scents that were dangerously arousing. “Yes. I want you to stop,” she hissed.

Arran abruptly hiked her skirt and slipped his hand between her legs. Margot was wet. He pressed his mouth against her cheek and whispered, “Liar.”

“You’re insufferable,” she breathed, turning her head to him now, her mouth only a breath from his. “A wild beast of a man, rutting on his wife because his pride has been wounded.”

“Aye, I am wild with anger, that I willna deny. But I know that no matter what else has gone between us, you’ve always wanted me. At times rather desperately, aye? Just as you do now.” He slipped his fingers into her body.

She couldn’t suppress a gasp of pure desire. “You have mistaken boredom for want,” she said breathlessly, and tried to kiss him, but Arran, still holding her hands above her head, jerked back, just out of her reach, removing his hand from between her legs.

He grinned at her expression of fury. “You’re a moment from seeing the back of my hand, so donna sweet-talk me, leannan.”

Oh, that word, that word! It had always dripped down her spine like warm honey, and he knew it, too, the bloody bounder. She couldn’t even say what it meant, precisely, but it was the endearment he had used with her in this very room. “Take your hands from me,” she said. “You’re filthy and you’re half-drunk.”