Tasting the Fire

The kiss began as an assertion of raw authority, but within seconds, it detonated into an uncontrollable conflagration of suppressed desire.

Nikolai’s lips were firm, hot, and tasted of rich port wine and wild mountain peat. When Evangeline let out a soft, startled gasp against his mouth, his arm swept around her waist, lifting her upward and pulling her slender body flush against his rock-hard chest and thighs. His tongue swept inside her parted lips with ruthless possession, tasting her, claiming her, devouring her defiance with a primal hunger that sent a concussive shockwave of heat pooling between her thighs.

Evangeline’s hands came up to push against his shoulders, intending to shove the arrogant warlord away. But the moment her palms flattened against the solid, sculpted muscle beneath his charcoal shirt, her fingers traitorously bunched into the fabric instead. A dizzying wave of sensory overload swept over her—the intoxicating scent of sea salt and cedar, the overwhelming heat of his skin, and the terrifying realization that she had craved this dangerous, forbidden contact from the very second he had cornered her in the archives vault.

Nikolai groaned deep in his chest—a dark, guttural sound of pure male satisfaction. His large hand moved from her waist down to the curve of her hip, lifting her higher until she was seated upon the edge of the heavy oak writing desk, her emerald wool gown parting slightly around her knees.

He broke the kiss for a ragged breath, his forehead resting against hers, his slate-gray eyes blazing with a feral, possessive fire. "You taste like sweet heather and wild summer fire, Evangeline," he growled softly, his voice thick with unmasked lust. "Do you have any idea how long I watched you in Edinburgh before I took you?"

Evangeline’s chest heaved, her lips swollen, her golden-amber eyes wide with shock and burning desire. "You... you were watching me?"

"Three weeks," Nikolai murmured, his lips tracing a burning line down the side of her neck, kissing the sensitive hollow beneath her ear where her pulse hammered wildly. "Every morning when you walked along Princes Street in the rain. Every evening when you lit that brass lamp in the vault. Watching your spine straighten when those pompous university fools spoke down to you. I knew then that no other woman would ever share this bed."

"You are arrogant... ruthless... and mad," Evangeline whispered, shuddering as his hand slid up her thigh, pushing the wool fabric aside to find the smooth, bare skin above her stockings. His calloused fingers were rough and scorching, contrasting deliciously against her soft flesh, making her arch her back into his touch with an involuntary whimper.

"Perhaps," Nikolai replied, his mouth claiming the exposed curve of her throat, nipping gently at her skin before soothing the bite with his hot tongue. "But you are not pushing me away, mo chridhe."

He was right, and the truth scorched her pride even as her body surrendered to his touch. She had spent six long, lonely years living as a ghost in the shadows of Edinburgh, enduring the pity and contempt of society, locking away her passions behind stone walls of grief and duty. But in the arms of this savage Scottish king, surrounded by crashing waves and howling storms, she felt violently, brilliantly alive.

Nikolai reached down, untying the velvet ribbon at the collar of her emerald gown. With slow, reverent deliberateness, he pulled the heavy fabric down over her shoulders, revealing her pale lace chemise and the soft, rounded swell of her breasts rising and falling in breathless anticipation.

His breath caught as his gaze swept over her. "Stunning," he breathed, his voice reverent. "Like a Celtic goddess rising from the sea mist."

He reached out, his thumb tracing the lace edge of her chemise, brushing over the taut, aching crest of her nipple through the thin fabric. A sharp gasp tore from Evangeline’s throat, her hips shifting reflexively forward against his hard groin. She felt the heavy, rigid length of his erection pressing against her thigh through the denim of his trousers—a terrifying, exhilarating testament to the unyielding power of his desire.

"Nikolai..." she pleaded softly, not even knowing what she was asking for.

"Look at me, Eva," he commanded in a low, gravelly rasp, his hands gripping her thighs and parting them wider, stepping between them until his hips were wedged tightly against her center. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me."

Evangeline looked up into the fierce, battle-scarred face of the man who held her captive. In his slate-gray eyes, she saw no mockery, no cruelty—only an unvarnished, all-consuming devotion that demanded her soul in exchange for his own.

"I want the truth, Nikolai," she whispered, her hands rising to tangle in his thick, dark hair, pulling him down toward her. "And tonight... I want you."

Nikolai smiled a dark, triumphant smile, and his lips crushed hers once more, stripping away the last remnants of her hesitation in a tempest of carnal fire.

The heat between them in the tower chamber was suffocating, burning hotter than the peat embers crackling in the hearth. Evangeline’s breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as Nikolai’s mouth explored the tender hollow of her throat, his teeth grazing the skin before his hot tongue soothed the mark with agonizing pleasure.

"You speak of vengeance as if it were a clean, sterile affair, Evangeline," Nikolai growled against her skin, his hands moving with possessive authority over her curves. "It is not. Vengeance is bloody, primal, and unforgiving. It requires you to tear away every civilized pretense until only raw hunger remains."

"And is this part of your vengeance, Lord MacKenna?" she asked, her voice trembling between defiance and burning surrender as her fingers dug into the sculpted muscle of his shoulders. "Taking the daughter of the man who failed your sister?"

Nikolai lifted his head, his slate-gray eyes locking onto hers with a ferocity that made her soul shudder. "Do not mistake my desire for you as retribution, Eva. This has nothing to do with your father or the past. This is between you and me. The moment I laid eyes on you beneath the streetlights of Edinburgh, I wanted you. I wanted your fierce, untamed spirit. I wanted your breath in my lungs. And I wanted your body beneath mine."

His words stripped away the last fragments of her emotional armor. No man had ever spoken to her with such raw, unvarnished honesty. In polite Edinburgh society, men spoke of dowries, social connections, and restrained etiquette while hiding their cruelty behind polite smiles. Nikolai MacKenna offered no false courtesy, no hollow vows—only the naked, dangerous truth of an apex predator claiming his mate.

"Then take what you came for, Nikolai," Evangeline whispered, her amber eyes burning with equal fire. "Because I will not bow to you, but I will meet you in the flames."

A savage, triumphant sound rumbled from Nikolai's chest. He bent his head, crushing his lips against hers with an explosive, all-consuming passion that banished every doubt, every fear, and every shred of hesitation from her mind.

Outside the fortress walls, the wind screamed against the jagged crags of Morven, but inside the circular bedchamber, the roaring peat fire illuminated their joined silhouettes in shades of gold and amber. Evangeline’s fingers tangled into the thick strands of Nikolai’s hair, her breathless moans mingling with his low, possessive growls. In the arms of the Highland warlord, she surrendered to a wild, intoxicating darkness that felt more like freedom than any sanctuary she had ever known.