Page 54 of A Highland Bride Forgotten
“Aye, ye can.”
“Me lady...thank ye,” said Layla, rushing to her and pulling her into a tight embrace, one that surprised her to the point of all the air rushing out of her lungs. River laughed softly, hugging Layla back, glad to see her happy. “I daenae ken how to thank ye enough.”
“Ye already did,” River assured her. “Please, just enjoy it, alright?”
Layla nodded in excitement as she stepped back and then proceeded to leave the room to chase after the children, who were playing excitedly all over the corridors. With a nod of his head, Archer dismissed the two servants, too, and suddenly, the two of them were alone in her sitting room.
And River couldn’t hold her words back if she tried.
“Will ye spend another night with me?”
The moment she had spoken, her cheeks heated to an unbearable degree, as if she were running a fever. Her mouth snapped shut suddenly, as she realized what she had just done, but Archer seemed amused rather than anything else.
“I...I cannae believe I said that,” she mumbled, so low that she doubted Archer heard her at all.
“Ye wish to spend another night with me?” Archer asked, raising a curious—and amused—eyebrow. “Truly?”
River’s heart was about to burst right out of her ribcage and fall between them on the floor. She stared into his dark eyes, taking in the glint of surprise and satisfaction, the embers of passion right behind them.
“If...if ye wish it too,” River managed to say though the mere act of speaking out loud seemed to pain her, her embarrassment too strong for her to escape its grip.
Archer gave a short, curt nod, unlike what River had come to expect from him. It was as if the old Archer was seeping through, as if she was seeing the same man she had married and not the one who assured her he was not like that anymore.
“Very well,” he said. “I can do that.”
At first, River hesitated. She didn’t know whether or not she should ruin this moment—or at least risk ruining it—by asking what was wrong, but she couldn’t help it. She had to know if something had suddenly changed between them.
“Is somethin’ the matter?” she asked. “Ye seem...different.”
“Nay,” Archer assured her. “Daenae fash.”
“But—”
Before she could speak another word, Archer was upon her, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her flush against him, the gesture sending a shiver down her spine.
And when he kissed her, all thoughts were erased from her mind.
19
Archer’s lips were like a flame against her own, the fire spreading to her own body. River was lost in the heat of it, in the need that Archer showed her with that one simple kiss, with the hands on her waist that gripped her as if he never wanted to let her go, with the soft sound he made against her mouth—one that she wanted to hear again and again, desperate to know he wanted this as much as she did.
One of his hands found her hair, his clever fingers tugging the strands free of their bonds. Her dark tresses fell over her shoulders just as he seemed to like it, his fingers threading through them like a comb through silk. River came alive in his hands; never before had her body been so responsive, so attuned to every single sense, every single change in it. Heat gathered low in her stomach, and this time, she knew what to expect.
Ever since that night they had spent together, she had been thinking about the pleasure Archer had given her more often than she would have liked, craving the same thing—the same sensations, the same closeness to him, the same intimacy. Andthough before he had seemed distant to her, now that they were kissing, now that he was holding her so close, it seemed that any distance between them had vanished.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about ye all the time,” Archer mumbled against her lips as he guided her toward the antechamber, where her bed stood. River stumbled backwards, neither of them willing to part even for a moment as they walked together towards the bed, Archer towering over her as he guided her there.
“Ye have?” she managed to say when they broke apart for breath.
“Of course,” said Archer, just as the back of River’s knees hit the edge of the mattress. She had hardly realized they had made it there, and now that she did, her stomach tied itself into knots. She didn’t know why she was feeling so nervous; she had already gone through this once, and it had been the most pleasurable experience of her life. But the nerves of her first time seemed to have eclipsed the nerves that came with the thought of Archer seeing her nude, of the worry that he might not like what he saw, of everything that now held her back.
And it was as if Archer could intuit it, as if he sensed something in the way she held herself—a stiffening of the shoulders, a slight twitch of the spine.
“Calm down,” he said, his fingers tracing the length of her back. “I’ll take care of ye.”
The worst part was that she believed him.
Ever so slowly, Archer rounded her like a shark and came to stand behind her. Those same fingers that had traced her back were now undoing the back of her dress, unlacing her petticoat, her corset, every garment tossed to the floor by her feet in a careless pile. When her breasts were exposed, Archer took a moment to lean closer and kiss her neck, his lips brushing ever so gently over her sensitive skin as his hands reached for her, fingers rolling over her nipples just to hear her gasp. Then, his hands cupped her breasts, squeezing the ample flesh until she was melting against him, all her defences gone.
