Page 32 of Only a Highlander Will Do

His tongue moved against the seam of her lips. She opened to him and he delved within. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she gave in to the overpowering assault.

She skimmed her hands up his chest. His heart thundered beneath her palm, contradicting the slow intoxication of his kiss.

He made a sound, low and deep—a groan or laughter, she could not be certain—as his lips worked their way down her throat. His mouth against her flesh touched a note inside her, resonating, filling her with vibrations of heat and pleasure. He pulled back to loop a tendril of hair that had pulled free from her plait about his finger.

He worked the strands of her hair with his thumb and fingers, caressing the fibres with the same gentleness he’d lavished on her skin. “Your hair is beautiful.” His fingers moved higher and higher until he caressed the nape of her neck.

Madness. Passionate madness. Her body pulsed, then ached where his touch met her skin. His lips found her neck, trailing kisses along the length down to her shoulder, and lower to the rise of her breasts.

She arched her neck, allowing her head to fall back ever so slightly at the riotous sensations he brought forth. Near him, in his arms, she felt wantonly bared, yet free, as if nothing but sensation stood between them. No unspoken words, no deception. Just one exquisite sensation chased by another, pooling deep inside her core as if preparing for something more.

And she knew what that something more would be. He’d said it himself. She was his wife. The reality of her situation seemed suddenly clear and the turmoil of doubts inside her shifted to a trembling, aching need.

“Nothing else has to exist for us right now except each other. A man and a woman in need of each other’s touch.” He reached behind her and released the ties that pulled her gown tight against her chest. She drew a startled breath as he then slipped the garment up over her head, leaving her dressed in the sheer fabric of her shift that skimmed against her skin with the lightness of a lover’s caress.

Tormod took a step back, but only far enough to draw his linen shirt off and toss it to the floor. She stared at him in helpless fascination. The dark hair thatching his chest looked soft and springy, and she felt a tingling in her hands. She wanted to touch him, to run her fingers through the downy softness she was certain she would find there, to explore the powerful muscles cording his chest and shoulders.

“I am yours and you are mine, Fiona. Let nothing else enter your thoughts. Just allow yourself to feel.” He removed his boots, his stockings, then his breeches, tossing them atop his shirt and her dress.

She forgot everything as her gaze travelled down his chest to the tightness of his muscular abdomen, then down . . .

He stood naked before her, with his legs apart, blatantly aroused, the very essence of bold masculinity. She could not pull her gaze away, nor could she fill her lungs with air.

“What do you feel when you look at me?” he asked, his voice filled with as much vulnerability as confidence.

“Things I’ve never felt before.” She was hot and dizzy and confused and excited.

“Come to me.”

Only one step separated them. She would not have to go far and still she hesitated. There would be no turning back if she took that one step.

He took her right hand and raised it to his lips. He kissed her palm, his gaze never leaving hers. “I need you.”

And she needed him and the memory of this time together to help her get through what would be dark days ahead. She took a step forward. His arms came about her. Then the shift covering her body was gone, tossed aside along with their garments. Her nipples brushed the hair on his chest. She gasped at the sensation. His hands moved to her shoulders, her arms, her back, kneading her with a yearning tenderness, and an unbearable tension gripped her body.

He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the bed. He followed her down until he half-lay, half-knelt beside her. Before she had a chance to feel frightened, his lips found hers. Mind-numbing sensations flowed through her, making her long for things she did not yet understand.

His hands caressed her leg, her thigh, her midriff, and she lay open and exposed as she never had before. In his arms, she did not feel vulnerable. Instead she felt free. Did he feel that way too? Would he find freedom from his responsibilities as a MacLeod and as a warrior? With her in his arms, there was no war, no revenge. Just sensation and a drive for something just out of reach.

Late afternoon air rushed against her flesh, cooling her only briefly before the warmth of his hands covered her, warmed her, pulled her towards something more. She watched his face, watched the tensions ease from the corners of his eyes, even as yet another type of tautness took its place.

She brought her fingers to his chest, coiling them in the hair she’d ached to touch before. Her tentative exploration was met with a quick intake of breath, followed by a sound of pure pleasure. A groan, a sigh, a curse, a prayer, she could not tell precisely which.

His reaction spurred her to trace the outline of his hair down across his smooth abdomen, down farther as the edges narrowed to where the hairline dipped closer to his manhood.

“You may touch me where you like, Fiona.”

Could she be so bold?

“Between us, like this, there are no rules but pleasure. There is nothing to fear.”

She drew her fingers back, hesitant.

He gave her a wicked smile. “Let me show you.”

His hands skimmed across her waist, her abdomen. Where he touched, her body trembled, responding to him in a way she never imagined she could. He gave her no time for embarrassment. Nay, as his hands stroked her she could feel all reserve melt away, igniting a strange burning sensation between her thighs. As though reading her thoughts, his hand slid down her abdomen to the thatch of curls surrounding her womanhood. His fingers caressed, stroked, rubbing back and forth at the very entrance of her body.

She closed her eyes, arching up against his hand, wanting more, craving more, and yet she knew not what she searched for. Sensation after bewildering sensation tore through her as his fingers slipped inside the soft folds of her flesh. His fingers delved deeper, his palm continuing his rhythmic caress.