Page 33 of Only a Highlander Will Do

Unbelievable ripples of feeling spread through every part of her body, intensifying that ache, shifting it to desire—desire that tore through her reserve and made her bold. She pressed against him, and the movement brought his fingers deeper inside. She shuddered and cried out—for what, she did not know. Something threatened out there on the edge of nothingness, something she wanted but didn’t know how to reach.

The thought had barely formed when satisfaction exploded within her, bringing with it wave after wave of pure, physical rapture. She arched against him, until the waves of sensation settled, calmed. His hand moved to gently stroke her thighs.

Weak and shaken by overwhelming sensations, she watched him. Light from the room spread across his hard body, bathing him in hues of yellow gold from the fire in the hearth. Her eyes riveted on his chest, which rose and fell with each ragged breath as though he, too, had experienced what he’d given to her.

And yet tension lay there in his muscles as well. She reached up to touch his chest. His skin was damp and hot beneath her touch. His muscles tightened reflexively as she trailed her fingers down, down, until she stopped a finger’s reach from his rampant arousal. Desire, so recently sated, pooled again, flooding her body with need.

“There is more if you are willing,” he said as his gaze followed her own.

His voice was low, ragged, and filled with as much unbridled hope as raw vulnerability. Something inside her responded, flared, opened to new possibilities. She cupped his cheek with her hand. He leaned into her touch, and a soft groan escaped his lips. A moment later he turned his lips into her hand and trailed kisses against her palm and down the length of her arm.

He pressed her against the bed and moved between her thighs. His arousal nudged provocatively against the centre of her womanhood. She gasped at the sensation and at the desire that flared so quickly inside her once more.

She reached up and pulled his head down to hers, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. His hands moved down her shoulders, trembling as they moved across her flesh, urgent with a passionate need.

She arched against him in response to his touch. Tension coiled his muscles. A satisfied possessiveness flared in his dark gaze as he moved lower and took the hard nub of her nipple deep into his mouth. He nipped and licked with deliberate slowness, playing with one nub and then the other until her body shook with need.

Her senses swirled and a heady intensity filled her. She wanted more. “Tormod—” was all she could say, unable to put into words what she felt deep in the centre of her being.

His mouth once again found hers, sweet, urgent, and tender. Not breaking the kiss, he lifted her hips, bringing his manhood to the centre of her being, poised for entrance, yet he held himself back.

“Fiona.” The word was a question and a plea.

A rush of tenderness merged with her own desire, and she knew he waited for her to show her consent. She arched against him, wanting to be absorbed into his hard body, to join with him in this most intimate of ways, to burn with the same passion that hitched his breath in his throat.

On a groan, he pushed into her.

Pain tore through her, hot and swift. Her cry was smothered by his kiss as he eased farther inside her, then paused, poised above her as though he were afraid to move forward or back.

Beads of sweat gleamed on his shoulders and chest. His hair fell across his brow, wild and untamed, yet he was no beast. He was only a man, mortal, exquisite, and joined with her.

She clamped her fingers around his arms, realising she did not want to let him go. The thought filled her with wonder as the pain faded and she became aware only of a deep, rigid fullness.

His palms cupped her buttocks and held her against him, almost as though refusing to allow her retreat. Yet he waited, his gaze on her, his breathing ragged.

“I . . .” She tried to convey what she felt deep inside. “I . . . want you.”

He released a low groan deep in his throat. He drew out, and plunged forward. A hot shiver rippled across her flesh. He moved with raw, blinding sensuality, driving deeper and deeper, building that frantic urgency within her again.

He rocked her back and forth with each driving thrust and she reached to meet him, giving back what he tried to give her. Then it happened. A jolt of sensation blossomed, then ruptured, spilling over in wave after wave of pleasure. She tightened her legs around his hips and arched up. He thrust against her, accepting what she offered until a deep, body-wrenching shudder moved through him as his own pleasure peaked, then soared.

Silence settled over the room as he collapsed onto the bed beside her. His head rested against her shoulder while his hand continued to caress her abdomen, her ribs, her chest. “Sleep now,” he murmured against her ear. His breath was warm, soothing.

“Will they not miss us at supper?”

“If we do not appear, no one will think anything of it.”

Fiona sighed, utterly content. Gradually, her breathing slowed, and she could feel the tension ease from her body. Lush with the unfamiliar sensation of satisfaction, she drifted, allowing her mind to wander. In Tormod’s arms, time and memory had no meaning. All that mattered was the fullness, the completion they’d just shared.

He looped his forearm about her waist, pulling her tight against his warm, solid body. What she wouldn’t give to stay in his arms even though she knew that was impossible. She’d made the decision to leave him tonight because of what the MacDonalds threatened to do to her home and her people. But now, she also would leave in order to protect Tormod from both herself and the MacDonalds. If she wanted him to live, wanted his clan to thrive, her departure would ensure those things.

When Fiona drifted back from slumber a short time later, it was to see the shadows of night had seeped into the room. She and Tormod were still curled together, though their positions had shifted somewhat. Now her head was nestled in the curve of his shoulder, and her leg was carelessly thrown over his.

She raised her head slowly, tentatively. He did not stir except to release a deep untroubled breath. How different he looked when he slept. Gone was the stern set of his jaw and the lines of worry about his eyes. The moment he discovered she was gone, those lines would return, but eventually he would see that what she did was for the betterment of them all.

Moving quietly so as not to disturb him, she slipped from the bed and crept on her toes to where her chemise lay on the floor. She pulled it over her head. She then repaired the damage to her plait before finding her dress and sliding into it. She’d been her own maid for so long that retying the bodice was no difficult task. Once she found her stockings and shoes, she quietly opened the door and slipped outside.

Her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking as she hurried through the hallway and down the staircase that led to the Fairy Tower. She forced all thoughts from her mind. If she allowed herself to think, then she would never be able to leave and it would cost her everything.