Anything.
Aye, she was wanton... and wicked, but she didn’t care.
Her heart felt near to bursting with joy over his avowal.
He wanted her.
It didn’t matter that it was merely for the moment, she wanted him too—and thought she’d die if she couldn’t take a piece of him with her. A single bittersweet moment would suffice to bring a wistful tear to her eye when she was old and gray and had nothing left to sustain her but memories.
When his thumb caressed the underside of her breast, and then his hand dared to cup her so gently, she clasped trembling fingers over his and turned her face up to meet his gaze.
His eyes were like molten gold, glittering with promise, seducing her with the hunger so apparent behind them.
She willed him to know... willed him to see her own desire... willed him to hold her... kiss her.
His voice was hoarse when he spoke again. “Tell me now... if ye wish me to stop, lass.”
Page’s throat closed, the words wouldn’t come, but she managed to shake her head, hoping he would comprehend her silent plea.
He kissed her throat then, nibbled it gently, lapped it hungrily, and she knew he’d understood.
“Och, lass,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, “are ye sure?” His hand slid up to cup her breast, squeezing gently, as though to make clear his intentions.
For answer, Page followed his hand, willing him to continue, reveling in the way that his fingers cherished her body, wringing delightful quivers from her. She pressed his hand to her breast in blatant invitation, and watched the expression upon his face.
Like a man tormented, he closed his eyes and groaned deep in his throat, lifting his face to the blue sky as he kneaded the tender flesh cradled within his palm. Page watched the knob in his throat bob, mesmerized by the intensity of the expression upon his face, the taut lines of his jaw. Jesu, but it was as though he had lived all his life for this moment, and she... she had never in all her days known such joy in simply being.
And then his gaze lowered, and he bent his head once more. His lips covered her mouth, and Page thought she would die with the pleasure it brought her. Her body melted, convulsed in the most private of places. He might have done anything at all to her in that instant, and she’d have welcomed it joyfully.
He wanted her truly.
She could spy it upon his face.
Could feel it in the way he touched her.
And she wanted him.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and then slid within her mouth to taste her. Page moaned with pleasure. And when he groaned with his own satisfaction, Page thought her heart would shatter and her body would ignite to flame.
He tore his lips away abruptly, and it wasn’t until then, in that instant, Page realized the horse had stopped—or even that they were mounted still.
Somehow, when he kissed her, all the world ceased to exist. He made her feel as though there were only her. He filled her heart.
Made her soul unafraid to yearn.
When he dismounted before her, she knew what he intended, and when he lifted his arms out to her, Page slid into them without taking the time to consider the consequences, her heart hammering fiercely. God’s truth, but she didn’t want to consider anything at all. She wanted only to feel.
Carrying her far enough that she would be safe from being trampled, but no farther than he had to, Iain laid her down upon a bed of yellow crocuses, taking immense pleasure in the desire so evident in her gaze, in the haze of her eyes.
Some part of him cautioned him to stop, now before it was truly too late—that she couldn’t possibly understand what it was he was about to do to her. All the things he wanted to do to her. But God help him, he wanted this too much, was no longer rational.
For the longest instant, Iain merely stared into her eyes, not daring even to blink, fearful of closing his eyes and opening them only to find that her desire was no more than some cruel invention of his fevered imagination.
Could she possibly understand? Could she know what it was she was asking for with that love-me-now gaze?
She couldn’t possibly, he decided, though he couldn’t seem to muster himself to give a bloody damn. He fell to his knees beside her, and bent over her, entrapping her between his arms, and then he lowered his head to kiss her, anticipating the sweet, welcoming taste of her mouth upon his lips. “Sweet,” he murmured against her mouth. “So beautiful.”
“Nay,” she murmured with a sigh, closing her eyes.
“Aye, lass,” he asserted. “Ye are.” And he deepened the kiss.
With all her heart, Page welcomed the gentle invasion of her mouth, delighting in the way he seemed to savor her with every liquid stroke of his tongue .. . the way his mouth seemed to revere her own. Never in her life had she felt so cherished.
Never in her life had she loved someone more.
But this was not love, she reminded herself.
To expect love would bring her only heartache. Nay... this was something else entirely... and if she didn’t want for something more... something she could never have, then she’d not be crushed by sorrow when it never came.
Aye, this was something else, not love.
This was a possession of her body, sweet and wicked.
Nothing more.
That’s what she told herself. And she wanted it more desperately than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
Iain was a man consumed.
It was his greatest desire to pleasure her.
Aye, but he wanted even more than that to make her stay. He withdrew and gazed down into her passion-flushed face. He wanted her to look at him just so always... to bask in his kisses like a blossom opening to the heat of the sun. But then he knew the way to bind her to him was not to make love to her. He’d attempted that with Mairi, and while in the dark of the night she’d relented to his skillful persuasion, in the morning light she’d despised him for it, too.
And then she’d borne him a child, and he’d lost her forever.
He’d be damned if he’d travel that road again.
Before Mairi, there had been lasses aplenty. Since her, there had been nary a one.
Because he couldn’t forget.
This loving would be for her, he decided.
For sweet, lovely Page.
For himself he would claim only the pleasure of seeing the passion played out upon her face.
Nothing more.
That’s what he commanded himself.
When he reached out and lifted her arm, placing tiny, delicate kisses along the sensitive inner flesh, Page shuddered and squeezed her eyes closed, abandoning herself wholly to his will. Arriving at her hand, he kissed her palm, lapped it with his tongue, suckled her fingers, and nibbled the heel of her palm, until Page shuddered with rapture, and then he guided that hand above her head, moving to the other and doing the same. With one hand he held both her wrists, pinioning her arms above her head as he shifted over her, his body shielding her from the sun, bathing her in cool shadows.
But she was far from cool. She was hot. Burning hot, her skin afire.
Page sensed the heat of his gaze upon her, though she wasn’t bold enough to meet his knowing eyes. As he hovered above her, she was aware of everything in that moment. Every nuance. The subtle shifting of the breeze, the warmth of the sun against her skin where it touched her, the birds twittering somewhere high above. The sound of the grass as it succumbed beneath their bodies. The elusive scent of the crocus. And the musky male scent of the man hovering above her.
When he lowered his face to her neck, she shuddered, and dared to bare it fully, arching with complete abandon, moaning with delight as he suckled her flesh, lapped it with his tongue once more. Like a painter in love with his labors, he left no part of her untouched by his divining brush. He cherished her body, showered her with kisses until it seemed her very soul would rise out of her body and meld with his.
“Yesssss,” she whispere
d, and felt him shudder above her.
His kisses became more fervent then, straying to her breasts. He suckled through her wet gown, and Page’s heart thundered, for she wanted in that insane instant for him to rip the offending gown from her body, to feel the heat of his lips upon her bare flesh. To feel his body lie upon her.
Instead, he moved lower still... leaving her hands free, and sliding his arm beneath her waist to raise her body for his fervent kisses. She moaned with exhilaration, nearly mindless with the pleasure he was giving her, impatient with his caresses. She clutched at her gown, drawing it up desperately, inviting him without words.
Still she dared not open her eyes, dared not speak to break the sorcerer’s spell, but cried out exultantly when his lips kissed her bare belly. And sweet Jesu... those lips remained for the longest instant, unmoving, frozen in place, liquid flame against her bare flesh. Page reached out to hold him to her, wanting him never to go.
And then he wandered down to her thighs, nipping and kissing.
She gasped aloud, her heart pummeling against her ribs, as he dared to kiss her in the most private of places. Her body convulsed with a pleasure so incredible, it was almost like a glimpse into Heaven itself. And then when his tongue slipped within her body to explore so boldly, she thought she would dissolve into a liquid pool beneath him.
“Oh, yes,” she whispered. “Oh... my... yessss...”
“Sweet,” he murmured, and pushed his tongue within her body, tasting with abandon, until Page thought her heart would shatter into a thousand brilliant pieces.
Jesu, but she could scarce bear any more.
“Please,” she murmured, and whimpered, writhing beneath him, not truly understanding what it was she was needing, but knowing instinctively it was something more.
His hands moved over her body more insistently now, while his lips continued to worship her, and then he slid both hands beneath her bottom, cupping her, lifting her for his pleasure, and Page felt her eyes cross behind her lids, so much gratification did it bring her. Her body felt on the verge of some undiscovered glory, and she wanted so desperately to reach for it, cling to it, hold it forever.
And then suddenly he moaned, a tormented sound, and stopped, lowering her, releasing her to the ground.
Page’s lashes flew wide, and she stared into his fevered eyes, her heart hammering fiercely.
He knelt before her, his expression sober, his eyes pleading. “I want you, lass,” he whispered once more.
chapter 20
Christ, but he couldn’t do it.
He’d thought he could, but he couldn’t.
Wanting her was driving him to a madness beyond bearing.
His body ached, he needed her so desperately. She blinked, her face prettily flushed, and nodded. But God, he didn’t think she could possibly understand, though he wanted so badly to believe that she did.
“Are ye sure, lass?” he asked once more, and his voice was thick with need.
For answer, she rose up, reaching forward to catch trembling fingers within his belt, her wide, beautiful eyes never leaving his. His heart hammering, he undid the belt at once, and tossed it quickly away, holding her gaze, afeared she’d change her mind, afeared she’d not.
Christ, but he wanted this. More than he could recall wanting anything at all.
Every muscle in his body tensed as she once again reached forward to touch his breacan, just a delicate brush of her fingers, nothing bolder, but he understood as though she’d spoken the request aloud and he drew it off at once, discarding the blanket upon the grass. He knelt before her, wearing only his short tunic, and he reached down to draw it off, as well, needing her to see the full measure of his desire.
Needing her to understand before it was too late. If she would flee him, it must be now. Before he lost what will remained.
Before he dared to touch her once more.
One more kiss would seal her fate.
And bind her to him eternally.
She stared up at him, her eyes wide, her face flushed.
Page’s throat tightened at the sight of the man kneeling before her, gloriously naked, his skin bronzed from the sun, and his body tumescent with desire. She tried not to look so well, but could scarce keep herself from it. She swallowed her fear.
How could a man such as this... want her?
She wanted to weep with joy, for the evidence was there before her, undeniable in its magnificence. She wanted to strip herself too, be together with him as God had made them both, but was afeared he would find her lacking, and so she lay, marveling at the beauty of the man before her.
“D’ ye wish to stop, lass?” he asked her, his voice husky.
Page shook her head at once, meeting his gaze, her face burning with chagrin as she realized he’d caught her staring. “Nay,” she said softly, and then asked, “D-do you?” She watched as his beautiful lips broke into a disarming smile.
He chuckled lightly. “Nay, lass, I dinna.” He shook his head and reached out. She stared at his hand a bewildered instant, dumbfounded. “Give me your hand,” he commanded her, smiling still.
Page blinked, and yielded to him, her heart beating fiercely. She let him draw her to her knees before him, unable to keep her gaze from lowering once again to that very male part of him.
“Och, lass, but do I look like I wish to stop?” he teased.
Her gaze flew to his. Page couldn’t speak to answer, and he didn’t give her the opportunity. His hands reached out, grasping her waist, squeezing gently, and he closed his eyes, as though savoring the feel of her body beneath his hands.
Page, too, savored the moment, her head falling slightly backward, though still she watched him, for she wished to miss nothing.
When he opened his eyes again, it was to meet her gaze, his golden eyes gleaming, and he whispered, “I wish to see all o’ ye, lass...”
Page managed a nod, but no more, and he slid his hands down to clutch the hem of her gown, drawing it slowly up, and peering up at her as though he thought she might any moment refuse him.
She didn’t intend to. Sweet Jesu, but she was dizzy with desire, eager for whatever he would give her.
He drew the gown up and over her head, along with her rent undergown, and tossed the damp fabric aside upon the grass. And then he simply stared. Page waited anxiously for his response, and was mesmerized by the dazzling smile that appeared upon his face.
“Beautiful,” he whispered fervently, and Page wanted to cast herself into his arms and weep. When he leaned forward at last, she welcomed him wholly, closing her eyes, and lifting her arms in a gesture of total and joyful submission.
And then she could think no longer, for his lips closed over the peak of one breast, and he began to suckle. She thought she would die with the pleasure he wrought from her body. His kisses lifted to her face, while his hand caressed the flesh he’d abandoned with his lips. When his mouth touched upon her own, she thought the world might suddenly spin away. She clung to him desperately, wrapping her arms about his neck, and he kissed her deeply, his tongue sparring first gently with her own, and then more urgently.
She was scarce aware that he laid her down upon the grass once more. His body covered hers, his weight both welcome and cherished, while his lips and hands continued to explore and seduce her. Her torso, her breasts, her thighs.
And then his fingers were suddenly there between her legs, and she opened for him instinctively, feeling again that incredible bliss. He settled between her thighs, and she felt that rigid part of him nudge her. Welcoming him, Page lifted her legs, wrapping them instinctively about him.
The first thrust came without warning. Bracing her hips with his hands, he entered her swiftly, muffling her cry of pain with his mouth and his kisses. Her heart felt as though it would be thrust into her throat, so deep did he drive himself within her. Casting her head backward, she cried out.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her mouth, raining tiny feverish kisses upon her chin and her
throat. “It’s no’ too late. If ye will it... I’ll stop, lass... Just say the words...”
A cold sheen of perspiration broke upon her fevered body, but Page shook her head frantically, embracing even the pain. She wanted everything he would give her—everything— knowing somewhere in her heart that her first time with him would be her last.
And then the pain dissipated and she felt again the sweetest ache within. He lay still upon her, filling her completely, waiting, it seemed, for her to respond. Page began to move, trying to rediscover that elusive sensation.
Iain groaned with a pleasure so keen, it was almost pain.
He didn’t intend to move so soon, but she was too insistent, too passionate, moving beneath him as though she would milk him of every last drop of his will.
And Christ... he wanted her to... want this...
He couldn’t keep himself from it.
He thrust again, and again, driving himself mindlessly, until the fog in his brain cleared enough for him to consider the consequences of his actions. He tried to withdraw, for her sake, but she lifted her legs, entwining them about his. He cried out, shuddered, and held on to his will like never before, refusing to spill himself within her. Though his heart felt near to strangling, he drew upon every last shred of will and thrust again, and again, never stopping until he felt her succumb beneath him.
When her body trembled with her own release, and she gave a soft keening cry that ended in a blissful sigh, he knew he’d pleased her well, and he withdrew swiftly, spilling himself without her instead. Sated and depleted, he collapsed atop her, savoring the musky scent of their loving that surrounded them... the cool sheen of sweat upon their bodies, and the breeze across his back.
He was grateful to her in a fashion he could never repay, and connected now in a manner he would never forswear.
Like a besotted youth, he reached out and plucked a bright yellow crocus from the grass beside her and handed it to her. She accepted the blossom, and he buried his face within the crook of her neck, embracing her.
The MacKinnon's Bride Page 17