Lyon's Gift

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Despite her claims to the contrary, he was stealing her heart—curse his rotten soul!

  His pretty words confused her—made her sigh for more.

  But how?

  When she knew better.

  Was she so feckless that she would abandon her convictions so easily?

  Were all her principles naught more than chatter?

  Her condemnation for those who would not search beyond a face nothing more than hypocrisy?

  Meghan only knew that his words of adulation made her heart beat faster and her knees melt like wax beneath a flame.

  And och! She was as guilty as any man with covetous eyes, for she stood wholly entranced by the mere sight of him. When she looked into his gleaming sapphire eyes... her breath caught at what she saw there within their beautiful depths. And when she lowered her gaze to his mouth, which smiled at her with such sensual promise, she wanted to open her arms and beg him come to her once more.

  As he had last night.

  It seemed she was naught but a bloody impostor, and she didn’t know herself anymore!

  Her cheeks heated at the turn of her thoughts, and she averted her gaze.

  He reached out suddenly, drawing her chin up with a finger. “Meghan, lass,” he whispered, much more soberly now, “why does it bother you so that I think you bonnie?”

  Ashamed of herself, Meghan withdrew her face from his touch.

  He stood there gazing at her, and she felt utterly exposed beneath his scrutiny.

  “Can it be that you do not see what I see?” he asked softly.

  She lifted her gaze to his. “I know what you see!” she assured him. “And I cannot—I am not—” She couldn’t find the words to make him understand.

  “Yours is the most lovely face I have ever set eyes upon!”

  He didn’t understand!

  Couldn’t possibly.

  She wanted to be more than a face and body, didn’t he see? She wanted to be a heart and a soul and a brain, as well!

  Leith had always appreciated her mind, respecting and needing her counsel, but out of fear that she would leave them perhaps, he had made her ashamed of the face she saw in the looking glass. To please him, as a wee lass she’d worn rags and never a ribbon in her hair. Her brother Colin boasted of her beauty, but never cared to know her deeper thoughts. And though she was closest to him of all, she didn’t recall ever once, not once, having had a meaningful conversation with him about such things as life and death and God. It was a pitiful state of affairs when she could say such a thing! And while Gavin was concerned enough with her spiritual pursuits, he discarded her philosophies entirely, and Meghan was only too aware of how he viewed those women who succumbed to their vanities.

  Meghan yearned for someone to accept her as she was—all of her, not simply in parts!

  She was terrified that behind the shell of her face and body was a woman who just could not be what everyone believed her to be. She was afraid that if they looked deep enough they would not like what they saw. She had listened to suitors enough to know that they did not see her as she was, only how they wanted her to be. They looked upon her face and made her a graven image, sang odes to her beauty and threw petals at her feet... as though she were some pagan virgin being led to her sacrificial altar! They set her upon a sacred pedestal and refused to let her down, even when she screamed and begged and yelled.

  “Meghan,” he whispered, and lifted her face once more. “Look at me.”

  Meghan did and swallowed at the intimacy with which he gazed at her.

  “I do not care if I feel a fool for speaking my heart,” he said.

  Heart? Meghan thought. Hah! Like every other man, he spoke with the fickle fire of his loins. Heart, indeed!

  “I have never,” he swore, “wanted anything as much as I do you.”

  “Me?” she asked, tilting her head in challenge. “Or is it my body you crave, Lyon Montgomerie?”

  He lifted a brow. “I’ll not lie to you,” he answered, and slid his hand along her cheek, cupping it gently.

  Meghan shuddered in response. And like a wanton she responded by tilting into his caress. Och, but she couldn’t help herself! He slid his hands beneath her hair, then to her nape, curling his fingers about her neck.

  For an instant, they merely stood staring at each other, while her heart beat a warning in her ears.

  Deny him now, this instant! she told herself, before you no longer can. Deep in her heart, she knew he would not force her. Last night was evidence enough if she doubted her instinct. He had pleasured her, and then had lifted her up into his arms and laid her within his bed, never appeasing his own body.

  Walk away, Meghan Brodie.

  Walk away now!

  “I want... more than anything... to make love to you, Meghan Brodie,” he whispered, and Meghan was lost in that instant. Her heart leapt as he drew her closer. Faltering in her step, she went to him, and he wrapped his arms about her, gently, so as not to injure her arm, and Meghan was at once defenseless within his embrace.

  His arms were too warm... his hands too reassuring... the beat of his heart much too close...

  His hand slid upward along her back, gently, though she could feel his hunger in the trembling of his fingers as it joined the other hand at her nape. And then sliding them both at once to cup her face within his two hands, he lowered his face to hers.

  Her breath left her. Her heart jolted. It occurred to her in the instant before his lips touched her mouth that he hadn’t kissed her at all last eve.

  Not upon her lips.

  Nay, but his mouth had found more intimate places to caress.

  The very thought of it... the very memory of where his lips and tongue had been, made her knees buckle beneath her. He caught her, and she cried out softly, not for the pain in the arm cradled between them, but because in that instant... his lips met her own, and it was the sweetest, most wicked sensation she had ever known.

  Meghan moaned softly. So warm... and smooth... his lips moved over her mouth, molding with her own, like warm wet silk—hard yet gentle, too. Meghan thought she would die with the thrill of it. His lips were moist and sweet, but insistent, and his tongue slipped out to trace the seam of her lips, sending quiver after delicious quiver down her spine.

  Meghan slid her arm about his neck, but she wasn’t certain whether her reaction was meant to support herself, or to clutch him to her lest he leave her wanting. Parting her lips as he coaxed her to, she moaned again as his tongue slid within her mouth, drinking of her will as surely as though it were a goblet tilted to his lips.

  Closing her eyes, she savored the moment... never wanting him to stop.

  “I want you,” he murmured. “I need you, Meghan.”

  Meghan sighed softly in reply.

  “I want to be inside you,” he said feverishly. “Do you understand?” And a quiver shuddered through her at his words.

  Emboldened by her own desire, Meghan slid from his embrace to the dewy grass, dragging him by the hand down with her. He followed her, the look in his eyes both hungry and fierce, and like a wanton she lay back upon the grass in blatant invitation. She didn’t care if she was brazen... she wanted more of what he’d given her last night.

  Aye, she wanted more.

  He moved over her, gently covering her, taking care with her arm. And then he kissed her once more, and it was slow and tender, his lips coaxing her own to part. And once again he slid within, tasting the very depths of her mouth.

  Sweet Mary... never had she imagined...

  Meghan could no longer think.

  He severed the kiss suddenly, startling her with the abrupt departure, and lifted himself to look down into her face, leaving her to stare up at him in a haze of dreamy, bewildered pleasure.

  “I want to see you,” he murmured. “All of you, Meghan.”

  In that instant, she forgot to breathe. Her heart hammered against her breast, and she swallowed convulsively. No man had ever seen her unclothed. No man. Not even l
ast evening had he laid eyes upon her, for he’d extinguished the light beforehand. Meghan was suddenly both frightened and exhilarated by the thought of baring herself to his scrutiny... beneath the bright-blue heavens, no less.

  If she allowed him to undress her, she knew... there would be no turning back.

  If she let him look upon her... and then she looked into his eyes... and spied that same adoration there... she could not deny him...

  He hadn’t meant to do this so soon.

  Hadn’t meant to ask.

  And then before he could stop himself the words were out of his mouth—and God help him, he was not saint enough to rescind them when she so eagerly drew him down into her arms.

  And yet... he suddenly needed to know that she wanted this as much as he did.

  “Meghan?” he whispered, and watched her face intently.

  Her beautiful green eyes were undeniably glazed with passion, but he wished to hear from her own two lips that she wanted him to make her his own.

  Never in his life had this simple act of sharing bodies been such a momentous decision.

  He brushed his knuckles along her jaw and his heart jolted when she leaned so sweetly into his touch once more, closing her eyes.

  “Tell me what you wish,” he demanded softly. “Tell me what you want from me.”

  “More,” she whispered, and that was all Lyon needed to hear. He shuddered with pleasure over the single word, and bent to kiss her mouth once more before sliding down to kiss her belly. And then down further... wanting more than anything to taste her once more.

  But first things first...

  For the moment, he passed over the treasure that awaited him, and removed her slippers, set them aside. And then he drew up her skirts slowly and kissed a thigh, then the other. He wanted everything off her body this instant, and were she not injured, he thought he might have rent the clothes from her flesh, so desperate was he to see her in full.

  He drew the dress up, raising her bare bottom to lift it past her hips, and the feel of her soft flesh within his palm sent fire once more through his loins. Drawing her up by her good arm, he raised the gown, kirtle and undergown both, untangling her sleeve first from her injured arm before lifting it up and over her head. He tossed the dress aside, his heart hammering against his ribs.

  At then at last she was revealed to him fully, and he found himself dumb with awe. He sucked in a breath for she was lovelier than he could ever have imagined.

  For the longest instant, Lyon could merely stare at the creamy flesh he’d uncovered. Her legs were as long and lean as he’d known they would be. A vision of her walking with the baby lamb in the forest, her luscious hair wild and free, her skirts clinging to her long limbs came to him, and he blinked, overwhelmed.

  And her breasts... Christ... he craved the feel of her hardened nipples against his tongue... her soft round flesh against his palm... exquisite.

  “Meghan,” he whispered, “you cannot be real!”

  Meghan’s heart quickened at his words.

  She lay before him, wholly revealed to his eyes, and the expression upon his face warmed her as the sun never could.

  Jesu, but she loved the way he looked at her.

  She thrilled at the hunger so evident within his gleaming blue eyes.

  And she didn’t care just now what it revealed of herself; she wanted only for him to adore her body the way he had last night.

  She wanted his lips upon her own... his hands upon her, caressing...

  He lowered his head once more, all the while watching her with wicked eyes that glittered as with fever, and Meghan lay frozen in anticipation.

  What wicked place would his mouth seek now?

  What unspeakable things would he do to her?

  And then she knew...

  His lips brushed softly against her breasts, the touch delicate and even reverent, and she gasped at the feeling of his tongue caressing her there. She whimpered, closing her eyes, arching for him, and he rewarded her by taking her full into his mouth, suckling like a babe at his mother’s breast. The sensation made her quiver with delight, and she discovered some heretofore unknown connection between this place... and that other... some sweet thread of pleasure that seemed to uncoil as he suckled... until the thread was a taut ache in her belly... and her hunger undeniable.

  She wanted to be his... wanted him to have her... wanted him to do anything to her... anything... wanted to please him, as well...

  “Lyon,” she whimpered, reaching out and lacing her fingers into his hair.

  Dear God, she couldn’t speak... couldn’t think for the things his mouth was doing to her... he moved down her belly, kissing her as he went... and Meghan wanted to say that it wasn’t enough. Somewhere deep within her there was another ache that his mouth couldn’t appease... that his lips and tongue were only heightening. She wanted to tell him but she didn’t know how. Didn’t know what she wanted... what she needed.

  “Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want, Meghan.”

  He stopped long enough for Meghan to gather her senses. She peered up at him, panting softly.

  “I want to please you,” he said.

  “I—I want to see you, too,” she confessed, greedy for the sight of him as well. “Show me,” she commanded him.

  His blue eyes glimmered with a fierce satisfaction, and a knowing smile curved his Lips. Meghan held her breath as he began to untie the plaid at his waist—a plaid he wore because he obviously wanted to be one of them. He slid it off and cast it aside. And then as she watched, breathless with anticipation, he drew off his tunic and cast it aside as well. He stood, then, and removed his boots, and began to unlace his braies. Though modesty would have had her turn away, Meghan refused. She stared, eyes wide with expectation over what would be revealed to her. She lifted her gaze to spy the look of relish in his eyes, and her body quivered in response.

  He wanted her to see him.

  Wicked man.

  Wicked as she.

  He stood there a moment; their gazes locked, entwined like lovers, and Meghan gulped in a breath as he drew the braies down at long last and shrugged them off. He cast them, too, aside.

  Jesu, but he was beautiful.

  He stood before her in all his glory, unashamed.

  And then he fell to his knees. And Meghan forgot to breathe as he reached out and took her legs into his hands, positioning her so that he was settled between her thighs once more.

  “In the East,” he began, his voice husky and low, “a maiden’s defloration is done in the presence of both mothers of the wedding couple, with loving care and a gentle finger. Are you a virgin, Meghan?”

  Meghan drew in a breath at his bold question. She was and yet why was she not offended by his asking? The look in his eyes held no condemnation, no expectation, but she was suddenly afraid to answer. He must have been with many women—was she doing something wrong?

  “It matters not,” he swore, seeming to read her thoughts. “I only wish to make this pleasurable for you. I do not wish to cause you pain, Meghan, and there is a way to lessen it.”

  She nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “A virgin?” he asked once more.

  Again Meghan nodded, words failing her, her throat too tight to let sound pass.

  Her disclosure seemed to please him, because he smiled down at her. “Will you trust me?” he asked, and Meghan nodded once more.

  His smile deepened.

  “Close your eyes,” he commanded, “and feel, Meghan. Only feel. Can you do that for me?”

  “Aye,” Meghan answered and did as he bade her. She closed her eyes and felt him lift her knees and part her legs to his scrutiny. Her body shivered, suddenly aware of every sensation... the gentle breeze upon her flesh... the heat of the sun bearing down upon her like a lover’s body... the moist bed of grass she lay upon.

  And then once again his lips were there... upon her... and she moaned in delight.

  God have mercy upon her wicked soul
, but she loved him... loved his mouth... loved the way he adored her.

  He suckled her and lapped her gently, and then she felt the pressure of his finger, sliding in as he kissed and reassured her. He pushed within suddenly, and Meghan felt only the slightest pain as he severed her maidenhead. She heard him groan, the sound an echo of her own desire, and then he withdrew his finger, and she felt him cover her, felt his hands prepare her, and then once more the pressure.

  Only this was not his finger.

  He entered her with a single thrust and Meghan gasped at the feel of it—pleasure and pain together, though the pleasure far outweighed the pain. He waited an instant, seeming to know that she needed him to, and then he began to move within her, stroking her in the most delightful way, and Meghan was lost in a whirlwind of sensation.

  “Oh, God!” she cried.

  He slid a hand beneath her waist, lifting her, and continued to move within her, filling her and withdrawing, and Meghan thought she would die from so much exquisite pleasure. He was slow and purposeful, and seemed to know exactly what to do... how to move. Warmth flooded her, and something new kindled within her belly. She focused upon it, feeling it as it grew, following it with all of her heart and her soul. She lifted to each thrust, tilting her hips greedily to take him fully. And then, without warning, something exploded within her, and her body shuddered with sensation unlike any she’d ever known.

  She cried out in exultation.

  Lyon heard her, felt her convulse about him, and it was what he’d waited for, what he’d craved. He held her hips within his hands and released himself from his careful restraint. His own body convulsed as he thrust a final time, spilling himself for the first time in so damned long. He cast his head back and cried out.

  God help him, it felt so right.

  So good.

  And in that instant of completion, Lyon suddenly found what he’d been looking for all his life.

  And it was a feeling unlike any he’d ever imagined.

  Soul-deep contentment.

  Damned if he hadn’t found it in the arms of a woman, after all.

  And her name was Meghan Brodie.