Page 19 of Enchantment of a Highlander

“And ye want this still?” he asked in a tense voice.

She knew what he asked—he saw it in the way her eyes searched his.

He tensed, waiting for her agreement to become his woman, waiting for the permission to claim what would be his and no other man’s.

She arched her back and her breasts thrust forward. “Yes,” she said in a breathy moan.

That was all the permission he needed. He slid one hand beneath the curve of her bottom and pushed inside her. His body shook with the exertion of restraint.

With each gentle thrust, her shoulders relaxed more and more until her body gyrated in time with his, matching his rhythm.

Her legs tightened around him and she pulled him closer against her. His lips found the tight pearl of her nipple and closed over it gently with his teeth. She cried out with such pleasure his cock drew tight with the need to release.

He groaned and slowed his pace.

Not yet.

He wanted to kiss her more, taste her more, touch her more.

After the tension of impending release lessened, he kissed his way up to her small, lush mouth and quickened his thrusts. She was so wet, so tight, it was almost more than he could bear.

Her breath came in short gasps and her body flexed beneath him. This time he knew it was not a virgin’s pain that caused her to squeeze against him. The soft cries of her climax sounded against the press of his mouth and he drank them in with greedy desire.

Her sheath tensed around him, milking him toward his own surrender. His hips flexed hard and sharp, once, twice, and then a final time, burying him deep in the warm, moist flesh of his woman.

His own release burst within her and euphoria flashed white, dancing stars behind his closed lids.

He waited until the final tremors of his powerful orgasm tapered before opening his eyes. He found her staring up at him with cheeks pink from their lovemaking, her chest rising and falling with a rapid breath that matched his own.

He lowered his head and kissed her once more, savoring the lushness of her mouth, before pulling himself from her. A sharp breath sucked from between her lips.

Happy, accomplished exhaustion tugged at him. A hard day of labor and a clean, sated body—if he had a hearty slab of venison in his stomach, he might sleep until winter.

He rolled over to lie beside her and slipped an arm across her shoulder, pulling her down against his chest. The softness of her body cradled against his as if she had been made solely for him.

His fingers brushed her naked shoulder. Her skin was like silk. All of her was.

He’d taken her maidenhead and would never forget the gift she had so willingly given him. She would have the finest gowns, the softest mattresses, the most exquisite furnishings.

He would break down her defenses and find out her past, learn why she was so guarded.

He swept his cheek against her hair and breathed deep the clean scent of rosemary, eager to start his new life back on the Isle of Mull with his beautiful mistress.

• • •

Gentle waves from the loch licked lazily against the shore like a rhythmic shushing. The warrior laird’s skin was warm against Celia’s naked body where they lay. Warm and strong and incredible.

He’d pleased her well physically.

Yet he expected too much.

The strong beat of his heart bumped a steady rhythm beneath her ear. But she could not give into its soothing lure.

Not when her own heart pounded with such frenzy.

The encounter did not go as she’d planned.

The caress of emotion wasn’t supposed to be so welcome, the need for acceptance wasn’t supposed to be so palpable, and the desire to love was never supposed to exist.