Page 81 of Enchantment of a Highlander

After bidding him goodnight, she quietly slipped into the hall and closed the door behind her.

“I thought I might find ye here.” Alec’s voice sounded behind her. Celia jumped with surprise and spun around. His arms came around her, steadying her. “I dinna mean to frighten ye.”

“You didn’t, I mean…” She smoothed a hand down her hair and regretted not having taken off the bulky apron she wore over her dress. “I mean, not much.”

He stepped closer to her and spoke in a lowered voice. “I canna stop thinking about ye.”

Her mouth went dry. She’d spent most of her day in a cloud of Alec thoughts as well, her body hot and slick with remembering.

“Ye’re so beautiful.” He caressed the side of her waist and left his hand on her hip. “Ye’re so graceful.” With the slightest pressure and another step forward, he edged her backward into an alcove beside Duncan’s door.

He cradled her jaw in his large hand and she looked up into his eyes. There was a heat there that singed her core.

He stared at her for a long moment, as if he were savoring her image, then his grip tensed and he lowered his lips to hers.

His mouth was hungry, eager.

Celia rose on her toes to meet his kiss, wanting all of him. She arched her body forward so the strength of his body burned through her clothes.

His hands slid through her hair behind her head and his hot tongue swept against hers.

He leaned over her neck and the wet warmth of his tongue trailed down the curve of her ear.

A delightful shiver tingled down her back.

“I want ye,” he said in a velvety voice.

A little moan slipped from Celia’s throat, an inadvertent confession of wanting him too.

Alec tugged at something behind her and the firmly tied waist of her apron went slack.

“Come with me,” he said against her ear.

She nuzzled her face against his, reveling in the scrape of his whiskered jaw against her impossibly sensitive flesh.

He pulled the apron over her head with the same intense gaze he might give if he were removing her gown.

“Where?” she whispered.

His chin brushed hers. “To my room.”

She parted her lips to speak, but the warm caress of his tongue stroked the protest from her mouth.

“Come with me.” His lips moved over hers as he spoke.

“I have my own room,” she said on the exhale of a sigh that belied her protests.

“I know ye do.” He nibbled her lower lip, teasing her with warm wet of his mouth. “It was a ruse.”

His hand ran up and down the softness of her gown, right over her rib cage, inching dangerously close to her breast.

As if reading her thoughts, he glanced down at her scooped neckline, where her nipples stood hard against the fabric, and swept his thumb against the right one.

Pleasure swept through her in tingling, tightening shivers. Her knees went soft. Her breath went shallow.

“Come with me.” He moved back and gently pulled her with him.

She didn’t think. She couldn’t. Not with her body blazing with a stoked fire and her mind humming with frantic anticipation.