Page 19 of Deception of a Highlander

“Are ye all right, lass?” he asked.

“I’m perfectly fine now, thanks to my hero.” She studied the heat of his dark gaze on her. His eyes crinkled at the corners from too many hours in the sun, and the relaxed smile on his lips was one she had never seen before. A smile she had put there, she realized with pride.

For all his strength and black stares of intimidation, he was kind and comforting. “You aren’t like any man I’ve ever met, Kieran,” she said.

“Ye say that like it’s a bad thing.” The words rumbled beneath her ear.

She found herself smiling. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

Her fingertips skimmed the taut lines of Kieran’s stomach, and heat blossomed in her belly. Her breath quickened with the force of how badly she wanted this. Not just the feel of his skin against hers, but also the closeness.

She wanted to get to know Kieran MacDonald. It was a desire that had nothing to do with Aaron or his schemes.

Her hand flattened against Kieran’s firm chest. His heartbeat raced beneath her fingertips, and his flesh was soft and warm against her hand, the muscle solid. The light sprinkling of hair prickled her palm.

“Most men who found themselves in bed with me would try to take advantage of the situation. You, however, seem as comfortable as if we were both dressed in our court wear.” She traced an invisible line across the hard lines of his chest.

Kieran rose on one elbow, and the blanket shifted off his hip, revealing the top of his kilt. Pity.

His hand lingered on her shoulder and gently pushed her back. He traced his finger along the neckline of her gown, and a playful smile tugged at his lips. His fingertip grazed the sensitive skin beneath. A tremor of excitement trickled down her back.

“Nay, lass, this is far too high for court wear—especially yer court wear.”

His gaze dipped lower as if noting for the first time she wore only her night rail. With a subtle arch of her back, she pushed her breasts forward, so they stood out proudly. The delicate rasp of the linen left the pink of her nipples strained against the sheer fabric.

The smile melted from his lips.

A low groan sounded deep in his chest, and his eyes met hers, dark with desire. Her body responded to the blatant, primitive yearning that sparked between them and left her pulse hammering.

Her stare dropped to his lips, so sensual and soft against the sharp, strong lines of his face. The memory of his mouth moving over hers, the smoothness of his lips, and the stroke of his tongue—all of it shot forefront to her mind.

How would it feel to have his tongue trail down her neck to her breasts? Her nipples tightened to the point of aching, and she exhaled a long, shaky breath.

“I should go,” he said tersely. Contrary to his words, he did not shift off the bed.

“Stay.” Her voice was husky and need pounded a demanding staccato through her body.

She shouldn’t want this as badly as she did. Certainly, she did not deserve it. He sat motionless on the sheets. Yet, there was hope.

He hadn’t departed yet.

He leaned forward and brushed a lock of hair away from her face. The ropes of the bed creaked beneath his weight. Mariel closed her eyes against the wash of pleasure at his caress and allowed herself to be lifted into a sitting position against him. The breath she had been holding eased out in a sigh of longing. She let her eyes flutter open and met his scorching gaze. His heartbeat was strong against her breast, fast and frenzied. Heady anticipation seized her and left her breathless.

“Do ye know what my staying means?” he asked raggedly. His breath was warm and tantalizing where it whispered against her lips.

Not trusting herself to speak, Mariel gave a slow nod. Still, he studied her for a moment more as if allowing her time to change her mind. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

He lowered his head and swept his lips against hers. She craned her neck toward him, hungry for the searing kiss she now knew him capable of. But he did not oblige.

Her fingers slid desperately along the muscular plane of his back. He was raw power beneath her hands, and yet when his lips met hers, they were gentle. Too gentle.

Tepid.

He was holding back. She could feel it in the tightness of his body and hear it in his labored breath. Her invitation to stay had not been enough.

He would not take what she did not offer.

Blood pounded through her veins, demanding action. She didn’t wait for another restrained kiss. Rising to her knees, she cradled his face in her hands and caught his lower lip in her mouth. With a greedy moan, she dragged the tip of her tongue across his captured lip and arched her body against him. He grabbed her shoulders, and a spike of anxiety shot through her. Would he push her away?