Page 42 of Deception of a Highlander

The knock reverberated against the solid wood door with more force this time.

“Who is it?” he barked.

In response, the door opened, and Mariel stepped in, her curvy body clothed in a gown of liquid silver that displayed more of her body than it hid. She pushed the door closed behind her back, and her lips lifted in a little half-smile. “I thought you might enjoy some company.”

CHAPTER 17

Kieran swallowed thickly, letting the burn of alcohol sear a path to his loins. The dying embers of the fire flickered against Mariel’s shimmering dress. God help him, he could see right through the thing. His gaze slid lower to where her body was visible through the sheer fabric. Her full breasts rose high and round, and her nipples were rosy as they hardened beneath his stare.

He was unable to turn away, unable to stop the path of his stare from trailing down her taut stomach to the shadow of dark hair between her legs where her slender thighs met—where she would be liquid heat and temptation.

He shifted forward to ease the discomfort of his aching cock, and the chair creaked. “What are ye doing here? Ye should be asleep.”

She appeared unperturbed by his gruff tone and met the challenge of his glare with indifference. “You were not at dinner.”

The burn of jealousy tightened the bands of his stomach as he raked his gaze down the dress once more. Had she worn that into the great hall? Did his men see her thus?

Kieran clenched his hands into fists. Did they follow the lines of her body with their stares? He gritted his teeth. Did they imagine touching her? Possessing her?

“Is that what ye wore?” he ground out with more rage than he intended.

The corner of her lip lifted in a slow, sensual smile. “Of course I didn’t.” Her hand smoothed over the swell of her hip. “I didn’t think you had noticed.”

Was she daft? He hadn’t been able to pull his eyes from her since she stepped inside the door, and she hadn’t thought he noticed?

“I canna help but notice.” He smirked. “But ye already knew that, dinna ye?”

She pulled a pin from her hair, and rich, black waves spilled down her back. He hadn’t even realized her hair was pulled up.

“It’s just my night rail.” Her voice was husky, low. The way it had been at the inn.

The gown glided across her skin, caressing what his hands longed to savor. A long slit unveiled one slim, perfectly shaped leg in the dress. His fingers itched to follow that tempting cut of the gown, to brush the smooth warmth of her thighs. He swallowed a groan. She would be so slick…so hot.

With each step toward him, her breasts moved ever so slightly with a firm bounce that made his mouth water. All hesitation fled his mind as his cock squeezed with bittersweet tension, and his bollocks ached with want.

Her. He wanted her.

And judging from the glint in her eyes, she wanted him.

He shouldn’t let her be there. His gaze trailed down the length of her body, and desire hammered his brain into thoughtlessness. She approached the back of his chair and slid her fingertips against the expanse of his shoulders with a feather-light touch that sizzled across his flesh like lightning. She stroked with light pressure against the taut muscles. The hair rose on his arms, and unexpected pleasure tingled across his neck.

Her movements were fluid, continual, so her two hands felt like a dozen, all stroking and easing the tension from his body.

“You look tired,” she said in a soothing voice. Her magic fingers worked their way up his neck. Knotted muscle melted into hot butter beneath her ministrations.

He groaned and dropped his head forward. Whatever she was doing, he hoped she would do it to the front of his body…and soon.

“I could go…” She left the statement hanging, but her hands continued to sweep against the back of his neck.

Go? Kieran blinked, momentarily pulled from the heady relaxation. Why would she go?

“Mmm-mmm…stay,” he murmured and tilted his head to the side to give her access to his right shoulder, where Hamish had landed a solid blow that morning.

As if reading his mind, her fingers moved deftly toward the sore area and eased the gnarled ache residing there. Never in his life had he been given such relaxing pleasure. Never did he realize such satisfaction could exist when both people were still fully clothed—her significantly less than him, of course. A grin lifted his lips. He’d have it no other way.

“What is it ye do to me?”

Her fingers did not stop. “Something I learned in London.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Although I have to say, you are significantly stronger than any Englishman I’ve ever seen.”