Page 61 of Deception of a Highlander

“Why dinna ye tell me ye were a virgin?” The question was sincere and lacked the accusation she’d feared the night before.

A fresh wave of shame brought the burn of tears stinging against her eyelids. “If you knew I was a maiden, you would think better of me than I deserve.”

He pulled her back and gazed at her, his black eyes fierce. “Mariel, dinna ever say anything like that. No matter what ye’ve done in yer past, ye are a good woman.” Before she could protest, he continued, “Ye are intelligent and witty, and ye have this way of making people smile—even Innes, and she hasna smiled in a decade.” He tilted her face up, so her lips were a hair’s breadth away from his. “And ye are so verra, verra beautiful.”

The conviction behind his words coiled her in a sense of security she had not known for a long time. Deep down, she recognized the feeling was a façade, but for that one small moment, she wanted to fall under its spell. She sighed and sank against him, so the heat of his naked flesh warmed her icy fingers, and the comfort of his embrace masked the guilt and fear within her emptiness.

The storm howled outside and battered the windows with its rage while the rain whipped against the small house. In Kieran’s arms, she was dry and safe.

“I dinna want to hurt ye.” His breath was warm against her mouth, and his hand settled on her hip, where the wound had finally healed.

“No, you won’t hurt me.” She closed her eyes against the blister of remorse.

“I’ve hurt ye verra much already.” Sorrow laced his words. “I confess I’m afraid to cause ye more pain.”

She blinked her eyes open and found his gaze sincere and shrouded with guilt.

“You won’t,” she reassured him again.

Relief crossed his features. He nuzzled her neck, breathing deep as he buried his face against her hair. “Ye want this?”

Her body pounded with need in response to the caress. She needed this. For the comfort, for the love, for all the glorious things she did not deserve and yet could not stop herself from wanting. As if the flames of his affection could sear away the guilt and shame from her ugly soul. May God have mercy on her; she could not say no.

CHAPTER 23

Kieran pressed a kiss to the silky warmth of Mariel’s neck. Her scent hovered over the pungent aroma of peat. That subtle perfume drove him crazy.

“I want this.” Her fingers traced the line of his jaw. She pulled his face up and rested her forehead against his. “I want you.”

Her lips were a breath away from his. He could restrain himself no longer. He wanted to feel those lips on his, against his skin. Against his body.

He cradled the back of her head in his hand, tangling his fingers in the drying silk of her hair. His chin inched forward and brushed the softness of her lips before gently parting her mouth with his own. He tightened his grip on her, need hammering through him as he swept his tongue into her mouth. A soft moan sounded in the back of her throat and sent a fire scorching through his veins.

God, he loved the little sounds she made.

Cold hands unfurled against his chest as she rose on her tiptoes and stroked his tongue with hers. His bollocks tightened. For a woman who claimed to be ignorant to her effect on him, she certainly seemed to know what she was doing.

“You’re so warm,” she murmured against his lips.

Her palms skimmed the expanse of his torso, and his skin prickled with heightened sensitivity. One of her fingernails grazed his nipple, and his breath sucked in through his teeth.

He grasped her round bottom. The fabric of her gown was soaked through. “Wet clothes,” he murmured. “Ye willna get warm.” His sodden kilt chafed against the strain of his erection. “Ye need to undress.” The last word ended on a groan.

Every muscle tensed with a fine thread of self-control. His body ached for what he had sampled the night before. He wanted to rip the gown from her body and plunge deep inside her.

His chest swelled against the breath he locked in his lungs for restraint. With careful deliberation, he plucked the ties of her gown until the overdress hung loosely around her. His lips captured hers in a slow, hungry kiss, and his fingers brushed the sleeves from her shoulders, peeling the wet wool off her.

He met her wide violet gaze and saw an open vulnerability there. Gone was the confident seductress, and in her place was a real woman whose innocence could not be contested—one with a shy smile and flushed cheeks.

One whose sark was rendered transparent by rainwater where it plastered against her shapely curves.

Ripples of useless fabric puckered across the smooth skin his fingers ached to stroke. Kieran tried to swallow and found he could not. The baggy underdress meant to hide everything hid absolutely nothing.

He pulled the delicate ribbon from its bow and ran his finger along the neckline until it widened enough to slide down the length of her body. If it joined the puddle of clothing at her feet, he did not notice.

Her body glowed in the soft light and sparkled like a thousand gems where rain clung to her flesh. Her long black hair hung unbound to her narrow waist and parted over rosy nipples drawn tight against the cold.

His hands skimmed over her curves, icy and slick. She would not be cold for long. He would see to that.