Page 29 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

His gaze slid upward to her face and he stared for a long moment. He threaded his fingers beneath the damp hair at the nape of her neck. Heat from his hand sizzled on her flesh. With a gentle tug, he pulled her close. A puff of breath escaped his lips. Closer. She could scarcely breathe. His breath fluttered against her lips.

“My lord,” she whispered as his mouth came down on hers.

Gentle pressure parted her lips and his tongue slipped inside her mouth. Slanting his head, he sealed their mouths. Tongue rubbed against tongue. He tasted of aged brandy, and the intoxication of his kiss seeped into her blood—into her body.

At least in the bath, he couldn’t see how wet she was for him. A steady pulse throbbed in her sex and tingles tightened her nipples, chasing into the hidden knot of nerves waiting for his touch, the touch of his mouth. But, tonight, she entered his bed as wife, not lover. Uncertainty dug deeper in her stomach. How differently would he treat her as Lady Blackhall? The courtesan of last night had received the full scope of his desire. As wife, she wanted that and more.

Taran trailed a hand from her neck, along her spine and dipped into the water, downward over the swell of her hip while he cupped her breast with his other hand and grazed her nipple with a thumb.

Caroline pulled away from the kiss. “My lord.”

She lifted a hand dripping with water and braced the palm against his chest with the intention of pushing him away, but froze at the feel of the wall of muscle beneath her fingers. Last night in the carriage, she’d learned his body by touch, but seeing what she had touched brought with it a dizzying sensation that compelled her to explore every inch of him. Unlike the soft, plump bodies of most men of privilege, Taran’s lean, hard body spoke of a man who asked for nothing, but worked for every gain. She frowned at the sight of a jagged scar on the left side of his abdomen, near the middle ribs.

“What is this?” Caroline touched the scar.

He sucked in breath. She yanked her hand back, her gaze lifting to his face. His copper eyes blazed. He grasped her hand and her attention fixed on the action as he pressed her palm to the scar. His muscles tensed beneath her touch and warmth seeped clear to her bones.

“A slip of the sword,” he said.

Her head snapped up. “My lord?”

“The scar.”

A slip of the sword? Whose, a disgruntled husband, or some young buck who dared challenge a calmer hand? How many dawn appointments had this man faced? Had she miscalculated when she’d said Uncle would defeat him in a duel?

She startled at the brush of fingers on her breast beneath the water. His stare remained locked with hers as he touched her. She flushed, the water suddenly cold. How was she to endure the agonizing pleasure and not leap from the bathwater and onto him?

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. “Caroline, I am no brute. Sharing a bed can bring us both pleasure.”

How could she answer? A wife’s place was not to question her husband’s past liaisons, but the forbidden knowledge she possessed as Aphrodite confirmed the truth of his words. Determination rose. She wouldn’t let a fantasy of a woman who didn’t truly exist occupy Taran’s thoughts. Not tonight. When he plunged his hard, beautiful cock into her, he would know the woman in his arms was real.

She jammed her eyes shut. Fool, such liberties were not hers to take. He could never know her as he had Aphrodite, not now, not ever. A mental picture rose of their lives fifteen years into the future, his sudden recognition and hatred, that loathing reflected in their son’s eyes as the father’s revulsion seeped into every aspect of their lives.

“Do not fear,” he whispered near her mouth.

Caroline jarred from the morbid vision and gave a small cry when he kissed her again. The hand on her hip tightened almost convulsively, then wrapped around her back. He slipped his other arm beneath her knees and lifted her from the water.

Caroline squeaked and threw her arms around his neck. Water streamed onto his chest and arms, soaking his breeches and leaving a trail across the floor as he strode to the bed. She shivered, the chilled room a stark contrast to the warm, contoured torso that pressed into her breasts and hip.

He stopped beside the bed and looked down at her. “Kiss me, sweet.”

She blinked in surprise. He stared, the dark eyes intense, but pleading for something, anything, to show she wasn’t without feeling…wasn’t the cold bitch John had said she was. Understanding hit with the force of a gale wind. This man was nothing like John. John would have given no thought to the fact she despised his touch. He would have bedded her until the required heir was produced, then left her a dry husk, never again to be touched or considered.

But Taran had no taste for life with a woman who hated him. Love was not a requirement, but neither was loathing an option. If she didn’t give herself to him, he would believe she hated him. Until last night, she had. He deserved better than she would have given John. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. He must never know the truth. She had to get to the vial hidden beneath the mattress and empty it onto the sheets before he awoke in the morning.

Caroline tightened her arms around his neck and inched forward until her lips brushed his. He opened his mouth opened and his tongue snaked between her lips. His gentle but determined thrusts against her tongue set her heart to pounding. God help her, she wanted him. How many more nights could she have with him before this house of cards fell in on her…before he grew tired of her and sought another woman? Her heart twisted. Better another woman than his hatred. She sank into the kiss, drinking in his essence. Never in her wildest dreams had she conceived this moment possible. Her masked lord held her close, sweeping her into a vortex of carnal cravings.

Arms tight around her, Taran sat on the edge of the bed, settling her on his thighs. She gasped at the feel of his erection against her hip and the pull of awareness travelled from her nipples into the hotness between her legs. He broke the kiss and trailed a finger along her face, feathered his touch along the column of her neck and over her shoulder.

He bent his head and closed his mouth over a nipple. Caroline bit down on her bottom lip in an effort to keep from moaning. Despite the pleasure that slipped through her veins, melting her from the inside, she would give herself to him as the expected virgin. His velvet tongue curled around the nipple. She squeezed her thighs against the burgeoning need that rose between her legs. Wet heat rolled over her breast. Answering warmth slicked her thighs.

He would know how she responded, just as she could feel his arousal, hard and erect in his breeches, prodding into her hip.

He shifted and set her on the bed, then stood and stared down at her, eyes dark with desire. Her breath caught. Here was the man from last night, filled with lust.

Tucking his thumbs into the sides of his breeches, he pushed them past lean hips. His broad shoulders, tapered torso, and strong thighs held her mesmerized. And his cock. Long, thick, and fully erect, thrust towards her. Dark curls circled the base and trailed up over his groin. Silvery liquid leaked from the slit in the rounded knob. Her mouth watered, yet she knew she could never again taste him in that way.

He sat on the mattress and began shoving the breeches from his legs. Caroline scrambled to the center of the bed. With a hard tug, she pulled the coverlet from the pillows and dived beneath the blanket. The crisp sheets chilled her, but did nothing to stop the steady thrum that pulsed in her pussy. She was wet and her internal muscles clenched with the desire to have his cock deep inside. Caroline swallowed, thankful his back was to her. Her only doubt was her ability to hide her response to him.