Page 52 of Irish Betrayal

“You have any idea,” he murmured against her lips, “what you did to me disappearing like that?”

Guilt twisted sharply in her stomach.

Blair touched his jaw gently. “I know,” she whispered huskily against his ear.

His expression softened for half a second before hunger overtook it again. “No,” he said quietly, brushing his mouth along hers. “I don’t think you do.”

Then he was kissing her again, deeper this time, until her head spun.

By the time they stumbled into the guest house, they were both breathing hard.

Daniel barely got the door shut before Blair pushed him back against it and kissed him again. She needed contact desperately—as much of it as possible. Three months without him had hollowed her out.

Peter and his threats had no place between her and Daniel tonight.

His hands slid beneath her jumper, palms hot against her bare waist, and Blair shivered violently.

“Jesus,” he breathed, staring down at her.

She knew what he saw.

Flushed cheeks. Swollen lips. Green eyes wide and wanting.

His. He definitely would see that she was all his.

The realization sent heat flooding through her.

Daniel lifted her effortlessly, and instead of hanging off his side with her feet dangling, Blair wrapped herself around him as he carried her through the darkened guest house toward the bedroom.

Moonlight spilled across the quilts and wooden floors, turning everything silvery blue.

He laid her down carefully despite the fire flickering in his eyes, like no amount of desire could override his instinct to handle her gently.

He went to the button on her trousers, his eyes only leaving hers when he slowly slid them down her hips, snagging her panties as he went.

She saw his mouth form the words, “Christ, Blair,” as if he were in the midst of a biblical experience. As he flung her clothes to the floor, she quickly unbuttoned her blouse, only taking care not to rip the buttons off because the shirt was a prized gift from Mags.

When his eyes tracked over the simple, white cotton bra, he said one word. “Off.” An easy one to read.

She awkwardly rolled her back to and fro until her fingers could unhook the bra’s clasp, flinging the unattractive, utilitarian undergarment to the floor. Daniel loomed above her, running his hands gently over her skin, from her neck, breasts, stomach, the flair of her hips, and down her legs.

Blair reached for him, tugging his already unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders, revealing all of Daniel’s smooth skin.

She traced her hands across his chest and stomach, loving how his muscles tensed under her fingers. Daniel watched her closely the entire time, dark eyes intense enough to make her pulse flutter.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, making sure she saw every word.

She smiled shyly before pulling him down to her again. “I think you’re the beautiful one.”

That was her last coherent thought, because once his mouth settled over hers, communication was impossible. Irrelevant.

Her body writhed beneath his. She wanted to mark every inch of him and have him brand her in return.

He pulled back suddenly leaving her mouth agape. “I know I said we would talk tomorrow, but I need to know,” he paused swallowing thickly, “that this isn’t just one more night to you.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She’d hurt him—possibly worse than she’d hurt herself, and it killed her.

She ran her thumb over his bottom lip, both of them breathing like they were in a marathon. “It’s not one more night,” she spoke aloud, hoping her emotions didn’t cause her to mess up the cadence.