Arran swept her into his arms. “None of that,” he growled. With tender reverence, he lay her in the center of the bed. Towering over her, he wrestled his boots off and flung them aside. “No tears.”
“I can’t help—”
But the words vanished as he shoved his trousers down and stepped free of the fine wool.
Her breath hitched. Arran, fully dressed was a study in sinful beauty, but Arran likethis—bare, powerful, every muscle honed and flexing, made a mockery of DaVinci’s notions of perfection. And then Lucy’s gaze caught on Arran…allof him. His shaft sprung enormous and thick from a dark nest of curls. The plum-colored head glistening with a tempting sheen. Desire surged hot and unbidden through her center.
A pleased grin tugged at his mouth. “Very good, love,” he purred, lowering himself over her. “Your tears have stopped.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I will have you know they were not bad tear—ahh.”
Lucy’s protest broke apart as his hand slid between them, confident and claiming.
She arched into his touch, shameless in the need he drew from her.
Arran dipped his head; his teeth grazing her ear. “These cries,” he murmured darkly. “the ones of you make for me, those are the only ones I’ll ever accept.”
His palm closed over her hip, fingers biting possessively as the hard ridge of him pressed and rolled against her. Lucy’s eyes fluttered shut.
“M-mine were happy tears,” she whispered.
He hauled her closer. “Then I’ll allow those, too.” His hands slid beneath her, lifting her with sudden strength.
She smiled softly. “You arrogant mon.”
“As long as I’m the only man who makes you smile.”
The flicker of uncertainty, that chink in the armor of this man, sent a different ache to her heart.
Lucy held his eyes and willed him to see and understand. “There will only ever be you, Arran,” she said softly. She wouldn’t have the ghost of a girlhood dream between them here or in any way. “It was only ever you.”
Emotion darkened his eyes. His breath ghosted over her lips. “I’m going to make love to you so well, Lucy…” The velvety smugness sent a new wave of heat through her. “You won’t even be able to think about anything or anyone else if you wanted to.”
The vow shattered her control. She rubbed against him in desperate need, surrendering to the violence of the kiss, urgent, consuming, beautiful. When his fingers found that one perfect place, her hips flew up.
“Arran!”
“Aye,” he purred. “Just like that.”
Then he pulled away.
“Nay.” Tears spilled freely now as the heat left her skin. “Arran, please—”
He caught her knees. “Open for me.”
Her breath stuttered. “What are you—”
“Kissing you,” he said darkly. “Everywhere.”
Then he buried his face between her thighs.
Lucy cried out. “Jingles and Christmas!”
His rough chuckle vibrated through her. She fisted the sheets, overwhelmed.
“Give yourself to me,” he ordered. “Take what I offer.”
His tongue traced her gently, coaxing surrender from every trembling muscle. She melted into the mattress.
