“But why? Ye dinna’ owe me anything.”
“Because I want ye fer m’self, lass,” he confessed, his voice deep with emotion he appeared extremely uncomfortable with. “Must I write it oot fer ye in the mud? Because that’s how my heart feels presently. Like mud.”
She quirked her mouth at him, wrenching his heart from its place and into her hands. “Yer father would be quite proud, bard.”
Och, but she was a sharp-tongued viper. He laughed, slipping off her body to lie beside her. So what if she knew his deepest, darkest secret… that he was a poet at heart? She thrilled him, ignited his senses like no one before her. He would give her what she wanted and he didn’t give a damn what it meant.
“Love, is it pretty words ye want?” Before she could answer, he wrapped them loosely in his plaid and set his words loose upon her.
“The first time I laid m’ eyes upon ye, I thought, here is the bonniest lass m’ poor swollen eye has ever looked upon.” He smiled with her while they remembered his battered face when they first met. “Like the frost of a clear winter night,” he continued softly, sweeping a coiled spring of hair off her cheek, “yer gaze chilled m’ blood, warnin’ m’ soul that ye were no’ a common lass.” He traced his fingertips over the outline of her plump lower lip. He wanted to kiss her, to feel the sweet surrender of her mouth, her body, and her heart. “M’ heart’s enemy, not due to yer name, but because of what ye did to it.” He met her gaze in the firelight and saw his heart there, laid bare before him.
He kissed the soft smile from her lips and drew her closer against him. “But ’tis worse without ye. That’s why…”—it alarmed him to think of what was about to come from his mouth, and the ease with which it arrived—“I want ye to consent to be m’ wife.”
Her senses and logic seemed to have abandoned her as well. “I consent,” she promised quietly.
He took his time with her, knowing her submission didn’t come without a cost to her. He wanted her to pay very little.
“I’ve dreamed many times,” he told her while he pulled the laces of her gown loose, “of freein’ yer lush breasts into m’ hands, of kissin’ each in turn.” He yanked on the last lace and her shift stretched open, almost spilling out her breasts precisely where he said he wanted them.
Dipping his face to her bosom, he tugged at her gown with his teeth and then pulled the wool away, exposing her to his masterful tongue. She trembled against him, setting his blood aflame. He took her into his mouth and basked in the feel of her hard nipple against the caress of his teeth. All the while his deft fingers shed her of her garments. He wanted all of her, every inch. If he was going to truly claim her, he was going to do it properly.
“Is there a priest at Ravenglade?” he asked roughly, pausing in his assault on her breasts.
“Of course,” she answered, then bit down on her lip, tempting him to ruin. “But we’re not going to wait until morning, are we?” She sealed her fate the moment she ended her query by tugging on his shirt.
She wanted him out of his clothes, and he obliged without haste. He didn’t want to wait. His interest in the priest was more for Menzie than them. Tomorrow they would plan the days ahead. Tonight was for them alone.
Janet couldn’t believe that this was truly happening. Darach’s hard, naked body above hers convinced her that it was real.
All the fighting she’d done to rid her thoughts of him, brought to naught by the slant of his lips, a flick of his gaze. She couldn’t resist him, was completely lost to him, and she didn’t care.
She’d never been intimate with a man but relied on her instincts… and her instincts were not shy or delicate. Besides, Darach seemed to like when she clutched him by the hair and met the passion of his mouth with equal fervor.
She didn’t try to stop him when he dipped his fingers between her thighs, lost in the rhapsodic rhythm of his breath, and then in the shameless pleasure she took in his careful ministrations.
She opened her eyes many times to remind herself that this was Darach Grant above her, about to make love to her. She couldn’t stop him even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. She tried to calm her thrashing heart, but it wouldn’t listen. It never did when it came to this rough and rugged Highlander.
His lean muscles rippled against her palms as she ran them over the hills and valleys of his chest, down his back. He was carved to please, and he pleased her well. He smiled at her when their intimate gazes met, turning her bones to water. In her weakened state she was no match for his strength when he wrenched her knees apart and settled down atop her.
She nearly squeaked at the steel lance pressed against her opening. If he thought that beast was going to fit inside her, he was…
He bent his head to hers and kissed her, fracturing all her thoughts until nothing remained but his touch, his breath blending with hers. Was this one of her dreams? She’d had many with him, but the caress of his erection was real, and difficult to ignore. His face above her was real and so much more beautiful in the flesh. He kept her warm in his arms while her nose filled with the scent of him. He didn’t plunge into her like an eager diver but encased her in his embrace and kissed her senseless instead. So much better than her dreams. He had soft lips… soft, firm, and demanding. She loved how they felt moving over her mouth, her throat.
They fit comfortably together, nestled in each other’s curves and angles. He caressed her with his tender hands over her face and moved like a rushing wind against her crux, taking her close to the edge. But he didn’t force or rush their coming together. Like a sorcerer, he wove her deeper and deeper into his spell with softly whispered promises of making her happy, making her laugh, and, of course, making her angry.
He entered her with slow, tantalizing thrusts, conquering her on the forest floor. After a few short, sharp pains, he broke through her maiden veil and moved with more purpose. The pain ebbed at his masterful caress until nothing remained but jolts of pleasure that curled her toes. She lifted her legs around his waist to satisfy some base desire to take every inch of him. She did, with long, scalding strokes, smiling between kisses at the passion in his gaze. He cared for her. She could see it there, deep within the verdant depths of his eyes. The thought of it made her want to pleasure him more, until he burst inside her.
She gyrated against him and licked her bottom lip when he groaned like a bear injured in the woods. She moved under him like a veil in the wind and grasped his buttocks in her palms. She pushed him deeper, harder, crying out at the smoldering iron lance driving in and out of her.
He came in an eruption of thick groans and a wide, open smile so salacious, it brought her to climax with him.
She loved him. God help her, she loved him hard.
Chapter Thirteen
“May I ask ye something?”
“Aye.”
