And he came along with her, riding the wave of her climax with his own.
At that moment her dreams seemed so close, she could almost reach out and grab them.
Long after the last ebb of their climax had faded, Tor lay in bed, Christina sleeping soundly against him. He was having trouble putting what had just happened in the proper perspective.
Intense. That didn’t even begin to describe it.Cataclysmic. Earth-shattering. Those came closer.
He didn’t realize mating could be like that.
His chest burned with tenderness for the tiny lass curled up against him like a bairn. After the deaths of his parents and the long intervening years of constant war and death, he thought himself impervious to these kinds of feelings. His control and lack of emotion were what made him excel as a chief and a warrior. But he felt the layers of ice melting under the warmth of her … love.
His brother was right: She loved him. He could see it in her eyes. Feel it in her touch. Taste it in her kiss.
And he could not deny that he felt a special tenderness for the lass, which troubled him. Could he care about her and still put his clan first? He’d never thought so before. Feelings only complicated—weakened—and that was something no chief or warrior could risk. He’d had a taste of it when MacDougall had confronted them, and when he’d seen her in the village. No matter what happened, he knew he could not allow his weakness for his wife to interfere with his duty.
She made a soft, contented sound in her sleep. He sighed, pressing his cheek against her warm, silky hair and inhaling her sweet, feminine scent. Contentment washed over his exhausted limbs. She was so small and soft. Delicate and easily hurt. Not hurting her was going to be a challenge, but he vowed to do his best to make her happy.
