There was no harm in this, surely?
They worked together, the loom clacking steadily as she peddled the treadles and sent the shuttle skimming throughthe shed. Each time he pulled the beater forward, the threads tightened into place. At times they brushed—his arm grazing hers, his fingers deft and sure. Concentration became difficult.
“I like spending time with ye, Fi,” he said quietly.
She glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at her—only at her hands. “Why is that?” she asked, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless. So hopeful.
“When I’m with ye,” he murmured, “every moment has more color … and yet, it’s all done with too soon.”
Her pulse fluttered. His words were heady. Dangerous.
“Maybe lust does that,” she said carefully.
He huffed a laugh. “Maybe. But I like who I am when I’m with ye.”
Her throat tightened. “Really? It scares me … what I become when we are together.”
“And what’s that?” His voice held a husky edge now.
She swallowed. “Ye make me … reckless.”
His mouth curved. “I do?”
Awareness pulsed between them, and excitement swooped like a diving goshawk inside her. His question was a challenge, and she found herself rising to it.
Her pulse started to thunder in her ears as she turned to him. “Aye … like right now. I should be sending ye away. And all I can think about is kissing ye.”
He gave her a slow smile that made her pulse leap. “I won’t stop ye.”
“I know … and that’s the problem.” But it was too late. She’d already turned, already leaned into him.
Her lips pressed against his. A heartbeat later, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. His lips parted for her, a groan rumbling in his chest.
Mother Mary—she was a fool.
Ailean kissed her back with equal passion, growing rougher. Almost savage. Heat surged. She whimpered into his mouth. This thing between them was too powerful; a great wave she couldn’t stop.
“Ailean,” she gasped as his lips seared a hot line down her neck. “I want ye.”
He cursed under his breath. An instant later, he rose to his feet, bringing her with him. He then turned her away, pressing her face down over the table, hiking up her skirts, and baring her body to his hungry gaze. His fingers stroked the curve of her arse, reverent and sure.
“Christ,” he groaned. “In moonlight, ye are bonnie indeed … in sunlight, ye are a goddess.”
She shivered. Heat pulsed between her thighs at the knowledge she was exposing herself utterly to him. She didn’t care. She ached for more.
Gasping, she spread herself wider. “Please. I need ye.”
He made a soft choking sound, and then his fingers slid between her thighs, to where she was already helplessly wet for him.
And there, he began to stroke and circle. Slow. Sensual.
Fiona bit down on her lower lip. She couldn’t start making a lot of noise. The walls were thick, but that didn’t mean sound didn’t travel, especially since the window was uncovered. Anyone passing in the barmkin below might hear if she started crying out and urging him on.
She had the presence of mind enough to know that, but not enough to stop this folly.
Instead, she undulated her hips, grinding herself against his touch.
And then, he slid a long finger inside her. She gasped, pushing back against him.
