Tonight, it wasn’t.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she whispered.
The tiniest flicker of relief flitted through his smile before hunger took over. Then his mouth found hers.
It wasn’t teasing this time. No quick brush to wind her up and walk away. He kissed her slow and certain, deepening with every heartbeat until the room blurred at the edges. Heather clutched at his shirt, desperate to anchor herself, but his arms were already wrapping around her, pulling her in like he’d been waiting to close that last inch since the day she’d barreled out of a cow pasture and into his life.
Her back bumped the bedpost, knees knocking the side of the mattress. Flynn followed, steady as stone, one hand braced on the post, the other at her waist, holding her like he had no intention of letting go.
“Heather,” he whispered against her lips.
She dragged in a shaky breath. “Yeah?”
His forehead rested against hers, eyes searching. “I didn’t say it downstairs because of the song,” he said, voice rough. “Or the whisky. I meant it. All of it.”
Heat flared in her chest—want tangled with something far more dangerous. The old urge to joke, to dodge, to back away scratched at her ribs, but his gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t look like a man swept up in the moment.
He looked like a man who’d already decided.
Her hands slid up his chest, fingers trembling only because she was holding so much in place at once. “You really don’t do things halfway, do you?” she managed.
His grin went crooked, equal parts wicked and soft. “Not with you.”
That broke something loose. She tugged him down to her again, mouth crashing back to his, and this time nothing about it was careful. The kiss burned—hungry, unrestrained, months of tension and missteps finally coming apart at the seams.
Flynn groaned into her mouth, one hand sliding to the back of her neck, holding her like he needed the contact as much as she did. She fisted her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.
When his mouth trailed to her jaw, then lower to the curve of her throat, Heather’s knees gave completely. He caught her with an easy curse and a huff of laughter, sweeping her off her feet as if she weighed nothing at all and laying her back against the quilt.
The lamplight painted him in gold and shadow as he hovered over her. His thumb traced her cheek, soft and sure, even as his eyes darkened.
“Still with me?” he asked.
Heather swallowed. “More than ever.”
His smile this time wasn’t cocky. It was quiet, almost disbelieving, like he couldn’t quite believe she was really here with him. “Good,” he said. “Because tomorrow can wait.”
Then his mouth was on hers again, and the last of her restraint went with it.
She didn’t remember who moved first, whether it was his hands at her waist or hers tugging at his shirt, but suddenly there was skin. Warm, freckled, familiar and still somehow new. His palm skimmed the bare line of her side and her breath hitched; his chuckle rumbled against her mouth.
“God, lass…” The words slipped out rough, unpolished. “Look at ye.”
He caught her wrist, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm. “Mo chridhe,” he murmured, the Gaelic rolling out on instinct.
Heat curled low in her belly at the sound of it, at the way his accent thickened when he forgot to rein it in. His hands framed her face for a heartbeat, eyes burning into hers.
“Do you ken what you do to me?” His voice cracked softer, then dropped again as his fingers tightened at her hip. “I’m wrecked for anyone else, Heather Campbell. Completely.”
“Show me,” she said, surprised by how steady it came out.
Whatever control he’d been clinging to snapped. His mouth crashed back to hers with a groan that went straight through her. Their laughter dissolved into breathless sounds as the rest of their clothes became unnecessary obstacles: his shirt, her jeans, the last scrape of cotton giving way to heat.
She tried not to look, tried not to stare, but when his boxers hit the floor and he straightened above her, her eyes had a mindof their own. He was all long lines and solid muscle, familiar from a dozen stolen moments, and somehow it still knocked the air from her lungs.
“God,” she exhaled before she could stop herself.
His mouth twitched. “Flatterer.”
