He gazed down at her, not expecting the depth of her loyalty. “You, who argue with me when you have the chance?”
“Only because I feel strongly about things too. I see how deeply you care about Dundrennan. You would never compromise its integrity as a home and a historical site.”
“That means more than you could know, lass. And I will not lose Dundrennan. I will do whatever I must to keep it intact, even if it must become a museum.” He scowled and thumped a fist on his upraised knee.
“What if we find something more, Aedan? A tomb, for example?”
“Arthur’s gold?” He half laughed. “Then a road would never go across this hill.”
“What can you do to protect Dundrennan?”
“Not much if the museum—and Sir Edgar—want their just due out of this.”
“I am not thinking of Sir Edgar. You should know that.”
“Why,” he said, turning toward her, “should I know that?”
Her lifted her face to his. “Because you should just know it.”
He huffed. “Charming, lass, but wildly obscure.”
“I do not much care for Sir Edgar. He is a good director. That is all.”
“Aye?” He leaned still closer. Her gaze locked with his.
“I have been swayed by…another,” she said on a breath.
“Who?” His voice thrummed through her.
“You,” she whispered.
“I would never sway you. Do what you want. I see I cannot prevent it.”
“Best not try.” She tipped her face upward, a breath away.
“I would not dare,” he breathed.
She laughed softly, leaned close, and kissed him.
He gave in to her sweetness readily, hungrily, drawing her to him as she looped her arms around his neck. Her lips moved under his, warm and heavenly, and when they parted for an instant, she kissed him again. Leaning against the wall, he pulled her into his lap, her legs and her skirts flowing over him.
He had controlled himself, yet she had surprised him utterly, and he surrendered completely, gratefully. He kissed her with fervor, traced a hand over her fine-boned jaw and found the shell of her ear. She sighed, mouth opening under his, meeting the slip of his tongue. That sweet, delicate contact made him burn so hot that he could hardly bear it. He knew he must pull back if he could not master himself.
Tilting her face upward, he gently slid her eyeglasses down and away, setting them aside. She blinked, the purity of her face lovely, innocent yet seductive. He took her deeply into his arms to kiss her as she curved against him, her hands sliding up to cuphis shoulders. Supporting her in one arm, with the other hand he spanned her waist, shifting his fingers, resting them on the tiny buttons that fastened her blouse. That unspoken question quickened his heartbeat. She arched against his torso, giving his access so that he loosened a few buttons, and she moaned softly, shifting as his hand found the fullness of one breast, felt the nipple stiffening, the sensation plunging heavily through him.
Another kiss, another, and she framed his jaw with her hands, the soft kid of her gloves sliding over the rasp of his beard. He turned his head to bite gently at the gloves, drawing them off playfully, letting them fall. She gave an airy laugh and cupped his face in her warm hands, kissing him again, mouth open and seeking now, hungry, eager.
Her openness and boldness, her ease in touching him and being touched by him, let him know that she felt comfortable with him in this secret and ancient place, as he felt with her. As their kiss lingered, he slipped his hand over her clothed breast again, and she sighed, moving slightly, allowing his fingers to cup and gently caress.
Some of the upper buttons of her blouse were undone—he had noticed earlier the creamy skin that peeked through—and he slipped another button free, then more. As her upper blouse fell open, she caught her breath on a sharp intake and arched against him again. He slid his fingers inside, encountering fragile lace and cotton, and her breast, warm and exquisitely soft, spilled into his hand. She gasped when Aedan found the nipple and took it in his fingertips. Feeling her heart slamming under her ribcage, he kissed her deeply, lingering his lips on hers, while his fingers brought first one breast, then the other, to life. He could feel tiny shivers on the surface of her skin.
She moaned and leaned back in his arms, allowing him greater access, and he dipped his head, mouth slipping along the arch of her throat and down, until he tasted the warm pearl ofher breast with his lips, teased it with his tongue until Christina shuddered and sighed and undulated against him. He lifted his head to kiss her mouth again, tasting her sweet and eager tongue, then kissed her cheek where the heat of her blush had grown so strong.
“Miss Burn,” he whispered against her lips, his fingers undoing more buttons, pulling gently at delicate, beribboned fabric, “my beautiful Miss Burn—no stays?”
“None. I could not breathe well when climbing the hill—and it was so—hot.”
“Aye so,” he murmured, his lips moving on hers as he loosened her chemise. The flimsy fabric was damp with rain and redolent with the warm vanilla and floral fragrance that seemed so natural to her.
