Page 104 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

“We can argue about that later.”

His arm stayed firm around her until she had planted both feet flat. The water darkened his clothes below the knees, and his palm curled around her waist above the soaked fabric.

“I have it within reach.”

“Then take it.”

Ceana bent again. With Oscar braced behind her, she worked the blue stone from the lakebed and straightened. It filled her palm and carried more weight than its size suggested. A clean 0 had been engraved into one face.

“I found it.” She lifted the stone in triumph. “The next clue is mine.”

Oscar spared the 0 a brief glance. Then his gaze returned to her wet skirts and traveled up to her damp sleeve. A loose strand of hair lay against her mouth. He went still behind her, his hand still on her waist.

“Ye’re torturin’ me, wife.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Ye are torturin’ yerself, husband. I told ye I cannae have children.”

“Six weeks have changed nothin’ about the risk.”

This time, she let the silence fall before responding. “They have changed nothin’ about yer desire for me either, apparently.”

He let out a slow breath through his lips. “I cannae risk what may follow if I take ye again. But I can do this.”

He lifted his free hand to her face. His fingers stopped beside her cheek, close enough that she could feel their warmth against her wet skin.

Ceana tossed the blue stone onto his cloak. It struck the wool and stayed. Then she caught his hovering wrist and brought his hand down to her waist. “Then do it.”

He pulled her against him as his mouth crashed onto hers. A moan caught in her throat. She gripped his shoulders and kissed him back, opening to the first stroke of his tongue.

Warmth spread from his mouth while the water chilled the skin beneath her wet clothes. Oscar widened his stance and pressed her against his body. One hand cupped her jaw, and the other held her waist with enough force that his fingers pressed through the clinging layers.

Ceana rose onto her tiptoes and wound her arms around his neck. Her bare heel slid over a smooth stone. Oscar tightened his arm and anchored her without lifting his mouth. She clung to him harder, pushed against him, and felt his breath break when her fingers tangled in his hair.

He kissed her until her lips tingled. Each time he adjusted the pressure, she followed and kept her body pressed against his. His hand moved from her waist to her hip, gathering the wet fabric, then traveled up her ribs.

She felt each rough fingertip through the soaked fabric while she caught his lower lip between her teeth, and the low sound he made sent heat through her as cold water moved around their legs.

His mouth trailed over her cheek and found the sensitive spot beneath her jaw. She tipped her head back enough to grant him access, gripping the back of his neck when his lips moved down her throat. His hand stayed on her hip, though his breathing roughened against her skin.

When he returned to her lips, she met him at once. Her toes strained against the lakebed as she reached for every inch of him that she could.

She shivered with so much excitement when she drew back for air that she felt unsteady. She was so anxious to see where this would go next that she could barely hear the water lapping at the bank. It wasn’t as clear as before, but it didn’t matter.

Wait. It wasn’t as clear as before.

Before she could speak, the marked stone tilted sideways. She was still processing what was happening when the edges of her vision darkened.

She blinked and tried to plant her feet more firmly, but her fingers loosened against his shirt. One knee gave. Oscar caught her before she could hit the water and hauled her up against his chest. His mouth tightened, and his eyes searched hers.

“Ceana, look at me.”

She forced her eyes up to his.

“Are ye hurt?”

“Nay. The shore just tilted for a moment.”

“Did ye hit yer head?”