Page 69 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

“Did ye fear wakin’ me?” Ceana looked right into his eyes. “Or did ye fear what ye wanted to do once I woke?”

His breath brushed her cheek. His thigh was still wedged between hers. He had made no effort to move it, and she refused to step away from the pressure.

“Ye daenae understand what leavin’ required.”

Ceana cocked her head. “Ye have given me nay chance to understand.”

The passage beyond the hanging remained quiet. Oscar listened for the children, then drew Ceana closer until his coat buttons pressed into her bodice.

“I have faced battlefields that demanded less resolve than it took to leave ye in that bed.”

Ceana’s breath caught. The wool of his coat bunched tighter in her fist, and his hard length pressed against her lower belly. He had lain within reach throughout the night. He had wanted to wake her and had forced himself out of their chamber before she could see the effort. Another morning would come, and he still made no promise about where she would find him.

“Why are ye determined to deny us both?” she asked.

He looked at her mouth. “Ye ken why.”

“Ye ken what I told ye. There is nay bairn to fear.”

“And I cannae believe ye truly believe that.” He spoke with the same hard certainty he had beside the bath.

Ceana refused to give him the old argument again. She released his coat and caught the hand on her waist, sliding it down the curve of her hip. “Yer doubt hasnae stopped ye from wantin’ me.”

Oscar watched their joined hands. Ceana guided his palm lower until it rested against the heavy folds over her upper thigh, then shifted her feet to widen her stance.

“Are ye afraid to touch me now?”

His gaze lifted to hers as he turned his wrist within her grasp and took control of the movement. His hand trailed over her dress, pressing through gathered wool and linen until it curled between her thighs. His other arm locked around her waist and held her against him.

Ceana drew in a sharp breath. The firm pressure carried through every layer, intimate enough to stir a tight pulse in her core. Oscar kept his hand still while he watched her face. She caught his wrist again and pressed closer.

“Daenae be ridiculous, wife,” he whispered. “I can touch ye whenever I want.” His fingers tightened. “Whenever ye need me to.” His thumb slackened against the dress and waited for her answer.

Ceana remembered lying awake while he held himself rigid at the edge of the mattress. She then tightened her grip on his wrist and pushed his palm more firmly against her.

“Then prove it.”

She caught the front of his coat again and pulled him down as she rose to meet him.

Their lips met with enough force to knock her head toward the stone. Oscar’s free hand rose to the nape of her neck and curled around it, his fingers sliding into her hair while he angled her head. Ceana caught his lower lip between hers. When she opened her mouth, his tongue delved in, and the breath she had meant to hold escaped against his cheek.

The hanging stirred inches from his back, and the risk of the children returning forced her to swallow each moan.

She gripped his shoulder and slid her other hand into the hair at the nape of his neck. Oscar stroked her tongue once, then nipped her lower lip and pulled her closer. She ground into the palm between her thighs, her knees opening wider.

His hips shifted, and his hard length pressed more firmly against her belly. It brought back the weight of him between her legs on their wedding night and the strained sound he had made when he entered her.

She kissed him harder, and he sucked her lower lip into his mouth. His fingers tightened on her dress and trailed upward, gentle even as his breathing broke across her face. She moved against his hand, accepting the relief he gave through the thick fabric and asking for more with the rock of her hips.

“Ceana,” he rasped against her mouth.

She answered by pulling him back in before he could retreat. His hand closed more firmly around her nape, and his mouth crashed onto hers again. The stone scraped her shoulder as he crowded closer. She welcomed his weight, holding him against her while his thumb moved once through the folds between her thighs.

His head lifted suddenly, and she followed his gaze to the hanging, her lips still parted. A moment later, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“We searched the gallery twice,” Tommy said.

“Then we search near the stairs again,” Paisley replied. “They cannae have left this floor.”