Page 378 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“This is need,” Iain said against her throat.

He lifted her skirt and tried to slip his knee between her legs. She remained firm, so he slid a hand downward, his fingers seeking and finding her moist warmth.

“Why deny this?” He stroked gently, feeling the tension loosen in her body. “Why?” he demanded.

“By all that is holy, you will, once and for all, glimpse true fire.” Breaking away, he knelt before her. Fisting her skirt, he wrapped an arm around her hips and drew her to him.

Her hands tightened on his shoulders and she pushed hard. “Sweet Jesu, y-you are not serio—” Her words turned into a soft cry when his mouth connected with her womanly flesh.

He probed gently and was rewarded with her intake of breath. Her hands moved to steady herself on his shoulders as he flicked his tongue in a quick motion against her sex. Iain drank long and deep of the sensual intoxicant, alternating between slow swipes of his tongue between her folds and flicks against her most sensitive place. Her fingers dug into the hard muscle of his shoulders. He drove her further, finally sucking with gentle pulls, then harder until she cried out in unison with the tremor that ran through her body, and a deafening roar filled his head.

Iain stood. Her knees buckled. He caught her to him, and she gave him a halfhearted shove. Lifting her with one arm, Iain yanked up his kilt. He locked gazes with her as he wrapped her legs around his waist, then settled her just above his erection. In one quick motion, he brought her down onto him. She shuddered and her head dropped onto his shoulder.

“Christ,” Iain muttered when her hot breath on his neck sent a thundering shock through him.

Staggering forward until the wall was behind her, he sought her mouth, starved for the taste of her. He began to move inside her and her fingers tensed around his arms as she gave into the rhythm. He bent his head and closed his lips over a nipple as he quickened his thrusts. Dim awareness of the rough wood of the wall digging into his knuckles played in the back of his mind, but pain mingled with pleasure, and where one began and the other ended Iain had no reckoning.

Her breath came in short spurts. Realizing she was nearing her release, Iain stopped. She lifted her head from his shoulder. Her brow furrowed and Iain recognized the look of confusion that crept into her eyes. He bent, his mouth almost touching hers, and eased himself out of her, then back in with a calculated surge. She stiffened, sucked in breath, and Iain knew it was pleasure she experienced, not fear. Her body trembled as he repeated the motion while kissing her.

The soft kiss turned hard when her grip tightened and she arched, giving a small cry with her climax. Iain’s heart pumped wildly as her softness constricted around him and his body convulsed. His final thrusts brought with them the residue of gratification and he drove deep, the last waves of pleasure scorching the very roots of his senses.

Iain held her, not moving, until both their pulses beat to a more natural rhythm. Finally, she relaxed, and he lifted her off him, then lowered her feet to the ground. Stepping back, he looked down at her. Her eyes were hidden beneath lowered lashes, but the soft flush of red in her cheeks told him she was more than a little surprised by her reaction to his lovemaking. He adjusted her bodice, tied the strings, then placed her hand through the crook of his arm and led her in a leisurely walk back to the great hall.

Speculative glances gave way to knowing looks and grins when Iain seated Victoria next to him. He hid a smile, thankful she had no idea her tousled hair and disheveled dress bore testimony she had just risen from her lover’s bed. Father Brennan’s appearance from the staircase turned the table’s attention away from the lass, and her face lit. She rose.

“Good evening, Father.” she greeted the priest. “I had not expected to see you.”

Father Brennan took the hand she extended and clasped it between his palms. “I told Iain I would stay

to perform the ceremony.”

“Ceremony?” she repeated.

Iain heard the shock in her voice and pushed to his feet.

“When is the wedding to take place?” Father Brennan asked.

Iain strode toward them. “Directly after supper,” he replied, then to her, “Lass, there is some—”

She faced him and he stopped short at sight of the betrayal he read in her eyes. His heart jumped to a gallop. She could only feel betrayal if she cared.

“The wager was not well done of you, my lord.” She whirled, narrowly missing a serving maid who had stopped and was watching the discourse with open interest.

Iain took two paces forward. “Remember what I said? No denying the truth.” Her eyes snapped onto him, and his heart twisted at the pain he saw there.

Christ, he had handled this badly.

“You speak of truth, yet toy with me.” Her gaze shifted to Father Brennan. “And you. I would not have believed a priest capable of plotting in such a manner.”

Father Brennan’s face turned ashen. “I-I-did not— that is—”

She again headed for the door.

Iain reached her in an instant and grabbed her arm. He ignored the wince that flashed across her face and pulled her closer. “Marrying me is repugnant, yet you have no qualms about letting me between your legs?”

“You take liberties and I am to thank you for using it against me?”

“I should have told you about Ho—”