Page 87 of Dark Embrace

A smile flickered in his hot eyes as he straddled her, his knees were now pushing her jean-clad legs wide.

Brie was whirling in a thick quicksand of desire. She thought she said his name, but she didn’t recognize her own voice.

He seemed even more impossibly aroused. He tugged on the snap of her jeans and slid his hand into them, his large palm cupping her beneath her panties. She closed her eyes and gasped, flooded with pleasure and desire, vibrating with the need to soar and peak. But he was very still.

Brie somehow looked up at him.

His expression was strained, his entire body was quivering. His chest rose and fell wildly and sweat dripped off his brow.

He wanted her, she thought, the love surging hard against her chest. “Let me feel it.”

“Aye,” he said, low and rough. “Aye, I want ye, Brianna.” His desire erupted and Brie cried out, shocked by his urgency, his hunger. And then he yanked her boots off, and then her jeans and underwear followed. His desire was pulsating so frantically in her that she raised up, and he caught her face in his hands and kissed her while pushing huge and hot and hard against her soaking flesh. His muscular body shuddered uncontrollably.

Brie lifted her leg to wrap it instinctively around his hips, kissing him back. He caught her calf to help her. She began to spin as he lifted her other leg. She clawed his back, wanting to scream with the growing urgency, the shocking need, and then she felt him push inside, and she went still.

He slowly filled her. She gasped, shocked by the sensation of their union. She quivered around him, loving him so much it hurt. The pressure he was exerting grew and grew.

He whispered her name.

Brie’s eyes flew open. She looked up into his intent, fierce stare, and he smiled at her.

She knew what that smile cost him and her heart leapt in joy.

And watching her, he thrust carefully, deeply, exercising a vast control.

Brie gasped against a brief, slight pain, and then she was full as never before. For one moment she lay utterly still, stunned. She wished to engrave that moment in her memory forever. He also lay still, and as they looked at each other, she knew he was as surprised as she was. Yet somehow, their union was so terribly familiar, like déjà vu.

“Brianna,” he whispered again. And she felt him memorizing the feeling of their union, not just of their bodies but the depth of their passion, their caring and connection, their love.

His gaze flickered. He made a harsh sound and began moving inside her, urgently—all control gone. Brie clung and let him take her where he wished. She heard him now, aye, high above the world, and the frenzy began. She shattered and sobbed, insane with the indescribable rapture. He cried her name.

Brie wasn’t sure how long he swept her through the stars in passion and ecstasy, but it seemed to go on forever—she wanted it to go on forever. She would love him forever, no matter what happened to them. She wept with love and rapture. His mouth moved over her face, her hair. She stroked his hard shoulders. He kissed her softer ones. His rhythm slowed and was even more excruciating. They wept together, this time.

HE OPENED HIS EYES, saw the tent ceiling above and sat bolt upright. He had fallen asleep.

Only for a moment, but it hadn’t happened in sixty-six years.

He stared down at the woman snuggled against his side, stunned to see her there. Shock turned to horror.

What had he done?

He slid from the bed, throwing on his leine and stepping into his boots, refusing to look at her. He recalled every moment of their time together now. He took his brat and stepped outside into the dark dawn, and then he began to run toward the ridge, past what was left of his camp. Royce and Malcolm stood by a fire near their tent and they turned to stare at him. He didn’t care. He ran up the ridge, pounding hard, away from her.

He had not been making love to her. It was impossible.

Deamhanain did not make love.

On the top of the ridge he paused, panting. His mind raced. He saw Brianna as she had been dying on the plain after Moray’s attack. He had been terrified she would die, and he had found his healing powers.

He recalled her finding him in the wood. He had crawled back to her in agony, across miles, so he could die in her arms. He had been so relieved just to look at her again. There had been so much comfort when she had held him.

Last night he had been frantic to soar with her into the light, away from the darkness. He hadn’t lusted for power, not once. There had only been a stunning desire. He had sobbed in rapture and relief. There had been joy. There had been delight.

No! Aidan went still. The wind whipped him, blowing fiercely, indicating that snow was imminent, and he wanted to be chilled thoroughly, so there would be no feeling and never joy.

He could not forget his son!

He could not do this—he could not give her what she wanted. What was happening to him?