Page 116 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

His warm arms circled her waist. He pulled back from the kiss and pressed his lips against the underside of her jaw, right against the pulse fluttering in her neck. She exhaled raggedly, closing her eyes and tilting her head back.

Hunter tugged on the laces on the back of her dress, a silent question, and she rolled her shoulders. “Aye,” she whispered.

He loosened the strings at the side of her kirtle.

That was something new. Under the willow tree, and even in later intimacies, they’d remained clothed.

Perhaps he sensed a change in her breathing or some tension, because he pulled back, eyeing her warily. Heat blazed in his eyes, and yet his hands hovered above her, not quite touching.

“Lass,” he breathed. “If ye have changed yer mind…”

“Nay,” she said firmly. “I am just… Wait a moment.”

He let his hands drop. She staggered back a step or two, breathing deeply, and steeled herself.

Desire flooded her. The pulsing ache of arousal plunged from her stomach to her sex, an insistent and furious wanting that hardly gave her a second’s peace.

Him. I want him. I’ve never wanted anything else.

Coherent thought faded away. She fumbled at the laces binding her bodice together. She pulled them loose, feeling the garment sag around her. It was easy enough to tug off the kirtle and the skirt underneath. There were petticoats next, several of them, and she kicked them away.

And then, at long last, she was only in her chemise.

It wasn’t cold in the room, but her skin prickled under the thin fabric. She knew without looking that the thin white garment was just about see-through, her pink nipples standing prominent.

His gaze dropped to her breasts, darkening. Hungry. He reached for her again, but she shook her head.

“Another moment,” she whispered.

He shifted from foot to foot. “Ye are killing me, woman,” he groaned.

She allowed herself a smile at that, just a small one. Then she seized the sides of her chemise and, in one decisive movement, pulled it up and over her head.

The garment floated down, landing on the pile of discarded clothes, and she stood naked in front of him.

His eyes faded to dark pools of desire, roaming down her body, hungry for detail. She just stood there shivering a little, her shoulders back.

“I have some marks,” she blurted out, a little giddy with nerves, and placed a hand on the side of her belly. “From when I carried Willow. Me belly got so big, ye see. I believe it’s normal.”

Hunter took a step forward and placed his large, warm hand on the side of her belly.

“It is normal,” he whispered. “Beautiful.”

“I wouldnae say that,” she managed, swallowing.

It occurred to her that she’d very much like a sip of tea. Or better yet, wine. However, the spell might be easily broken by doing something like that, and if this moment faded away… well, would it come back?

I daenae intend to find out.

He leaned forward, and she tilted her head back, closing her eyes. His lips brushed hers, a ghost of a kiss. Then, without warning, he sank to his knees, hands ghosting down her sides.

He pressed his lips to the soft curve of her stomach, glancing up at her with mischief and desire in his eyes.

“Daenae close yer eyes,” he whispered. “Look at me, lass.”

She forced her eyes open. He kissed her belly again, then her sides, where the marks zigzagged across her skin like a tiger’s stripes. His hands slid up and cupped her breasts, his fingers brushing her nipples. Then he lowered a hand to the apex of her thighs.

But his finger only traced a line across her wet heat before he pulled back. She frowned, opening her mouth to complain, when the world spun. Quite without knowing how she had gotten there, she found herself lying on her back on the bed, blinking up at the ceiling.