The Highlander's Lost Lady (The Lairds Most Likely 3)

Chapter 26

“I don’t understand,” Fiona said dully, staring up at the shadowy ceiling and trying not to cry.

She felt wet and brimming with Diarmid’s seed. She also felt alone and inadequate and confused. The worst of it was that for a good while before the act’s ending, she’d believed that she pleased him.

His vigorous possession had left her aching. She felt stretched and pummeled, and the slightest move set off twinges she hadn’t experienced in years. Not that he’d been rough. Even when he’d pumped into her, he hadn’t hurt her. But it was a long time since a man had used her body, and Diarmid was much more impressively endowed than her late husband.

Fiona would dearly love to leave the bed, go back to her own room, and wash. She felt sticky and uncomfortable. That, too, was familiar.

But Diarmid was clearly in a funk about something, and she had a nasty suspicion that abandoning him at this moment might set up a permanent rift between them.

“I didnae wait for ye,” he said in that same desolate tone.

He still spoke in riddles, although she knew even without seeing his face that whatever troubled him was no minor matter.

She braced for him to turn on her and blame her for her failure. She’d tried. She’d tried so hard. When he’d lost himself in that groaning, ferocious release, she’d felt proud of herself for giving him such pleasure.

She’d got that wrong. Her ineptitude made her feel like she’d swallowed hot lead. She couldn’t summon the courage to look at him. She steeled herself to ask the humiliating question. “What more did you want from me?”

The bed shifted as he turned on his side and rose on one elbow to study her. “What on earth did ye say?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she mumbled, cringing away from talking about what had happened between them. It was all too embarrassing.

“No, what did ye mean?” He frowned. “Tell me.”

Ian Grant hadn’t been much of a talker, especially when it came to marital matters. Faced with more than six feet of naked male on the hunt for answers, Fiona wondered if perhaps that might be one thing she commended in her first husband.

Her eyes flickered from Diarmid’s stern expression down over that splendid chest to where his rod lay upon one powerful thigh. Even flaccid, it emerged large from a nest of black curls.

She knew she shouldn’t stare, but she couldn’t help it. She’d never seen that part of a man before. Ian’s fumblings had all been under cover of darkness, and she’d been so lost in her astonishing reactions to Diarmid’s touch, she hadn’t looked before he pushed inside her. Fighting the urge to touch it, she whipped her gaze back up to the ceiling and clenched her hands in the sheets.

“Fiona?” The wry humor in his voice told her he hadn’t missed that lightning inspection of his body.

Diarmid was a clever man. He never missed much.

“You put your rod inside me and gave me your seed,” she said in a choked voice. Could her cheeks burn any hotter? “Surely that means I pleased you.”

“Of course ye pleased me,” he said with a hint of impatience.

It nearly killed her to turn her head and meet his glittering eyes.

For a dazed moment, she lost herself in admiring his handsomeness. With those pure Celtic features, he really was a gorgeous man. “Then why in heaven’s name are you grumbling?”

He looked startled. “Ye should be the one grumbling. You didnae find your pleasure.”

Her brows drew together. “Yes, I did.”

Thick black eyebrows lowered over brilliant eyes. “Dinna lie to me.”

She flinched. After all the lies between them, the accusation left a sting.

“I’m not. You must know I liked kissing you.” Her eyes fluttered down. She’d never had a conversation like this in her life. “And what you did when you touched me down there…was wonderful.”

His expression didn’t ease. “But you felt nae more when I was inside ye?”

Good Lord above. “More?”

She watched understanding light his expression, and wished to the devil that she understood.