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

“Even though I stole from you?” She still cringed to recall that ghastly moment when the coins dropped from her pocket and he realized she’d broken into his desk.

“Fiona, what’s mine is yours. Everything I am and everything I have is at your service.”

The words struck her like blows. She couldn’t doubt he meant them. Fiona made herself smile, although poignant emotion turned her voice husky. “That sounds like a vow.”

“Aye, it is.” He didn’t smile. “A vow as binding as the ones I spoke today in front of the minister.”

More binding, she suspected. He’d promised to love her then, too. She had no illusions that he cared for her that way. “I don’t deserve you, Diarmid.”

One hand slashed the air. “Any debt between us became null the moment ye married me.”

Fiona could hardly credit his generosity. A few hours ago, she’d never have imagined finding the nerve to do this, but she stood and crossed to stand before him. She caught his face between her hands and met his intense black stare.

“I honor you, Diarmid Mactavish, my husband. And while I know you don’t want my gratitude, you have it. I promise I’ll do my best to be a good wife and to make sure you never regret taking me as your bride.”

“Fiona…” he said in a raw voice.

Before he could deflect her thanks, she bent to press her lips to his mouth.

The kiss was unprecedented in her experience, a step beyond even those heady kisses they’d shared before he used her body. He’d been very much in charge of those, for all her enjoyment and enthusiastic response. Now she made the choices. His lips were soft beneath hers, and he let her take the lead, so the contact conveyed more tenderness than passion. Although passion hovered close, a whisper from taking over.

Slowly she drew away. He rose to his feet and settled his hands at her waist. The light in his eyes made her stomach clench on more of that piercing emotion she still couldn’t identify.

“I’m glad I married you.” Something else she’d never imagined saying before tonight.

“And I’m glad I married ye.” The sincerity in that deep voice settled inside her like a warm ember at the heart of a fire. “We’ve made a bonny start, I think.”

“I think so, too.” She lowered her hands to those broad shoulders. She loved his strength. Another first. Male power had only ever been a threat until she met Diarmid. “Shall we take the next step?”

“Aye.” He kissed her again, and she realized with a shock, that for the first time in her life, she came to a man’s bed with joyous anticipation.

Chapter 27

Fiona expected Diarmid to pull her nightdress over her head that very moment. She knew he wanted to see her naked. But he seemed content to stand here and keep kissing her, until her knees threatened to fold beneath her.

Hard to believe at the start of the night, she hadn’t known how to kiss a man. Now she knew about playful kisses and teasing kisses and wet, open-mouthed kisses that were all tongue, and that set her blood thundering. She knew about long, lazy kisses that lured the soul from her body. Hard, thorough kisses that ignited flashes of excitement, hot and bright as lightning. Sweet, quick kisses that sparked pleasure wherever they landed. An eyelid. Her nose. The tip of her chin. The whisky they’d shared added a honey flavor, but the richest flavor of all was Diarmid himself.

It was impossible to ignore the hard flesh rising between his thighs. She’d learned to fear that part of a man, but tonight his excitement presaged the joining to come. Not cruel and inescapable, but a promise that she’d bring him joy.

The voluptuous dance of their lips made her audacious. How odd to find herself seeking contact, when before tonight, she’d always shrunk from it. It seemed Diarmid gave her yet one more gift, a nascent sensual courage.

She bent to nip and lick at the bare chest revealed under the open vee of his robe. He tasted delicious, and the heady scent of his skin intoxicated her. When she scraped her teeth down the center of his chest, he shuddered. The frail seedling of her bravery shriveled, and she raised her head to meet blazing black eyes.

“I didnae teach ye that,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“I…I wanted to taste you,” she said uncertainly.

He closed his eyes, and that telltale muscle flickered in his cheek.

“I’m sorry.” She started to shift away. “I thought you’d like it.”

His hands tightened on her waist. “By God, I do.”

She regarded him doubtfully, although she stopped retreating. “You don’t sound as if you do.”

“Ye took me by surprise. You’ve been so afraid…”

As he stood before her, she saw a legion of reactions in his face. Care. Consideration. Desire. Nothing even close to disgust. “I’m becoming less afraid by the minute.”