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

She smiled. “That’s what I promised in front of the minister.”

He caught her hand and placed a quick kiss on her fluttering fingers, before he led her across to the bed. “Thank ye.”

He’d explored her most intimate flesh, moved inside her. In comparison, these little gestures of affection shouldn’t contain such power. But the sweetness of his lips on her knuckles transformed her blood to melted sugar.

In a daze, she let him push her down to sit on the edge of the bed. When she shifted, the slide of her nightgown beneath her bare buttocks felt like yet another sensual tease.

Diarmid kneeled before her. “Part your legs for me.”

“But you’ll see…”

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Familiar amusement creased his cheeks. “Aye, I will indeed.”

Fiona set her hands flat on the mattress either side of her and slowly spread her thighs. The loose nightgown dipped to preserve her modesty, but she wasn’t naïve enough to imagine it would stay that way.

Diarmid moved in until her legs framed him. Instead of doing anything shocking, he put his arms around her and tilted her down for more kisses. He was so tall, she didn’t need to lean far.

By the time he drew away, her heart was racing and she couldn’t muster a sensible thought. Her hands were buried in the black silk of his hair, and the neck of her nightgown gaped to allow him an unimpeded view of her breasts.

His eyes flared, and he licked his lips with unabashed appreciation. Instead of hitching up the nightgown to cover herself, she leaned forward and ran one hand down the side of his face. When she felt the faint prickle of whiskers, she recalled the short beard he’d grown in the hills and how dashing it had made him look.

Then he’d looked like a pirate. Now kneeling before her, he looked like a knight of legend beholding the Holy Grail.

Except she couldn’t imagine Sir Galahad’s eyes ever gleaming with quite that sensual fire.

“Touch me, Diarmid,” she whispered.

He caught her breasts through the silk. Her nipples tightened into yearning points. He played with her breasts, squeezing, cupping, pressing them together, rubbing the silk across the sensitive peaks until she whimpered with longing. By the time she caught his busy hands and tugged them down to her lap, she was shaking so hard she could barely sit up.

“Wait,” she said breathlessly. “Shift back a wee bit.”

Fiona stood to pull the nightdress over her head. She felt she offered him her nakedness like a gift. When his eyes worshipped her, she received a reward of her own. She’d expected to see salacious hunger, but he looked transfigured. His fists closed at his sides as if he hardly dared to touch her.

Dear heaven, how she wanted him to touch her. Liquid heat welled between her legs, and her breasts swelled in flagrant need.

“Fiona…” he said in a choked voice. “I’m no’ worthy.”

Tenderness crushed her heart into an aching mass. She slid her fingers through his hair. “Of course you are.”

Diarmid’s movements always expressed manly grace and power. But as he reached for her and buried his face in her belly, eagerness made him clumsy. His hands shook as he caught her buttocks.

This time, the tenderness sliced so deep, it carved a rift across her heart. Her hand curled around his head and pressed him closer. She bent over until her hair drifted about him like a veil.

She didn’t know how long they remained in that desperate embrace, but eventually he raised his head and stared up at her from where he kneeled at her feet. The fond amusement was back, but beneath the smile, deep emotion lingered, like the last traces of sunset in a night sky. “You’re glorious.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she said in a thick voice, still playing with his hair. “I want to please you.”

“By all that’s holy, ye do.” He caught her hips and pushed her back until she was sitting again. “Let me please ye in return.”

When her legs spread and his eager eyes fell on her…there, she blushed with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement.

“Bonny,” he said with a trace of his earlier awe. Gently he caught her thighs and slid her forward to the edge of the mattress. “Lean back on your elbows.”

Fiona sucked in a breath laden with the spice of arousal and obeyed without hesitation. When Diarmid stroked her legs, starting at her ankles and venturing higher with each pass, she gasped. She craved his hands where she was wet and needy. With a shiver of voluptuous nostalgia, she recalled how he’d touched her there.

By the time he reached the top of her thighs, she was panting. Then her breath stopped altogether, when he caressed her feminine folds until they felt full and hot and swollen. Each brush of his fingers teased a place that left her shuddering with reaction.