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

“Yes, very nice.”

Diarmid returned to her lips, and this time the glide of his tongue had her following instinct and parting to take in more of his taste. He made a low sound of approval and slipped his tongue into her mouth with fleeting importunity. Her heart slammed hard against her ribs, as a wave of sensation crashed over her.

He tasted like the peppermint powder he’d used to clean his teeth. He tasted of heat and hungry male.

She’d learned to fear ma

sculine arousal, but now she opened her mouth wider. Another rumbling growl of encouragement, and the kiss changed. Flared into desperation and craving.

Through quaking astonishment, Fiona summoned the courage to greet him with a flutter of her tongue. Then everything melded into a tumultuous symphony of question and response, as he sucked her tongue into his mouth and she returned the favor.

By the time he lifted his head, she was shaking, her toes curled, and her hands were clawing at the bedsheet beneath her. Her lips felt full and damp and eager for more.

Fiona forced heavy eyelids upward. Diarmid looked ruffled and intent, and his black eyes were glowing. “Would ye like to touch me?”

“T…touch?” After those dazzling kisses, speech was difficult.

“Aye. Put your hands around my neck.”

“Would you like that?”

“Aye.”

Tentatively she curled a hand around his nape, feeling the way his soft dark hair tickled her fingers. Her other hand curved around the ball of one brawny shoulder.

He’d been warm when they started kissing. Now he radiated heat like a great furnace. His scent had changed, too, become richer and muskier. She gulped in a mouthful of that delicious fragrance.

“More?” he asked.

Fiona stared up into a face drawn tight with reined-in hunger. She’d never felt like this before, hot and eager and daring. The restlessness inside her might even be passion stirring to uncertain life. “Yes, please.”

So far, he’d touched her face, holding her still for those breathtaking kisses. Now he slid his hand around her back and angled her toward him.

This time, she had an idea what to expect from his kisses. So when his mouth opened over hers, she parted her lips and kissed him with no trace of her earlier hesitation. His hold firmed, and he rolled over so she felt the hard outline of his body through the sheet. Even that didn’t make her want to stop.

As long as he kept kissing her, he could do whatever he liked with her. With a sigh, she yielded to the wild seduction of her husband’s lips.

Chapter 25

Pleasure pounded through Diarmid. Pleasure and rising hunger. But when he recalled that he’d had to teach his wife how to kiss, he leashed his impatience.

The more he discovered about Fiona’s previous marriage, the more he understood her skittishness. He refused to let her put him in the same category as that clumsy swine who had frightened this treasure of a woman away from sensual fulfillment. The fact that she was here in this bed at all told him that she trusted him as she trusted no other man.

That was a heavy responsibility. Even if it killed him, he wouldn’t betray her by pursuing his own delight ahead of hers.

How strange to hold this bonny woman in his arms, a woman who had married and given birth to a child, and recognize that he must treat her like a virgin. Because in every sense but the most prosaic, she was a virgin.

Hell, she hadn’t even kissed anyone properly until tonight.

The memory of coaxing her lips to open for him and the rapture that followed drew him back from the brink of passion. Every time he touched her, he was torn between overwhelming desire and a tenderness so poignant, he felt like someone stuck a harpoon into his aching heart.

Her burgeoning response made his blood rush and his head swim. She tasted so sweet, like honey and flowers and warm female. Her scent, more flowers, more warm female, was intoxicating.

God bless her, her hands started their own exploration. They raked through his hair, traced the shape of his shoulders and arms, stroked his naked back. With a soft sigh, she arched toward him.

Still he kissed her, teaching her the sensual dance of tongues and teeth and lips. A teasing foray, a strategic retreat, a nip here, a more thorough invasion there. Until on a growl of frustration, she set out to pursue him with all the skills he’d lavished on her.

With a breathless laugh, Diarmid pulled away to lean on one elbow. “You’re getting too good at this.”