‘You’re still kneeling next to me.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘And you’re closer.’
All true. ‘You told me of Magnus. I couldn’t stay away.’
Great green eyes held him. How long had he known this woman? Mere hours, moments. Carefully, holding her gaze, he leaned forward until his body almost touched her curved back. Her eyes widened and then darted to his arms, as he cradled her and clasped her hands beneath his. Then one by one he lifted her fingers until the scroll fell into her lap and he brushed it aside. With so much revealed between them, he wanted nothing in their way.
She smelled of lavender and old parchment, she smelled of her, and he wanted a taste.
‘I told you of Magnus, so you’d leave,’ she said, her voice a shiver.
He relished that telling response. ‘Are you certain?’
The heat of Rory’s body sank through her skin, thawed her cold limbs. Ailsa felt the slight dig of his knees in the small of her back before he eased them open, edged forward and pressed against her hips, her thighs.
The rasp of their clothing was barely heard above the pounding of her heart, the choppy exhalation of his breath.
Then she heard nothing but the wet slickness of his tongue, felt nothing but the tiny flick against the back of her ear. Her body flooded with awareness, her skin prickled with need.
Another warm exhalation from him and the soft press of his lips to the back of her ear, down her neck and to the edge of her gown. Another flick of his tongue before his lips followed the path upwards.
‘Rory.’
With his lips against her throat, he growled, ‘The way you say my name.’
Possessive. Territorial. Ailsa swore she couldfeel that very male sound to the marrow of her bones as it swept need, lust, desire through her.
Too much heat, too fast as he lifted his head, and she turned hers to see his eyes rake from hers to her lips, down the curve of her neck and along her spine, then back up again.
Despite knowing better, she asked, ‘How do I say it?’
‘As if you always wanted to.’
Every defence Ailsa held crumbled. Why bother when he saw her so clearly? ‘What do you think you are doing?’
‘What does it appear I am doing?’ Rory asked, his gaze locked on to her lips.
‘I think...do you want to kiss me?’
His eyes to hers again. Dark, so dark there was hardly any colour to them at all. ‘Soon, but first I want more of this.’
More of this was more of those soft, heated kisses along the fragile cords of her neck until he was lifting her hair and kissing underneath. The warmth of his breath contrasted with the whispering chill of the room. Then he clenched her hair in one fist and the imprisoned tendrils swept against her overly sensitive skin until her body shivered. He groaned and continued his path on the other side, up to her other ear.
She couldn’t touch, couldn’t kiss him. Shecould do nothing but bow her head to give him more access, of which he took advantage.
One of his hands contained her hair, the other now pulled on her gown, trying to expose more of her to his touch, to his kisses. The fabric cut into her neck and she flinched. He stopped immediately. ‘Sorry.’
A heartbeat. Two. There was no one here but them, daylight still and she heard no one above. The door was secure; they were alone. ‘Don’t stop.’
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘I know.’
Another heartbeat. ‘I meant what I said; I don’t want to leave...ever.’ His voice low, rough. A man trying to be gentle.
She turned her head. His cheekbones were mottled, his lips soft, his eyes, however, were hardened with a hunger she hadn’t seen before, but that she wanted. Desperately. She’d lied when she’d said that she’d told him about Magnus to push him away. She’d told him to bring him closer.
‘I said my vows,’ she said. ‘I meant them as well.’
He released her hair, his hands going to her laces. Fumbling. ‘Did you tie these?’
