Beneath the bitter draught, aye, he tasted like heaven. Felt like it also, with only the thin fabric of his shirt and her gown dividing them. The heat of him came right through, the strength of bone and muscle beneath. She could feel his very heart.
The pressure of his lips eased and she thought—nay, do not stop! Do not dare stop kissing me…
As if he heard the words unspoken, he dove with renewed passion. As if they understood far more than she did, her lips parted for him. Sensation drenched her as he took possession of her mouth, and all her moorings fell away.
Delightfully adrift on a sea of emotions, of desires deep and powerful.
She wanted the kiss never to stop.
But—she must be hurting him. For somehow he had lifted her from her perch on the edge of the bed so she lay atop him. And his hands—
They moved from the nape of her neck, where they had cradled her so tenderly, down across her back, feeling their way. Caressing. They explored the flare of her rump where he pressed her against him.
All at once she understood. This was how it was meant to be between a man and a woman. Joined above, and then below. The most natural of acts. As old and as inevitable as time itself.
Her body comprehended it all, as she did not.
One of his hands remained snug on her rump while the other trailed up her side to her breast, crushed against him.
Did she move the required distance to give him access? Quite possibly. When he caressed softly through the fabric of her night rail, she moaned into his mouth and he renewed the passion of his kiss.
She wanted—
“Annista.” He must have broken the kiss, for he spoke her name. “I must apologize.”
“Eh?” Her wits would not serve her. Scrambled, they were.
His breath gusted as he gave a soft laugh. “I ha’ broken my promise. No’ to touch. Will ye follow through wi’ your threats now?”
“Aye. Wicked man that ye are.” She gazed into his eyes, now spiked with silver lightning. “I should punish ye most grievously.”
“How?”
“Tie ye up, mayhap, so ye are completely helpless to my various demands.”
She could not help herself. She dove for his lips again, so close as to be irresistible. This time he parted those lips for her and—never loathe to dare—she ventured inside. Och, heaven did exist.
How much time passed in this delightful occupation, Annista could never later say. A cough from the adjoining room had them leaping apart, though not far.
Bonnie, in the other room. How could Annista have forgotten?
From a mere breath away, she and Alan stared into one another’s eyes.
“I will hurt ye,” she gasped and scrambled sideways.
Still, not far. She did not think she could make herself stir far.
He gazed at her searchingly now—his look intent and utterly focused. A fantastical scene arose in Annista’s mind: herself arising and going to close the connecting door. Returning to the bed and shedding her thin gown. Helping Alan remove his nightshirt also—for was he not sore injured? And then—
None of that could be permitted to happen. But at that instant—at that instant Annista knew they both wanted it most desperately.
“I—should go check on Bonnie,” Annista said, and fled.
She who so seldom ran from anything.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The morning dawned bleak, with spurts of rain against Alan’s window. After Annista departed he had not slept well. How could he? Half in pain and half aroused, the one offering no answer to the other.
