"Is Wilona making you go to her home every day?"
"Nay."
She pulled back to search his eyes. Why wouldn't he tell her everything? "Where is she forcing you to go?"
"I will explain it later. And I'm sorry I left you alone." He placed a warm, soft kiss on her forehead. How could she not forgive him after such a tender gesture?
"I almost forgot," he said. "I brought you a surprise." He yanked open the door, then bent down. When he stood and faced her again, he held a vase of flowers.
"Wow! How beautiful," she whispered, a mist of tears burning her eyes at his thoughtfulness. "Where did you get those?"
"I picked them on the moors." He set the vase on the table. "I hope you can forgive me for not providing you with a wedding bouquet."
She nodded. A bouquet had crossed her mind for a brief moment last night. Having seen no garden, she figured they didn't grow flowers. Of course, thistles and heather grew in abundance, and the single rosebud in the vase last night had been sweet and beautiful. He'd told her Crocker sent it.
In this big bouquet, she recognized the lovely pale blue of bellflowers, small balls of pink thrift, and wild single white roses, in addition to sprigs of purplish heather. She sniffed the roses, and their wonderful fragrance filled her senses, then blended with the sweetness of the other blooms.
"They're all so pretty. Thank you." Imagining him walking over the moors, picking flowers in the rain, she hugged him again, afraid she might burst into tears. "So sweet of you," she whispered.
"You deserve far more, lass. You're precious to me." He kissed her temple. Lingering, he slowly kissed down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. His teasing, hot breath against her lips sent her thoughts whirling through the air.
Her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips against his, longing for him with sudden intensity. Their kiss morphed into a blazing inferno of need. Yes, she had made the right decision in marrying him. She belonged here… with him.
His mouth still consuming hers, he picked her up and carried her, making her feel as if she were flying, then set her on the edge of the high mattress on his big bed. She put all of her pent-up angst and desperation into the kisses. Gavin gave her the most intense and powerful experience of her life.This, which had seemed so unreal, was the pinnacle of her existence. How could this be possible?
He trailed kisses down her throat, sending cascades of tingles over her body. He dragged her skirt and petticoats upward, then slid his palms over her thighs. His plaid a barrier between them, she fisted her hand in it and jerked it upward. Hot and hard, he made her crazy with need.
Tugging her hips closer, he surged into her with sudden voracity. With the rush of delicious decadence, she gasped and dropped back onto the soft mattress. She arched, eager for him, and clung onto the bedcovers with her fists. His thrusts propelled her bliss ever higher until, at the zenith, she hurtled through the sky like a bird during a gale storm. Out of control, tossed about in the turbulence.
He growled and threw back his head during his release. She could not believe his magnificence at that moment.
He exhaled a long breath, his gaze meeting hers. "Saints," he hissed, unbuckled his belt, and tossed his plaid and shirt aside. Then he helped her remove her clothing.
She crawled beneath the covers, and he joined her. She relished plastering herself against his fiery muscles. He took another deep breath and relaxed.
"That was amazing," Dani said.
"Indeed." The best Gavin had ever experienced. "I shall never get enough of you, my beautiful wife."
She sent him a wee grin. "You are the one who is gorgeous, and maybe I can't get enough of you either."
He kissed her forehead, hoping to the depths of his soul she couldn't, for he wanted her here the whole of his life.
He remembered that her words when he'd first entered the room—I can't stay here, Gavin—had cut him to the bone. He couldn't give her up now. She already had him spellbound.
Concerned about her wellbeing, he pulled back to gaze down into her eyes. "Are you hungry?"
"Maybe." She stroked a hand down over his ribs to his lower abdomen and along his shaft. Renewed arousal crashed into him like the waves of an incoming tide. She grasped him in her hand, and he hardened fully.
Relishing the magnificent sensation, he sent her a wicked grin. "What is it you're craving, m'lady?"
"You ken, m'laird," she said, mimicking his accent. "'Tis you I'm craving."
"Again? Already?"
"Aye," she said.
He laughed. "You make me happy." He placed a brief kiss upon her lips, then pulled back.
