Page 32 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

“Fuck me, my lord.” Her voice was whisper quiet.

Caroline? His eyes snapped open. “Ah, fuck.” The sound of his own voice broke the trance. This was no dream. A willing, wild woman sat astride him.

She rocked in a natural rhythm, raven tresses shifting forward then back with each tortuous movement. Embers from the hearth cast soft light, and Taran discerned unfocused, green eyes, heavy with desire. By God, his wife was asleep.

Lifting and lowering, she joined their bodies. Beautiful, ethereal, she was his wife. He tightened his grip on her hips and bucked harder into her heated, quivering sheath. Pulsing contractions gloved his cock, sucking him deeper.

Her thighs tightened to his hips and her eyes seemed to focus on his face. Understanding curled the corners of her mouth. “Tis a pleasant experience to wake to.” Her voice, rough from sleep, nearly sent him over the edge.

“If done right, it is,” he replied.

She paused, her smile faltered, then she moved again. Faster, quickly building to a frenzy. Her head fell back and convulsed along his shaft. He reached between her legs and carefully grazed his thumb across her swollen button of nerves. Caroline cried out and collapsed onto his chest. Wrapping arms around her back, he anchored her tight to his sternum and sought his own release. The force of his thrust lifted her from his lap and had her plunging down hard onto his cock. Again. And again. He gripped her tighter. Fucked her harder. Penetrated deeper. Finally he exploded, shooting hot ribbons of cream deep into her passage.

Her breathing came hard and fast. She turned her head and placed whispered kisses on his sweat-dampened chest. Taran cradled her head and lifted her mouth to his. He tasted her acceptance and her pleasure. Yes, they would make a fine match. He broke the kiss and she slid onto the mattress. After adjusting the blanket over her shoulder, she curled into his side.

His last coherent thought was of Caroline.

Chapter Twelve

The following morning, Caroline shoved the hood of her cloak back from her head as she slipped into the stables. Three years had passed since her father had died in the racing accident. She didn’t expect anything to be the same. How would she know if it were? But to be in the place where he had died sent a wave or sorrow over her. Early morning light streamed into the stable from the cracked door behind her. She halted and gazed down the center of the darkened stable. Familiar scents of leather, horse manure and straw hung in the air. Tears stung her eyes. Riding together had been her and her father’s greatest joy.

“Pull yourself together,” she instructed. “You have come to put your father to rest, not to grow dewy-eyed.”

She had always known she would eventually come to the Cross Keys Inn. How strange that fate had chosen her wedding day to bring her here. A chestnut stuck his head out of the nearest stall to her left and nickered.

“Oh.” Caroline approached the stall.

The beast tossed his head and sniffed at the fingers she extended. “You’re a tame one.” she murmured, and stroked his neck. “You would do perfectly. I wonder—”

“Can I help you, my lady?”[TS1]

Caroline jerked her head in the direction of the male voice emanating from further within the stables. A form slid towards her from the murky shadows. As he neared, she distinguished a tall, muscular man with greying hair and a long stride that spoke of powerful thighs.

“Yes,” she replied. “I was hoping for a morning ride.”

The man stopped in front of her. “A morning ride? ‘Tis not fully light yet. You should return in an hour and bring your husband with you.”

The word husband made her stomach swoop. That she would require his permission pricked her pride. She shook her head. “I travelled all day yesterday in a carriage, and am to have more of the same immediately after my husband rises. I will have a little exercise before being confined for another day in that insufferable coach.”

To her surprise, the man grinned. “Aye. A carriage is an abominable prison.”

“Indeed. Sir, is there a horse I might ride? Twenty minutes is all I ask.”

He nodded towards the chestnut beside them. “This fellow is a fine horse, but he has spirit.”

“Spirit?” she repeated. “That is exactly what I need.”

His brows lifted. “Ye sure you do not want a gelding?”

She grimaced. “I rode before I walked. Such animals are for the weak-kneed.”

He grinned again. “I thought you might say that.”

He strode back into the shadowed stables and returned a moment later, lantern in hand.

He hung the lantern on the wall beside the stall, then started back the way he had come.

Caroline hurried to catch up. “I can saddle him. You need not bother.”