Page 81 of Blood & Claw

He then lifted his hand—hesitating for the briefest moment—and cupped her cheek. Without questioning herself, she leaned into the warmth of his touch.

Was she imagining it, or was he vibrating with tension?

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Ailsa,” he said gruffly.

Their gazes fused. This close, the now-familiar scent of him enveloped her. Horse. Leather. And the musky male scent that made awareness tug at her belly.

His heat enveloped her too. Were all men’s bodies so warm? She had no idea.

Her attention traveled down from his eyes to his mouth. Those sensual lips, the upper curved and slightly longer than the lower.

She wondered what he tasted like.

And then, before she could dwell on it any longer, his head lowered, and he kissed her.

Her breathing caught, her lips parting in surprise.

For a heartbeat, he held there—giving her time to pull away.

She didn’t.

His tongue swept her lips apart, sliding against hers.

Ailsa couldn’t help it. She groaned. Gods. His mouth was so hot, and he tasted so good.

This was what she’d dreamed of.

Not the act itself, not even the pleasure, but this closeness.

Just another person holding her as if there wasn’t something wrong with her—wanting her.

Dale’s hands slid through her hair to cup the back of her head, deepening the embrace.

Ailsa’s mind swam.

His kiss consumed her. He knew exactly what to do with his lips and his tongue, and she was an eager student, opening for him, letting him deepen it. Her hands lifted, splaying across his chest. The leather vest he wore provided a barrier, yet she still felt the thunder of his heart under her right palm.

This excited him as much as it did her.

“Fuck,” he growled against her lips. “Ailsa.”

He turned her then, walking her backward. Her spine hit the wall, but she barely noticed. She was too busy devouring his mouth as he did hers. The rasp of his rough stubble against her chin, the softness of his lips, and the wicked slide of his tongue—all of it made an ache rise between her thighs.

And then, their bodies were flush, pressed hard from chest to hip.

His arousal was evident: a huge, hard column straining against her belly.

She should have been intimidated by the raw strength in him. Instead, her pulse kicked, and something inside her unfurled.

She rolled her hips, inviting him closer.

A moan tore from his throat.

Emboldened, she raked her hands through his hair, its softness whispering against her fingers.

His hands slid down, exploring her body through the layers of the tunics she wore to keep warm.

Ailsa’s breathing came in ragged pants. By The Maiden, she wanted him to rip her clothes off. She wanted his hands on her naked skin. She wanted to chase her dread and desperation away—to believe everything would work out—just for tonight.