Page 68 of Highland Storm

He could see the truth in her eyes. And suddenly Keane couldn’t hold back—not when she gazed at him with those liquid amber eyes. Surrendering to his desire, he lifted a hand to her cheek, willing Lianae to push him away. But she did not. Instead, she slid her arms about his neck and Keane bent to claim her lips. She kissed him back… ever so sweetly… and he could no longer think of any reason to stop…

But nay… nay…

Desire warred with his pride. If he loved her now, he would always wonder if the babe could be his…

“Lianae,” he begged, and yet, he needn’t please himself in order to please his wife, he realized. He could give her what she longed for. And later, much later, once he was alone by the loch, he would please himself, and remember the taste of her lips, the silky feel of her hair…

Chapter

Twenty-Three

If she could not speak the words, Lianae could think of only one way to prove her innocence. Feeling like a wanton, she unlaced the bodice of her gown, freeing her breasts to her husband’s gaze, searching for proof in his eyes that he wanted her still…

“Art beautiful,” Keane whispered, and she gasped with delight when he finished peeling open her gown and placed a warm hand upon her breast.

“Art beautiful,” he said again. “Do ye know what I would give you?”

Lianae nodded.

“Would ye have me, Lianae?”

Lianae swallowed. “Aye,” she said. And just to be certain he continued, she lay back upon the bed, pulling him down along with her, grasping him by the tunic so he couldn’t leave. And then, Lianae dared something she had never dreamt of doing before… she slid a hand between them, cupping him there as he’d cupped her breast.

“Ach,” he said with a groan, and his body shuddered violently. His male anatomy pulsed against her palm.

He pulled her hand away and Lianae arched beneath him, a bold invitation more suited to a courtesan than a virgin or a wife. But she was not a prude. Nor was she unwise to the ways of the world. She’d heard her parents, upstairs in their room, loving each other unabashedly. And although she’d never dared allow her mind to wander to such places, she sometimes couldn’t help but envision the way it might be when she was wed. And now she was, and no one could shame her for what she wished to do…

“Lianae,” he begged, and she followed his lead, placing her hands at his hips where they could wander free… exploring the hard lines of his body, his hips, his chest…

He seized her hands, pinning them above her head, unfurling her fists beneath his so they rested palm to palm. “You are like a flower,” he murmured. “Opening to the heat of the sun. I would spread your petals wide,” he whispered, “love each one.”

Lianae trembled beneath the promise of his gaze.

“Show me…”

Keane was a man famished set before a great, heaping feast, but the dish she would tempt him with belonged to another man first. And still, like a traitor, his cock strained against his belly, greedy for all that she would give. After so long without a woman, he nearly spilled himself at her bold touch, and then again as she arched her body in supplication.

Someday, he would show her the pleasures that awaited her in his arms, but he was unwilling to share her body with another man’s bairn. And still, he would not leave her this way, for that would be cruel.

Trying desperately to clear the fog of lust from his brain, he slid a hand beneath her skirt, searching for the sweet flesh beneath. He found her wet and ready, and the soft silky nectar nearly unmanned him once again. Gently, Keane pushed a finger inside her body, parting the silken petals. But it took him a foggy moment to realize what it was he’d encountered… and then another to recognize the warm flow of blood spilling over his fingers. Like a man wounded in battle, and now in shock, Keane withdrew his hand and stared at the bright red stain that trickled into his palm.

The jagged wound beneath his thumb—the one he’d made himself on the night of their wedding—was already healed. He was dumbstruck. “Ye’re a virgin?” he said with no small trace of surprise.

Lianae nodded, her cheeks deeply flushed. But if Keane had hurt her, there was little evidence of that in her expression. He took one look at her full, lovely breasts—fevered pink, the same color as her cheeks—and the widened pupils darkening her amber eyes, and knew he would not deny himself—or Lianae—this night. Trembling with desire, he stood and stripped, staring possessively at the bed. “From this day forth, you are mine, Lianae of Moray.”

Lianae nodded.

“I would hear you say it,” he demanded and hurled his tunic at the floor.

“I am yours” Lianae whispered.

He was beautiful—a golden idol, his skin aglow by the light of the fire. He shrugged out of his trews, and then stood, nude, and unashamed, his green eyes filling her with promises his body meant to fulfill.

She would have no barriers between them this night. All that he would take, she would provide willingly… Desperate to be shed of her own garments Lianae removed her gown, and lay back upon the bed all the while he watched her, his green eyes glittering like twin, gems.

“What is mine, is mine,” he said quietly. “I will kill to defend it.”

“I am yours,” Lianae repeated once more.