Page 108 of The Highlander Is All That

As thoughtful and sweet as that was, she was hardly patient. Not now that they’d made the decision to . . . do this. She could barely keep still as he warmed the water and then began removing his shirt.

Her gaze intensified.

He stopped and glowered at her. “No peeking,” he said behind his smile.

She clapped her hands over her eyes. And hardly peeked at all.

That is, until he tugged down his breeks and . . .

Good glory. It was magnificent.

He’d not been bragging.

His cock was long and full and stood erect.

“You’re no’ looking, are you?”

She took away her hands. “Only a little.”

It was fascinating to see that beautiful rod jerk. “Woman, you will be the death of me,” he grumbled as he lowered himself into the tub.

What followed was the fastest bath she’d ever witnessed.

He scrubbed himself with a manic frenzy. There was barely time for her to cross the room and hold out the towel for him before he finished and levered out with a splash, dripping and gorgeous and glimmering in the firelight.

“Shall I dry you?” she asked, eyeing the rippling muscles of his chest.

He snatched the towel from her. “You do intend to kill me, do you no’?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Really. She didn’t.

He yanked her into his arms, though he was still damp, and she squealed. He silenced her with a kiss. It was warm and wild and unrestrained.

But then he held her away and stared into her eyes. “Tell me you’re sure.”

Oh, she was. “Ranald.” She stepped back into his arms and threaded her fingers in his damp hair. “I’m sure.”

“There’s no going back from this, lass.”

“I don’t want to go back. I want this.”

“Do you?” An agonized hope limned his tone.

She smiled up at him. “I have for some time,” she confessed.

“Well, hell, woman,” he barked. “Why did you no’ say something sooner?” Then he whipped her up into his arms, carried her across the room, and dropped her onto the bed.

He came down beside her and her head spun at his nearness, his heat, his scent.

Then he cupped her face and kissed her again. This time gently, as though he was seducing her, though they both knew that was not necessary.

When his palm scudded down, over her breasts and hips to her bare legs, she shivered. But then, he reversed his exploration . . . beneath her nightgown. He found her core and fluffed his thumb though her curls, staring at her intently.

“Do you have any idea how many times I have imagined this?” he groaned.

She grabbed both his ears—because he’d found that button, the bundle of nerves that made all thought improbable—and huffed, “Stop talking.”

There was no call for him to chuckle, but she was gratified when he raised her hem. “You’re wet,” he said. “And this needs to go.”