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She did not look away or even gasp as his hips pressed into hers, the evidence of his words clear.

“Will you allow me to do what the blacksmith was unable to?”

There was only one answer to his question. The one that would leave her soul even more shattered than it had been before. And yet she didn’t hesitate to say the word.

“Aye.”

Rory lowered his head.

At first his lips felt soft against hers, gentle almost. And then his tongue followed, wetting the crease of her mouth. Instinctively, she opened and he took full advantage. In the few brief moments between not knowing and knowing, Cristane learned.

How to touch her tongue to his. How to move her head to the side to give him greater access. How to kiss, and be kissed by, the man she had loved and desired for years.

She’d lain awake in bed so many nights dreaming of this moment, and not one of those many fantasies had come close to the reality of being kissed by Rory Kennaugh. Wrapped in a blanket with him, his hips circling hers and their mouths blending together as one.

“Mmmm.”

The sound was her own.

Her hands now free, she crept them up over his chest, groaning as she did so.

“Cristane,” Rory murmured against her lips. He deepened the kiss. More frantic now, she found herself lost in a whirlwind of feelings. Of sensations. Disbelief that this was really happening. Pleasure like she’d never known. And a throbbing that became more and more insistent. One that forced her body against him. One she knew, even in this state, could be her undoing.

“Ah God, lass.”

He’d broken the kiss, and she felt its loss immediately.

“Was that more akin to the distraction you desired?”

Not yet capable of saying anything coherent, Cristane nodded. She watched as his lips parted, as his eyelids drooped. He would kiss her again.

“The problem, of course,” she managed finally, “is that you are precisely what I need a distraction from.”

Her words seemed to penetrate.

“And you,” he said seriously, “are precisely what I need.”