Despite her fears and the harrowing tales she’d heard about him, her only thought was, This is how a kiss should be.
Except for his hand on her face, only their mouths touched. His tongue gently probed her mouth, sending darts of pleasure to her toes. His fingers slid through her hair, massaging her head. Her mind grew sluggish, as if drugged by a potion, while her skin became far too sensitive. Every fiber of her body seemed drawn to the heat of his, so near but not quite touching.
She had heard poets speak of kisses that enthralled like a spell, but she had thought they exaggerated, if not outright lied. She had been wrong. Of their own accord, her hands went around his neck, and with the pressure of just her fingertips, she brought his powerful body against hers.
He groaned and pulled her into deeper, wetter kisses, and she sank into him like warm honey over hot bread. When he broke the kiss, she felt dazed and unsteady on her feet. By the heavens, that was nothing like Blackadder’s slobbering kisses.
Before she could recover, he swept her up into his arms, carried her to the bed, and laid her down. She could not catch her breath. After barely touching her before, his hands and mouth were everywhere.
“Ye feel so good,” he said as he pressed kisses to her cheeks, her eyelids, her hair, her neck.
He paused just long enough to jerk his breeks off, and she got an eyeful of his enormous, pulsing erection. Fear coursed through her as he sprawled half on top of her and locked his arms around her. She felt trapped, suffocated.
She told herself it would be over soon, and she mustn’t aggravate him. Still, a small gasp of alarm escaped her lips when she felt his shaft, hard and urgent, prodding her hip. He drew back at once and examined her with a furrow between his brows.
“Ach, I frightened ye.” He was breathing hard. “From the way ye kissed me, I thought…Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”
He moved to lie beside her and propped his head up on one elbow. The candlelight played over the hard, handsome features of his face, picked up the gold glints in his hair, and lit his skin with a warm glow.
“I’m not accustomed to a woman like you,” he said.
She was tempted to ask what sort of woman he was accustomed to. Instead, she asked, “What do you mean by a woman like me?”
“You’re such a delicate lass,” he said, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt ye without meaning to.”
She blinked against a sudden threat of tears. No one had worried about her in such a long time. Without pausing to think about what she did, she laid her hand on his chest. She felt the steady beat of his heart against her palm.
He covered her hand with his. “Promise you’ll tell me if I hurt ye?”
“Aye,” she said.
“If I’m slow to hear ye,” he said, and gave her a wink, “just hit me over the head to get my attention.”
“I wouldn’t want to hurt ye,” she said, and gave him a small smile. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“Are ye, now? We’ll see about that,” he said with a wicked glint in his eye.
His expression grew serious again as he ran his finger over her collarbone and along her skin above the neckline of her shift.
“I like to touch ye,” he said. “I want ye to like it as well.”
Alison drew in a shaky breath as his lips followed the line his finger had traced along her bare skin. She could not reconcile this man with the Beast of Wedderburn, who broke down her gate and challenged every warrior in the castle. At least she understood the Beast.
This other Wedderburn who teased her with gentle touches confused her. She suspected he might be even more dangerous.
“I want to hear ye say my name,” he said against her ear.
“Laird Wedderburn.”
“Nay, my Christian name.” He rested a hand on her hip, firm and possessive. “Do ye know it?”
He dragged the tip of his tongue down the side of her throat, and she felt her nipples
Except for his hand on her face, only their mouths touched. His tongue gently probed her mouth, sending darts of pleasure to her toes. His fingers slid through her hair, massaging her head. Her mind grew sluggish, as if drugged by a potion, while her skin became far too sensitive. Every fiber of her body seemed drawn to the heat of his, so near but not quite touching.
She had heard poets speak of kisses that enthralled like a spell, but she had thought they exaggerated, if not outright lied. She had been wrong. Of their own accord, her hands went around his neck, and with the pressure of just her fingertips, she brought his powerful body against hers.
He groaned and pulled her into deeper, wetter kisses, and she sank into him like warm honey over hot bread. When he broke the kiss, she felt dazed and unsteady on her feet. By the heavens, that was nothing like Blackadder’s slobbering kisses.
Before she could recover, he swept her up into his arms, carried her to the bed, and laid her down. She could not catch her breath. After barely touching her before, his hands and mouth were everywhere.
“Ye feel so good,” he said as he pressed kisses to her cheeks, her eyelids, her hair, her neck.
He paused just long enough to jerk his breeks off, and she got an eyeful of his enormous, pulsing erection. Fear coursed through her as he sprawled half on top of her and locked his arms around her. She felt trapped, suffocated.
She told herself it would be over soon, and she mustn’t aggravate him. Still, a small gasp of alarm escaped her lips when she felt his shaft, hard and urgent, prodding her hip. He drew back at once and examined her with a furrow between his brows.
“Ach, I frightened ye.” He was breathing hard. “From the way ye kissed me, I thought…Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”
He moved to lie beside her and propped his head up on one elbow. The candlelight played over the hard, handsome features of his face, picked up the gold glints in his hair, and lit his skin with a warm glow.
“I’m not accustomed to a woman like you,” he said.
She was tempted to ask what sort of woman he was accustomed to. Instead, she asked, “What do you mean by a woman like me?”
“You’re such a delicate lass,” he said, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt ye without meaning to.”
She blinked against a sudden threat of tears. No one had worried about her in such a long time. Without pausing to think about what she did, she laid her hand on his chest. She felt the steady beat of his heart against her palm.
He covered her hand with his. “Promise you’ll tell me if I hurt ye?”
“Aye,” she said.
“If I’m slow to hear ye,” he said, and gave her a wink, “just hit me over the head to get my attention.”
“I wouldn’t want to hurt ye,” she said, and gave him a small smile. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“Are ye, now? We’ll see about that,” he said with a wicked glint in his eye.
His expression grew serious again as he ran his finger over her collarbone and along her skin above the neckline of her shift.
“I like to touch ye,” he said. “I want ye to like it as well.”
Alison drew in a shaky breath as his lips followed the line his finger had traced along her bare skin. She could not reconcile this man with the Beast of Wedderburn, who broke down her gate and challenged every warrior in the castle. At least she understood the Beast.
This other Wedderburn who teased her with gentle touches confused her. She suspected he might be even more dangerous.
“I want to hear ye say my name,” he said against her ear.
“Laird Wedderburn.”
“Nay, my Christian name.” He rested a hand on her hip, firm and possessive. “Do ye know it?”
He dragged the tip of his tongue down the side of her throat, and she felt her nipples
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