She uncorked it and waved it under his nose, pleased with the way his eyes closed in bliss at the perfume’s fragrance. Like a bull scenting the heat of a cow was Aodhan, mindless once his nose caught the promise of joining.
He took the vial from her and tipped it to coat two fingers before shoving up her skirts to rub it between her legs. In the next heartbeat he was there, loving her.
“You saw yourself,” he ground out. “A strangewoman. Dinna fash yourself over Darcy. I’m the only man ye need think about at the moment.”
“Yes,” she sighed, giving herself over to his forceful coupling. As always, his initial thrusts were uncomfortable, but the oil helped. Besides the customers who purchased her perfumes at market, a secret patronage sought after her scented oils designed to make coupling feel grand. But her personal supply did much more than that. Thanks to a dose of quinine mixed in, it kept her from catching a bairn. Of course, quinine was costly, so she only added it to her own supply and to the supply she sent to one unsuspecting couple.
But she couldn’t think of Steafan and Ginneleah now, not when Aodhan was hitting that secret place inside her over and over again. Not many men could find it, and Aodhan was the only lover she’d ever had who refused to release himself until he’d coaxed that spot into flooding her with ultimate pleasure.
Proving tonight was no exception, he reduced her to a crazed, mewling animal in mere minutes. When pleasure drowned her in a wild torrent, she bit back her screams, not wanting to wake the stable master. As she floated back to Earth, Aodhan shivered within her. His growl of satisfaction rumbled through the dark tack room.
After they had both regained their breath, he lowered her to a bed of saddle blankets on the floor. “We wouldna have to keep quiet had we a marriage contract,” she said half in jest. Of all the lovers she’d taken, Aodhan was the first to make her consider marrying him instead of pursuing the goal that had driven her for the past four years. But Aodhan had never offered, and she would never beg.
Only for one man would she consent to beg. Only for her laird.
“Ah, Anya lass, keeping quiet is part o’ the fun.” He nipped her jaw, predictably avoiding her none-too-subtle hint. But she didn’t mind much, not when he began lazily unlacing her dress and pressing hot, wet kisses to her breasts. Not when she kent he wasn’t nearly finished bringing her pleasure tonight.
Besides, ’twas a laird’s right to put away his wife if she failed to give him bairns. She may yet manage to wed Steafan. As long as that hope remained, she’d not seriously consider marrying another.
Chapter 7
Melanie hadn’t ridden a horse in years, not since childhood riding lessons back in Georgia. But lessons in an indoor riding arena on a gentle quarter horse had failed to prepare her for the terror of cantering through a night-darkened forest in a saddle as high as the roof of an SUV. She clung to Darcy’s arm around her waist with one hand and to the horse’s mane with the other, and tried not to contemplate how disastrous a fall from this height would be to her and her baby.
“Dinna fash, Malina,” he said in her ear as the wind licked locks of hair out of her up-do. “Rand willna let you fall. Nor will I.”
Her racing heart had the gall to calm at his assurance, and her body had the gall to settle into the cradle of his chest, arms and thighs. She wasn’t enjoying the security of his embrace, she told herself. She was merely trusting her safety to an experienced horseman. Those weren’t giddy butterflies dancing in her tummy each time his fists brushed her lap. It was just a side effect of trying not to hyperventilate.
The ride to Berringer’s field took a fraction of the time their march to Ackergill earlier that evening had taken. Upon drawing his horse to a stop, Darcy dismounted and reached up for her.
“We’re here already?” Her
He took the vial from her and tipped it to coat two fingers before shoving up her skirts to rub it between her legs. In the next heartbeat he was there, loving her.
“You saw yourself,” he ground out. “A strangewoman. Dinna fash yourself over Darcy. I’m the only man ye need think about at the moment.”
“Yes,” she sighed, giving herself over to his forceful coupling. As always, his initial thrusts were uncomfortable, but the oil helped. Besides the customers who purchased her perfumes at market, a secret patronage sought after her scented oils designed to make coupling feel grand. But her personal supply did much more than that. Thanks to a dose of quinine mixed in, it kept her from catching a bairn. Of course, quinine was costly, so she only added it to her own supply and to the supply she sent to one unsuspecting couple.
But she couldn’t think of Steafan and Ginneleah now, not when Aodhan was hitting that secret place inside her over and over again. Not many men could find it, and Aodhan was the only lover she’d ever had who refused to release himself until he’d coaxed that spot into flooding her with ultimate pleasure.
Proving tonight was no exception, he reduced her to a crazed, mewling animal in mere minutes. When pleasure drowned her in a wild torrent, she bit back her screams, not wanting to wake the stable master. As she floated back to Earth, Aodhan shivered within her. His growl of satisfaction rumbled through the dark tack room.
After they had both regained their breath, he lowered her to a bed of saddle blankets on the floor. “We wouldna have to keep quiet had we a marriage contract,” she said half in jest. Of all the lovers she’d taken, Aodhan was the first to make her consider marrying him instead of pursuing the goal that had driven her for the past four years. But Aodhan had never offered, and she would never beg.
Only for one man would she consent to beg. Only for her laird.
“Ah, Anya lass, keeping quiet is part o’ the fun.” He nipped her jaw, predictably avoiding her none-too-subtle hint. But she didn’t mind much, not when he began lazily unlacing her dress and pressing hot, wet kisses to her breasts. Not when she kent he wasn’t nearly finished bringing her pleasure tonight.
Besides, ’twas a laird’s right to put away his wife if she failed to give him bairns. She may yet manage to wed Steafan. As long as that hope remained, she’d not seriously consider marrying another.
Chapter 7
Melanie hadn’t ridden a horse in years, not since childhood riding lessons back in Georgia. But lessons in an indoor riding arena on a gentle quarter horse had failed to prepare her for the terror of cantering through a night-darkened forest in a saddle as high as the roof of an SUV. She clung to Darcy’s arm around her waist with one hand and to the horse’s mane with the other, and tried not to contemplate how disastrous a fall from this height would be to her and her baby.
“Dinna fash, Malina,” he said in her ear as the wind licked locks of hair out of her up-do. “Rand willna let you fall. Nor will I.”
Her racing heart had the gall to calm at his assurance, and her body had the gall to settle into the cradle of his chest, arms and thighs. She wasn’t enjoying the security of his embrace, she told herself. She was merely trusting her safety to an experienced horseman. Those weren’t giddy butterflies dancing in her tummy each time his fists brushed her lap. It was just a side effect of trying not to hyperventilate.
The ride to Berringer’s field took a fraction of the time their march to Ackergill earlier that evening had taken. Upon drawing his horse to a stop, Darcy dismounted and reached up for her.
“We’re here already?” Her
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