Page 43 of A Sinful Night with a Scot
“I’m sorry.”
Elsie lifted her head and, turning to face him, she rested her chin on his chest. Keane had his free hand tucked behind his head. It highlighted the huge bulge of his bicep. But as mesmerizing as that might be under any other circumstances, she was far too interested in examining his face. Not that she hadn’t seen it plenty of times before in the last few days. But this time was different. He was different.
“Are ye alright?” she asked gently.
Keane lifted his hand and softly stroked her flowing hair. He smiled down at her, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
“Aye. I’m fine.”
Elsie shook her head. “Nay. Ye’re nae.”
He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “Nay. I’m nae. But I will be. Dinnae worry about me, little one.”
His tender words wrapped themselves around her heart like a warm blanket, and Elsie wondered if it were not herself who might be dreaming. Who was this man, and what had he done with the real Keane Mackay?
This is the real Keane Mackay. Ye saw it yersel’ yesterday in the village.
Yes, she had. And for this fleeting moment, she was being given a glimpse into the man Alisdair had described the day they had been standing in the chapel.
“I wish ye’d have kent the man I grew up with. The man who I’ve been friends with fer years.”
By his tone that day, Elsie had known that the man she had been about to marry was a far cry from the man Alisdair had grown up with. The same man she now lay upon at that very moment.
Keane watched her, his fingers still threading through her hair, his smile softening further and eventually reaching his eyes.
“Dae ye want tae tell me?” she said gently.
But Keane shook his head. “Nae this time. In fact, I need something tae forget about it. Maybe ye can help me with that.” His eyebrows hitched, and he flashed her a mischievous grin.
Elsie smiled bashfully, her heart thumping in her chest, while feeling heat rush up her neck and into her cheeks. Slowly, she pushed herself up his solid body until her face was level with his, and then gazed at him. Only then, did she notice a tiny scar just above his top lip. She brushed her finger over it, feeling the slightly depressed white line sink under her touch.
“Courtesy o’ an English soldier,” he breathed. “Thank the gods, I moved faster than he, or I might have an extra hole tae breathe out o’.”
“How can ye mak’ light o’ such a thing?” Elsie reprimanded.
“Me body is full o’ scars, little one,” he murmured. “If I remembered each one with a heavy heart, I’d be the most miserable laird in Scotland.”
She lifted an eyebrow and held back a knowing smile.
“Ye think I am miserable?” he blurted.
Elsie giggled then, but shook her head. “Demanding, maybe. But nae miserable.”
“Demanding, am I?” The corner of his mouth lifted.
She shrugged lightly and tilted her head, telling him her answer without words.
“Then I suppose I must live up tae the title ye have so honorably endowed me with.” He pinned her with his gaze. “So, kiss me.”
She gasped a little, her stomach lurching with nerves, and then, closing her eyes, she brought her lips down on his. His arms snaked around her back, pulling her into him. In another second, and taking her by complete surprise, Keane effortlessly flipped her onto her back, now lying by her side, propping himself up on one elbow while towering above her.
“I like tae be in control,” he growled.
But Elsie had no time to think about what his words meant as his tongue pried past her lips and plunged into her mouth, roving and thrashing against her teeth, twisting around her tongue, as his lips moved against hers. Her whole body reacted, for never before had she been kissed so voraciously.
It felt like her heart might burst, her blood pumping through her veins faster than ever before. Intimate parts of her awakened, like blossoming flowers opening to the morning sunlight. The apex of her thighs felt like it was on fire, but at the same time, came a sensation of warm slickness.
Bringing her hand to his face, she began threading her fingers through his hair, only to discover the laird’s hand snaking around her wrist. Lifting it above her head, he pinned it there, leaving her feeling completely vulnerable.
