Page 102 of The MacGregor's Lady
“You will please stop chattering, Asher MacGregor.”
He came forward to brace himself above her on his hands. “There’s no hurry, Hannah of my heart. The sun will be up for hours yet.”
And yet, her skin was already growing chilled, though the sunshine was warm and afternoon wasn’t over. At this altitude, at this latitude, nights were short but never quite warm, not like they would be in the middle of a Boston summer. There was every reason to hurry. “Make love to me, Asher. Please.”
She reached for him, and he obliged by settling his weight close. “Shall I teach you some Gaelic? Just a few words to pass the time?” He whispered this to her and punctuated his offer by kissing the curve of her jaw.
“I don’t want a grammar lesson, you dratted, miserable—”
His arousal, blunt and warm, nudged at her sex.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it, Hannah? It’s what I want, too. What I’ll go to my grave wanting. With you.”
Hannah closed her eyes, the better to catalogue sensations, to hoard them up against the barren expanse of the rest of her life. At her back was soft wool, three sturdy thicknesses of clan MacGregor tartan. When Asher fell silent, she could hear the wind sighing in the nearby pines on cool, heather-scented breezes. Asher brushed his thumb across her palm, a small touch, and exquisitely tender.
He flexed his hips forward. “Iloveyou,Hannah MacGregor.” He’d spoken Gaelic, but she recognized her name, the name she might have had if they’d been married.
She arched up to meet him. “Iloveyou, Asher MacGregor.” The Gaelic was sweet on her tongue, more sincere than anything she’d said in English. “Iloveyou.”
He was like the mountains, implacable, incapable of hurry, while Hannah could not govern her desire in the smallest degree. She convulsed around him before he’d even completed their joining.
He nuzzled her ear. “Such a passionate lady. You will not destroy my concentration so easily.”
Hannah locked her ankles at the small of his back and tried to still his hips. “For the love of God, let me catch my breath.”
“I prefer you breathless.” He raised himself up enough to cross his arms under her neck. “I want you panting, in fact. Hot.” His lips brushed her mouth then lifted away. “Frantic would be a lovely sight. A sight to remember.”
Godinheaven.She went on the offensive, seizing him by the hair and fusing her mouth to his, undulating into his movement. “I wantyoufrantic, Asher MacGregor. I want you roaring your desire to the hills. I want… I want—”
Oh, gracious heavens, how she wanted.
When she’d come a second time, Asher straightened his arms, letting a cooling draft of air between them. “Ye’re all right?”
She brushed his hair back from his brow, needing to imprint the sight of him on her memory forever. The muscles of his chest and arms were exquisite, but the warmth in his gaze—the love and longing, the tenderness—made her turn her head.
“I will be.” Sometime, years and years hence, she would be. She would tell her nieces of the great love she’d known in the Highlands—the love she’d lost. “I will be.”
His smile was crooked and sad, confirmation that he knew she was lying. He settled closer, bringing Hannah the scent of man and heather. “Ye must not cry, Hannah. Ye’ll break my heart all over if ye cry.”
Hannah had no argument to such a gentle scold. She wrapped herself around him and let him set an excruciatingly deliberate pace, her hands laced with his, her body moving to his rhythm.
She knew what he was about: he was trying to make it last, holding back time for them for one more moment, then another, until Hannah’s passion welled again unstoppably.
“Asher,please…”Comewithme, one last time.
He groaned, softly, raggedly, joining her for a procession of instants in pleasure that obliterated everything else save awareness of each other. Hannah felt him spend, felt the ecstasy and surrender of it, felt the turning point when passion overcame his restraint.
Asher hung over her, breathing like a bellows.
“Come here, Asher. Let me hold you.”Onelasttime.They would embrace again, they would hold hands, they might even share a bed, but this—to be naked, passionate, wanton—it would not befall them again.
Ever.
He slid his palm under her head and cradled her close. Hannah said nothing, not while his breathing slowed, not while bitter, bitter tears slid from her eyes into her hair. He kissed her tears, wiped them across his cheeks, and let the silence stretch until she had no more tears.
When he had slipped from her body, she still did not let him go. “I never meant to break your heart, Asher MacGregor.”
His hand passed over her brow, smoothing her hair back. “You are my heart. You will always be my heart.”
