Page 15 of Highlanders for the Holidays
“I suppose I can give ye one kiss goodnight,” she decided.
“O’ course.”
“But only one.”
His eyes twinkled with laughter. “Whate’er ye can spare.”
Resting her hands on his crossed forearms, she rose onto her toes. She lifted her chin and closed her eyes. He lowered his head to meet her halfway. When she felt his faint breath upon her face, she moved toward him until their lips touched.
If this was to be her last kiss, she wanted to remember it. So she focused on the supple warmth of his lips and the coarse brush of stubble on his chin. She inhaled his masculine fragrance—all leather and iron and spice. Daring to let her tongue venture out, she savored the tempting taste of his mouth. She sighed against him with bittersweet longing.
And then he began to respond.
His mouth moved over hers, gently at first, and then with more urgency, as if he sought to drink the last bit of her before she was gone.
She too was filled with a strange desperation—a craving for more of him, for all of him. A soft moan of longing built in her throat. Frustration creased her brow.
His arms came unfolded. He pulled her into his embrace.
It was utterly thrilling.
It was also dangerous.
“Ye’re…kissin’ me…back,” she cautioned between kisses.
“Am I?”
“Aye.”
“Should I stop?”
She paused. “Nae.”
