Page 31 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
Something in his voice made her obey. His blue eyes were dark with an intensity that made her breath catch. There was desire there, yes, but also something deeper. Something that looked almost like wonder.
"Ye dinnae flinch," he said quietly.
"What?"
"When I touched ye just now. Ye dinnae flinch." His hands were still on her waist, warm and possessive. "That's the first time since our weddin' that ye've let me touch ye without fear."
She stared up at him. She'd been so caught up in embarrassment and jealousy that her body had forgotten to be afraid. For the first time in years, a man's hands on her felt right instead of threatening.
"I..." She searched for words, but found none. How could she explain what she didn't fully understand herself?
"Daenae fight it, lass," he said softly, his thumbs stroking gently across her ribs. "Let me show ye what belongin' to me means."
Before she could ask what he meant, his mouth was on hers.
The kiss was nothing like their chaste wedding ceremony peck. This was heat and demand and barely restrained passion. His lips moved against hers with a skill that made her knees weak, and when his tongue swept across her lower lip, she opened for him without thought.
Oh.
The taste of him flooded her senses—wine and something darker, more elemental. His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer until she was pressed against the solid warmth of his chest. She could feel his heart beating against hers, rapid and strong.
This is what it's supposed to feel like.
The thought came from somewhere deep inside her, a recognition that this was what all those poets had been writing about. This desperate need to be closer, to touch and be touched, to lose herself in another person's warmth.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against hers, and she could see her own amazement reflected in his eyes.
"That," he said roughly, "is what belongin' to me means. Nae fear. Nae flinchin’. Just... this."
She stared up at him, her lips still tingling from his kiss, her body humming with new sensations. For the first time in her adult life, she'd been touched by a man and felt nothing but pleasure.
I want more.
CHAPTER TEN
"How long will ye keep this up?" Lachlan's voice cut through the evening silence as Erica carefully maneuvered around him in their chambers.
She'd been doing it for days now—this elaborate dance of avoidance. Stepping away when he came too close, finding excuses to be elsewhere when he entered a room, keeping her eyes fixed on anything but him.
"Keep what up?" she asked, her voice artificially light as she moved to the washstand, putting the basin between them like a shield.
"This." His gesture encompassed her careful positioning, the way she'd angled her body away from him. "Ye've been sidesteppin' me like I'm carryin' the plague."
"I daenae ken what ye mean." But even as she said it, she took another half-step backward when he moved in her direction.
Lachlan's jaw tightened. "After our kiss, I thought... I hoped ye might invite me back to our bed."
At the word 'bed', her entire body went rigid, and she couldn't suppress the instinctive flinch that ran through her.
Some of the warmth drained from his expression. "I see."
"Lachlan, I?—"
"Nay." His voice was flat. "Ye've made yer position clear enough."
Without another word, he turned his back on her and stalked to his makeshift bed by the fireplace. The sound of him settling onto the blankets seemed unnaturally loud in the tense silence.
Erica stood frozen by the washstand, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to say something, to explain, but the words wouldn't come.
