Page 51 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
The fine fabric had gone nearly transparent when wet, clinging to every curve of her body like a second skin. Erica felt his gaze like a physical touch, saw the way his eyes darkened as they traveled over her form with undisguised hunger.
"Ye highland gods," he breathed, his voice so low she almost missed it.
When she moved to cover herself, he caught her hands, his touch burning against her chilled skin.
"Daenae," he said quietly, his thumb stroking across her knuckles. "Ye're bonnie, lass. Daenae hide from me."
The raw appreciation in his voice sent heat flooding through her, making her nipples tighten visibly beneath the damp linen. She watched his gaze drop, saw him swallow hard before he forced himself to step back.
"Fire," he said roughly, as if reminding himself. "Need to get ye warm."
But even as he moved away to gather wood, she caught him glancing back at her, his eyes lingering on the way the chemise outlined her breasts, her waist, the curve of her hips.
When the flames finally caught, he dragged a fallen log closer to serve as a seat. "There," he said, then his hands moved to his own clothing.
Erica's breath caught in her throat as she watched him strip away his wet boots, then reach for the hem of his shirt. The firelight played across his movements as he pulled the fabric over his head in one smooth motion, and she felt something deep in her belly clench with need.
Sweet Mary.
Erica was unable to look away from the masterpiece of his back. Water droplets traced paths down his spine, and she wanted to follow them with her tongue, to taste the salt and heat of his skin.
"Like what ye see, wife?" His voice carried a note of dark amusement as he turned, giving her the full view of his chest.
Erica swallowed. She tried to answer, tried to form words, but her mouth had gone completely dry. All she could do was stare at the perfection of him—the broad shoulders, the defined muscles, the way the firelight caught the dark hair scattered across his chest.
When his hands moved to the ties of his breeches, Erica's pulse began to race. She knew she should look away, should give him privacy, but she was mesmerized by the slow, deliberate way he worked the fastenings.
"Breathe, lass," he murmured, noticing her rapid breathing. "Just breathe."
But breathing became impossible as the wet fabric finally gave way, sliding down his powerful thighs to pool at his feet. Her eyes followed every magnificent line of him, and when he turned back toward her—completely unashamed of his nakedness—she felt her knees go weak.
"Ye're starin'," he observed, moving toward her with predatory grace.
"I..." she started, but the words died in her throat.
"I what?" He stopped close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, could see the pulse beating rapidly at his throat.
She tried again to speak, to say something, anything, but her mind had gone blank with want. All she could think about was how magnificent he was, how the firelight turned his skin to gold, how much she suddenly wanted those strong hands on her body.
"Use yer words, wife," he said softly, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through her bones. "Tell me what ye want, Erica."
Her lips parted, but for a moment, nothing came out. The fire behind him threw light and shadow across his face, painting himin molten gold, fierce and beautiful. The heat inside her was unbearable—her skin felt too tight, her breath too shallow.
“I want ye…” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I want ye to show me what belongin’ to ye feels like. Give me a taste, husband.”
He growled, a low rumble that vibrated in her bones. It wasn’t angry. It was hunger—pure, male, and dangerously restrained.
“Come here,” he said softly, hand extended.
She went to him as if pulled by something stronger than her own will. When their hands touched, he brought her close, one arm curling around her waist, the other hand cupping her cheek.
“Ye're shakin',” he murmured, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “Is it fear?”
“Nay,” she breathed. “Nae fear. Just… ye.”
His mouth curled slightly, but the look in his eyes was deadly serious. “Then let me have ye, Erica. Let me see ye. All of ye.”
With trembling fingers, she loosened the ties at her neckline. Her chemise slid down her shoulders, soft fabric grazing over sensitive skin. She felt the night air kiss her breasts as they were bared to him, nipples already tight from anticipation. She shivered, not from cold, but from the way he looked at her—like she was holy, like she was his.
