Page 65 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
His heart clenched at the thoughtful gesture. On the bedside table sat a covered plate—bread, cheese, cold meat. She'd been thinking of him, caring for him, even while angry.
"Thank ye," he said quietly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "Ye didnae have to do that."
"Ye're me husband," she said simply. "Of course I did."
He ate gratefully while she watched, the simple domesticity of the moment easing some of the tension between them. When he reached for his water cup, a crumb caught at the corner of his mouth.
Erica reached out to brush it away with her thumb. The simple touch sent heat racing through both of them, and their eyes met in the flickering candlelight.
"Erica," he said softly, his voice rough with longing..
Just let me hold ye. Just for a moment. Let me remember what it feels like when ye're not angry with me.
Unable to help himself, he moved closer, his arm sliding around her waist with infinite care. She came willingly, her body molding against his chest as if she belonged there. Which she did. She was his wife, his woman, his?—
Mine.
His hand found the curve of her breast through the thin chemise, and he had to bite back a groan at the perfect weight of her in his palm. She was so soft, so warm, and when she sighed and arched slightly into his touch, fire shot straight to his groin.
Ye're what I've been cravin' all day. This is what I need.
His other hand skimmed down her stomach, fingers tracing the gentle curve of her belly, imagining it round with his child. The thought sent another bolt of heat through him—Erica carrying his babe, her body changing because of him, because of what they created together.
When his fingers reached the junction of her thighs, she instinctively parted them slightly, a soft moan escaping her lips that made his heart race with triumph.
Aye, that's it, love. I’ve longed for ye all day. Want me. Need me. As I need ye.
He began to stroke her through the thin fabric, and she responded beautifully—back arching, hips shifting toward his touch, another breathy sound that went straight to his manhoodand made him strong for her. This was his Erica, the passionate woman he'd discovered by the lake, the one who'd come apart in his arms with such sweet surrender.
I could take right now if ye let me. Fill ye with pleasure, make ye remember how good it is between us. Make ye forgive me for what I did wrong.
His hand moved lower, until he slipped two fingers into her soft, wet folds. She responded with a soft gasp that made his blood sing. He made to shift her so he could have deeper?—
But then she stiffened.
Her eyes snapped open, and in an instant, the spell was broken. She was pulling away from him, scrambling to the far edge of the bed as if his touch burned her.
"Dinnae," she whispered, and the rejection hit him like a physical blow. "Just... dinnae."
The fury that rose in him was swift and overwhelming. She'd been responding, damn her. Moaning for him, moving against him, wanting him. And then her stubborn mind had taken over and ruined everything.
"Why? " He muttered as he sat up, every muscle in his body tight with frustrated desire. "Ye respond to me touch, then pull away from me like I'm some kind of monster!"
Without waiting for her reply, he grabbed his clothes and stormed toward the door. If he stayed, he'd either say something unforgivable or do something they'd both regret—like pin her to that bed and make her admit how much she wanted him.
"Where are ye goin'?" Her voice was small in the darkness, almost lost.
"Away from here before I do somethin' we'll both regret," he snarled. He almost turned back to grab her and actually finish what they had started when she casually turned over to her side, giving him her back. Instead, he let the door close behind him.
By the time Lachlan entered the solar, he found the room cold and dark, but he didn't bother lighting more than a single candle. He poured himself a generous measure of dram and settled into his chair, his body still hard and aching from her touch.
Images flickered through his thoughts—Erica laughing when he'd tickled her feet, Erica melting into his kiss by the lake, Erica coming apart in his arms with such beautiful abandon. And then the way she'd looked tonight, eyes wide with disappointment.
Even if this was about that bastard Leo who hurt her, she told him she wasnae afraid of him.
The thought made his jaw clench with murderous rage. Even dead, that monster was still haunting his wife, still making her afraid of a man's touch. Even his touch.
But she wasnae afraid by the lake, or since. She wanted more, begged me for more. What's changed? Is she still angry about the way I responded when she reported what Duncan did?
