Page 71 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
When he turned back to face her, Amara had braced her elbow on the table and was leaned forward, chin in her hand, eyes bright from the fire and drink.
God above.
He now hoped that William’s gesture was the former option because he needed another dram or two if he was going to keep pretending like he wasn’t thinking about what she tastes like.
His mouth waters at the thought of her legs resting on his shoulders as his tongue brought her to her climax.
“Ye’re quiet,” she said, tilting her head toward him. “For a man who usually shouts in war rooms.”
“Oh lass, I have nay need to shout,” he said. “Nae when everyone listens.”
She grinned. “Is that so?”
“Mostly,” he allowed. “Still working on ye, it seems.”
She nudged his boot under the table, deliberately. “Ye might have better luck if ye just tried harder.”
That did something terrible to him.
His body tensed. Not out of anger. Out of need.
He leaned forward slowly. “The look in yer eyes looks like it’s wrapped in sin itself tonight.”
Her breath caught almost imperceptibly. But he heard it. Just as a loud crash assaulted the tavern.
“Myles! Christ Almighty! Ye sotted mess!” Rhys heard the barkeep say loudly, pouring an entire pitcher of water over the bar toward the man. He had fallen down to the ground in a fit of laughter, breaking the chair he had been apparently sitting in, as he did.
William was of no help, keeled over in a fit of laughter next to him. The water didn’t miss either of them.
“Shite —” Rhys cursed under his breath, and slid from the table. Adjusting his tunic and belt as he stood and walked over to them.
He turned on his charm and winked at the barkeep, who stood on the other side of the bar with her hands on her hips exasperated.
“Got us kicked out after onlyonebrew, lads?” Rhys said teasingly. “Sorry, Mona. I’ll replace the chair by morn.”
“Och! Chairs Ihave. Patience I havenae!”
“We’ll go. And the chair will be yers, lass,” Rhys said sweetly before turning to face his men. “Get up. Both of ye. Now.”
He watched as William helped Myles to stand, both men still laughing, and then his eyes met Amara’s across the room. Without him giving any indication, she rose from the table and met him at his side.
There’s a good lass…he thought, and his groin pulled almost painfully against the restriction of his belt.
“We’re leavin’ because these fools cannae hold their liquor.”
The night air was cool and smelled of peat and damp moss as they walked the winding path back to the keep. Lantern light flickered gently above the doors, and the distant noise of the tavern had faded to nothing but memory.
Rhys walked beside her with his hands relaxed at his sides. He hadn’t said much since they left. He didn’t need to. The silence between them had taken on a new shape. It was less like a void and more like something full. That, in addition to William and Myles cackling ahead of them, arm in arm.
“Ye handle yer liquor better than I expected,” he said at last, as they passed through the main corridor of the keep, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Amara smirked as they took the stairs in step with each other. “I could say the same about all of ye… although, Myles…”
“Oh, aye. That’s his custom. He’ll be right by mornin’. Billy will make sure of that,” Rhys chuckled and then stopped in front of her as they reached the landing of their floor. He was standing just close enough to make her heart stutter.
“Why does everyone call him ‘Billy’ when clearly he wishes to be called ‘William’?”
“Ah, ye’ve caught that grievance, have ye?”
