Page 41 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
He laughed. “Aye. I’ve nae heard of a bridegroom sleeping on the floor in front of the hearth. That is, unless he’s forgotten tae kiss his bonnie wife goodnight.”
“Oh yes, that would indeed be a crime.” She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes with what he could swear was a look of pure mischief.
“And it’s nae one I’d ever commit.” He said, taking her around the waist and twirling her as he’d done in thecèilidh.
“Well, ye’ve had yer kiss fer the night. Thanks be tae yer wicked little sister.”
He snorted. “Ye didnae fulfill yer dare, lass. Methinks ye cheated and didnae give me a proper kiss.”
Tossing her head, so that her hair flew about her in splashes of gold, she huffed indignantly. “Ye cannae accuse me of cheating. That kiss I bestowed on ye was certainly a proper kiss. Besides, Isla wasnae specific about the kissing.”
Still holding her lightly in his arms, he threw back his head and laughed. “Lass, if ye think that wee peck ye gave me was a proper kiss, then ye’ve much tae learn.”
She flushed a charming shade of pink and he found himself enjoying her discomfort.
Shrugging her shoulders she spun just out of his reach, offering him a look of pure disdain. “Of course I ken a proper kiss, Laird Ewan. Ye’re forgetting I was betrothed before we met. I exchanged more than oneproperkiss wi’ me former fiancé.”
Emboldened by the ease that had sprung up between them as the evening had worn on, and their shared pleasure of thecèilidh, he succumbed to his own temptation. Suddenly, a kiss on those lush red lips was all he could think of, and be damned any other lad whose kisses she may have mistaken for a proper kiss.
“Shall we put it tae the test.”
“What test would that be, pray?” Her voice wavered slightly and his heart jolted again.
“I shall demonstrate a proper kiss tae ye and ye may tell me if ‘tis the same as yer others.”
“Very well.” She grinned, lifting her head and closing her eyes. “Go ahead.”
He swept an arm around her and brought her closer. She turned a blind face up to him, her lips a little ajar, her breath coming in little pants high in her chest. He felt her heart beating fast against his chest. He hesitated for only a moment, but she was impossible to resist as he bent his head to take her lips with his mouth.
He’d only intended to tease her with a quick kiss on the lips, but once he’d taken her mouth, he found himself exploring the taste of her, the hint of cinnamon and honey on her lips, the intoxicating rose scent of her hair. He teased her plush lower lip with the tiniest hint of his tongue and when her tongue greeted his, his reserve gave way. His shaft was hardening, yet releasing her was impossible. She sighed in his mouth and moved her hips slightly so that his shaft was pressing the place where her thighs joined.
He moaned, taking a hand to stroke the delicate arch of her throat, bringing it up to hold her head, while she wound her arms about his shoulders and then began to slip her fingers from his nape into his hair.
This kiss was like no other. It rode roughshod over all his resolution to maintain his distance, yet it was more than lust. It held a longing that he’d scarcely acknowledged within himself. A need to hold and to be held, to feel another desiring him as he desired them.
This was something he’d never experienced with Marjorie, albeit him having loved her dearly. Feeling Tyra’s desire for him risinglike a great tide, he was washed with wave after wave of intense passion that shook him to the foundations of his being.
He heard her soft moan and he was almost lost. He wanted nothing but to plunder her lips, to kiss every inch of her soft body, to feel the satin of her nakedness against him. Part of him was a hair’s breadth from consuming her, seducing her, stripping her naked, hearing her moan his name and cry out in ecstasy. But his restraint surfaced, a voice in his head reminding him of the risk he was taking and the fear and guilt he’d harbored ever since Marjorie’s death burst over him like a torrent of ice water.
He lifted his head and Tyra drew back at once, catching her breath, raising a hand to her hair. Her lips were swollen with his kisses, her eyes soft with desire, her cheeks flushed pink. She was ripe for the taking.
He managed to smile. “That was a proper kiss, Lady Tyra.”
She shrugged giving a short, sharp laugh as if the kiss meant nothing. “If ye say so.”
Pulling away, she adjusted her robe. “I am mindful that our arrangement is fer convenience only, Laird Ewan, so I would be most obliged if ye could arrange the bolster in the bed between us.”
He looked into her eyes, reading the hurt there before she shuttered them and turned away. He understood that she was, wisely, guarding her heart.
All the same, he knew her desire for him was real.
—
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