Page 55 of The Highlander's Alluring Spy
He lifted her hand to his lips. “I love ye,” he murmured. “I love ye, I love ye, I love ye.” With each declaration, he pressed his lips lightly to the skin on the back of her hand.
Magnolia felt as though someone had poured boiling water and ice simultaneously through her brains.
Have my ears gone faulty? Have my eyes?
But no, because there he was, his beard bristly against her skin, his lips fresh from her hand. He looked up at her, still kneeling, still holding on.
“Nathair,” she repeated faintly because she could not think of another word. “What are you saying? You can’t—I’m not—”
“Ye are, and more,” Nathair said earnestly. “I ken ye feel somethin’ as well. Maybe not the same as me, but I need tae tell ye true. Since the moment ye got here, ye’ve changed me life. Elaine’s. I held back because ye werenae Cat, but I ken now, I ken that’s the whole point. Yecannaebe Cat. I dinnaeneedye to be Cat. I loveye.”
Magnolia felt a lump in her throat. “Why are you saying such things?” she asked in half a whisper. “Are you quite clear minded?”
He chuckled, kissing her hand again. “More than I’ve been in years,” he told her. His voice sounded lighter, happier than she’d ever heard it. “If ye dinnae—if this isnae what ye want, Magnolia, I willnae hold it against ye. Tell me to leave if ye must, and I’ll go, without another word.”
He let go of her hand and put one hand on either side of her on the bed. He lifted himself a little so that while he knelt, his face was at her chest line as he looked into her eyes.
Magnolia raised her hand hesitantly, touching his cheek. He closed his eyes against her touch, leaning into it, just as he had that night at the fountain.
Father. Country. The Crown.
Suddenly, not a bit of it was as important as this. There was nothing else, not anymore.
Just Magnolia.
And Nathair.
Magnolia threw herself forward, her arms wrapping around his neck as she launched from the bed and pressed her lips hard against his. He was ready for her, catching her in those muscular arms, holding her tight against his chest while his back fell back against the floor.
His hands roamed freely, down her spine, in her hair. Every touch was like a shock to her nerves. She clung tighter, her tongue exploring his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair, needing more,more.
Then, quite suddenly, she found herself spun around, and she was the one on her back. The hard wood supported her as he broke the kiss, pulling away and surveying her from above. He had a hard look in his eyes as he towered above her, one hand on either side of her.
I am at his mercy.
What surprised her more was that there was nowhere else she’d rather be.
Nathair lowered his head, and she ached for him to kiss her again, but he didn’t approach her lips. Instead, he buried his face in her neck, kissing and nibbling and licking at the skin just at her collarbone. He made her gasp out at the sensation, closing her eyes as the world centered around how he felt against her skin.
He slowly moved lower, from the crook of her neck down her collarbone towards the neckline of her shift. Holding himself up with one hand, he moved the other to the lace there, and Magnolia felt like she might burst. “Nathair,” she mumbled. “Nathair, I have never done…this before.”
He stopped, surprised, and looked up. “Never? Lookin’ the way ye dae?” His hand toyed with the lace, but he did not pull it loose, not yet. “Dae ye want me to stop?”
“No,” she said, too quickly.
Don’t you dare.
He grinned. “That’s what I was hopin’ ye’d say,” he told her, then pulled at the lace. The gown fell open, exposing her small, firm breasts to the air. “May I?”
She gulped in air, her heart racing, and nodded. He took his now free hand and gently caressed one of her breasts, his elbow leaning on the floor as he leisurely circled her nipple, exploring with agonizingly sweet slowness, taking his time in delicious torture.
Then he lowered his head once more, taking her other nipple in his mouth even as he toyed with the other in his fingers, and as his tongue flicked and tasted and danced a little whimper escaped her. Her hands shot up as if of their own accord, clinging to his back, pulling him closer.
After seconds or minutes or hours–for what was time anymore?–he drew back once more. “Ye’re pullin’ at me shirt,” he said hoarsely. “I suppose fair is fair.”
Nathair straightened his back, most of his weight on his knees that straddled her, and she felt a hot hardness digging into her belly as he pulled off his shirt in one fluid motion.
She didn’t stop herself from staring. His toned arms, free of the cloth, were hypnotizing in their litheness, strong enough to crush a wolf, gentle enough to hold her close. His chest, inches from hers, seemed to call out like a magnetic rock to her own. She was desperate to feel all of his skin against her.
