Page 59 of The Lass Abducted the Laird (Explosive Highlanders 4)

He thrust deeper and deeper as their eyes held each other more intensely than their limbs. Moira would always relish this fire of his, this way he had of taking her as though they were in the last day of history. It made clear how completely he craved her, how inexorably she responded to it. She clung, then clung some more as he worked magic in her body, making it melt, making it tense, making it soar higher and higher. Until he pushed her to utter limits. And deflagrated a resounding outburst and shattered every nerve with blinding precision. She kept her attention on him wishing to witness his loss of control, the moment he finally surrendered to what she did to him. His brow sweat, his lips grunted, his arms bunched, chest panted, he accelerated his hips. His eyes lost focus as he slammed in her the last, the deepest until she felt the rush of his release wash her insides, awarding her with a primitive sense of fulfilment.

Spent, he fell on her and she cradled him tightly.

They lay spooned for what felt like hours. Skin to skin as he had freed her of her gown. “Goddamn it!” he rumbled at her spine. “I took you like a marauder.”

She burrowed further in his taut muscles. “I don’t mind it.” Much on the contrary.

His sculpted lips traced the shell of her ear. “I could have been a little subtler.”

Her fingers played with the hair peppering his forearm. “I quite like your…style.” Her voice too silky.

“No offense, but it’s the only one you know.” He strolled his stubble over her nape.

“It’s the only one I wish,” she assured him.

“You should refrain from inflating my ego.” His teeth nibbled her shoulder. “I might repeat the whole thing.”

“Promise?” she asked eagerly.

“Infernal woman,” he rasped as he brought her to straddle him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The next morning, Lachlan stood with his horse in the exact spot where Moira had abducted him, in what he started to remember as the luckiest day of his life.

A few days earlier, The McKendrick sent him a letter outlining a plan, the one they would put in motion today.

For the first time, he dressed the Darroch’s colours and wished his wife had seen him. Regretfully, he left her in their bed asleep. He did not awake her to say good-morning or good-bye. The good-morning would take a long time and the good-bye, well…the same. They had not been able to keep their hands and mouths and everything else off each other the whole night. He would need to brace himself for the certain wrath that would come from her at what he was about to do.

A hustle in the air alerted him for the three horses riding in his direction yards away. Drostan and Fingal in McKendrick’s colours, accompanied by Taran in McDougal’s tartan.

“It’s true what they say then,” The McDougal said. “You’ve usurped the Darroch’s laird’s seat.”

“You heard wrong,” Lachlan jested back. “They named me it.”

“I’m proud of you, brathair,” Drostan neared first and locked hands with him.

“Who would have imagined the inveterate bachelor would make such a brilliant match,” Fingal mocked patting his younger brother on the back.

Said match had not even been his own idea. Lachlan preferred to spend the day peeling potatoes than admit it to these men.

“Did any of you tell your wives what we’re doing?” he asked the others.

“No,” they answered at the same time.

“Aileen would have followed armed to her teeth,” The McDougal volunteered. “Bad idea to teach a woman to fight.” But admiration underlined his fierce tone. Her brothers h

ad taught her self-defence. And she proved an accomplished warrior when she fought her future husband.

“Freya would have come, too,” The McKendrick admitted.

“And Catriona,” came Fingal.

“I had to leave before Moira awoke,” Lachlan confessed.

“Likewise,” the others said.

Taran had travelled with his wife, so she could visit with her brothers, sisters-in-law and nephew and nieces.

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