He shook his head, eyes blazing with compassion. “Nay, doona be defensive. I’m just so sorry. It hurts my heart that I wasna there to protect you. Now, are ye certain ye doona wish more hot water?”
“Yes. We can take another bath later. Together.”
Gripping the sides of the tub, she came to her feet, with water streaming down her body. He handed her a towel. She wrapped it around herself and then grabbed another to soak up water from her hair before stepping out of the tub.
He stood before her, still just watching, giving her all the space she needed. Her gaze traced the familiar lines of his body: wonderfully broad shoulders, slender hips, powerful legs. He wore a cream-colored cotton shirt and snug-fitting jeans. The outline of his cock, hard and waiting for her, was obvious through the fabric. Though it was a challenge to tear her gaze away, she moved it upward to his face. To his incredible, long-lashed eyes shading to deepest blue and the strong, graceful bones in his cheeks and jaw. His lips were slightly parted, waiting. She knew he was waiting for her. Just for her. Only for her.
Aislinn opened her arms. The towels fell to the floor.
Kicking them aside, he came to her and drew her close. “Mo croi, I love you. More than is good for me. I love you.”
He crushed his mouth down on hers. His hands roamed down her back and settled on her ass. He pulled her against him and moaned. She heard need and desperation and fear that he’d lost her in the sound, overshadowed by relief that he hadn’t.
She drew away from him long enough to say, “I love you, too. When I thought you were lost to me, I went a little crazy, because I didn’t want to live in a world without you in it.”
He scooped her up as if she weighed nothing and laid her tenderly on the bed. His hands worked the buttons of his fly. He freed himself and then knelt over her, stringing kisses down her body. He nuzzled her breasts, sucking the nipples gently until she reached for his hips, desperate to feel him inside her. He wriggled out of her grasp, slid farther down her body, and settled his mouth over the engorged spot between her legs. She came almost as soon as his tongue twirled around her clitoris, hips bucking against his mouth. He dug his hands into her hips, urging her higher as his tongue worked her. No one was more surprised than she when the spasms of a second climax jolted through her.
“One of these days,” he said as he positioned himself over her, “I’m going to make you come ten times doing that.” His voice was rough with passion. “But just now, I canna wait to feel your body round mine. Ye doona know how close I came to taking you while ye slept. I wanted you that badly, lass.”
She watched his face as he pushed into her, watched his eyes half-close in ecstasy as he withdrew and then, very slowly, slid back inside. She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulled hard to get him to bury himself deep and stay there. Her fingers dug into his back. She rocked her body against him.
He kissed her, tongue pushing inside her mouth as his cock slammed into her. Gentleness gone, they grappled with one another, gasping and panting, grinding their bodies together and seeking release. He groaned, made the wonderful sound like a lion purring that meant he was close. She shoved herself against him, met him stroke for stroke. Feeling him shudder inside her brought her over the edge again. Aislinn clung to him as if he were the only solid thing in a world spinning out of control.
“If the two of you could keep your hands off one another for a few minutes,” Gwydion said, “the lot of us need to talk.”
Rune, who’d been standing guard over them, growled.
Aislinn opened her eyes. The warrior magician stood in the doorway. A deep purple robe was belted at his waist. Unbraided, his blond hair spilled down his shoulders. Blue eyes twinkled merrily.
“What is it with you?” she managed, struggling to catch her breath. “First Bran—or was it Arawn?—and now you. Are all of you voyeurs?”
He grinned at her. “Lass, ye doona know the half of it.”
“Food,” she said. “I need to eat while we talk.”
Fionn hoisted himself up on his forearms. He eyed Gwydion. “Leave us, and we’ll get up. Ye’ll want to give the lass a spot of privacy.”
“Now why would I want to do that? She’s a lush sight for these old eyes.” The slap of his bare feet mingled with laughter as he disappeared down the hall.
They sat around the kitchen table. Arawn and Bran were still in battle leathers, Fionn back in his jeans and shirt. She’d dredged more clothes out of Marta’s closet, finding a black skirt that came to her ankles and a fluffy teal sweater. The woolen garments felt soft against her skin. Rune must have liked them, too, since he’d curled right next to her, his back against her skirt where it fell to the hardwood floor.