It was the sweetest taste of bliss.
Everything she had ever dreamed.
“Tell me now ye dinna want me, lass,” he challenged her, tearing his lips away from her mouth.
He left her with her eyes closed, unable to open them to the tangible world. Lord, she wanted to go back... experience every delicious shudder all over again.
“Aye,” she whispered breathlessly, never opening her eyes. If she didn’t open them, it didn’t have to be real...
She could pretend...
“I do—God in Heaven help me, but I do...”
At her honest admission, pleasure so keen it was almost pain shot through Iain. And then he groaned as an entirely different sort of pain dizzied him. It burst through his limbs when he tried to lift himself from the ground to better kiss her senseless. “Ah... Christ...” He closed his eyes against it.
He heard her gasp of alarm. “Are you hurt?” she asked once more, and he could see the concern in her eyes, hear it in her voice. It was like a balm for his soul.
Christ, he bloody well didn’t know if he was hurt. He grimaced, for he’d come to, surprised to find her warm, soft face nestled so intimately against his own, and was at once ensorcelled by her scent, her nearness, so much so that he’d somehow forgotten why the bloody hell he was sprawled in the middle of the soggy forest floor to begin with.
He lay back down for an instant, and then tried to move his legs. They moved well enough, he thought, though they ached like the devil. He met her worried gaze, and felt the need to reassure her, “Naught broken so far.” He smiled, not wholly convinced himself.
Neither did she seem overly assured, and her lovely brows drew together into a barely discernible frown.
“Truly?”
Iain moved his legs again to show her, grimacing, and then tried to rise. He fell back upon his rear, his brows drawing together in discomfiture. “No’ broken mayhap, but a wee unsteady.” He winked at her. “Och, but ye weave a wicked spell, lass.” He grinned then, to be certain she understood he was jesting with her. “I’ll be fine,” he assured, when she failed to smile.
He sat there upon his rump a long instant, watching her as the sun continued its descent, and wished to bloody hell that the moment’s spell hadn’t broken. In the dimming light, her blush faded to shadows, but the delicate contours of her face remained to bewitch him.
Och, but she was lovely. God’s truth, she might have been wearing that infernal meal sack she’d rolled out of so indignantly and Iain would have still thought her exquisite.
They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity, neither speaking.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said at last. “Dinna mean to.” He leaned against one hand and propped up a knee, watching her. She averted her gaze; the silhouette of her face nodded against the twilight shadows of the forest. Iain reached out, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes in the darkness. “I dinna mean to,” he swore.
She tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t allow it. Forced to hold his gaze, she glared, making some choked sound that revealed both her anger and her pain.
He’d meant well. Christ, but he had. It was all he could do not to avert his gaze from her accusing look, so much self-disgust did he feel.
She began to weep then, right there before him upon the forest floor. Damn the pain; he drew her into his arms and held her, her body trembling softly within his embrace.
Page clung to him, unable to refuse the comfort of his strong arms.
How many times had she yearned to be held thus? How many times had she wept alone?
Too many to recount.
It felt so good to be embraced... so good to be held as though she were loved. For the space of an instant, she could almost believe...
She buried her face into the crook of his neck and was heartily grateful he could not see the tears she shed. It was enough he could hear them. She couldn’t stop the tremors. Heaven help her, she tried, but couldn’t.
“What does it mean?” she asked on a sob.
“What, lass?” he whispered.
“Suisan.”
He peered down at her. She could feel his gaze, and the sweet warmth of his breath, and dared to lift her face to his.
“It means lily.”
“Lily?”
“Bonny and sweet,” he whispered.
“Nay,” Page denied.
“Aye, lass,” he murmured, and continued to stare down at her. “Lovely...” He lowered his face and touched his mouth softly to hers. “Sweet,” he whispered, and then pecked her lips with another gentle kiss.
Page’s arms tightened about his neck, her heart hammering like a ram, and near to bursting with gratitude. “Thank you,” she relented softly, and prayed with all her heart that he would deepen the kiss once more.