“There ye have it then, lass,” he whispered against the flesh of her throat, nibbling gently. “It seems I dinna wish to.”
He heard her intake of breath as his fingers gripped her shoulder, and her delicate shudder as his hand slid down her arm, and knew she was not unaffected.
The simple knowledge aroused him fully.
“I want you, lass,” he whispered against her ear, before he could stop himself, and meant it fiercely. “Want ye... so verra much...”
She stopped weeping suddenly and sat before him still as stone.
Page could scarce breathe suddenly, less weep.
Mere words. But words so powerful and compelling, they sent shock pummeling through her.
Her body convulsed. Her heart skipped its natural beat, and her thoughts scattered to the winds.
She closed her eyes and could feel every rise and fall of his chest at her back. His hand continued to explore, his caresses wresting delicious shivers from her body, and God save her soul, she wanted to let his fingers roam forever. Wanted to let him do anything he would with her.
Anything.
Aye, she was wanton... and wicked, but she didn’t care.
Her heart felt near to bursting with joy over his avowal.
He wanted her.
It didn’t matter that it was merely for the moment, she wanted him too—and thought she’d die if she couldn’t take a piece of him with her. A single bittersweet moment would suffice to bring a wistful tear to her eye when she was old and gray and had nothing left to sustain her but memories.
When his thumb caressed the underside of her breast, and then his hand dared to cup her so gently, she clasped trembling fingers over his and turned her face up to meet his gaze.
His eyes were like molten gold, glittering with promise, seducing her with the hunger so apparent behind them.
She willed him to know... willed him to see her own desire... willed him to hold her... kiss her.
His voice was hoarse when he spoke again. “Tell me now... if ye wish me to stop, lass.”
Page’s throat closed, the words wouldn’t come, but she managed to shake her head, hoping he would comprehend her silent plea.
He kissed her throat then, nibbled it gently, lapped it hungrily, and she knew he’d understood.
“Och, lass,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, “are ye sure?” His hand slid up to cup her breast, squeezing gently, as though to make clear his intentions.
For answer, Page followed his hand, willing him to continue, reveling in the way that his fingers cherished her body, wringing delightful quivers from her. She pressed his hand to her breast in blatant invitation, and watched the expression upon his face.
Like a man tormented, he closed his eyes and groaned deep in his throat, lifting his face to the blue sky as he kneaded the tender flesh cradled within his palm. Page watched the knob in his throat bob, mesmerized by the intensity of the expression upon his face, the taut lines of his jaw. Jesu, but it was as though he had lived all his life for this moment, and she... she had never in all her days known such joy in simply being.
And then his gaze lowered, and he bent his head once more. His lips covered her mouth, and Page thought she would die with the pleasure it brought her. Her body melted, convulsed in the most private of places. He might have done anything at all to her in that instant, and she’d have welcomed it joyfully.
He wanted her truly.
She could spy it upon his face.
Could feel it in the way he touched her.
And she wanted him.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and then slid within her mouth to taste her. Page moaned with pleasure. And when he groaned with his own satisfaction, Page thought her heart would shatter and her body would ignite to flame.
He tore his lips away abruptly, and it wasn’t until then, in that instant, Page realized the horse had stopped—or even that they were mounted still.
Somehow, when he kissed her, all the world ceased to exist. He made her feel as though there were only her. He filled her heart.
Made her soul unafraid to yearn.
When he dismounted before her, she knew what he intended, and when he lifted his arms out to her, Page slid into them without taking the time to consider the consequences, her heart hammering fiercely. God’s truth, but she didn’t want to consider anything at all. She wanted only to feel.
Carrying her far enough that she would be safe from being trampled, but no farther than he had to, Iain laid her down upon a bed of yellow crocuses, taking immense pleasure in the desire so evident in her gaze, in the haze of her eyes.
Some part of him cautioned him to stop, now before it was truly too late—that she couldn’t possibly understand what it was he was about to do to her. All the things he wanted to do to her. But God help him, he wanted this too much, was no longer rational.