The MacKinnon’s Bride(62)

For the longest instant, Iain merely stared into her eyes, not daring even to blink, fearful of closing his eyes and opening them only to find that her desire was no more than some cruel invention of his fevered imagination.

Could she possibly understand? Could she know what it was she was asking for with that love-me-now gaze?

She couldn’t possibly, he decided, though he couldn’t seem to muster himself to give a bloody damn. He fell to his knees beside her, and bent over her, entrapping her between his arms, and then he lowered his head to kiss her, anticipating the sweet, welcoming taste of her mouth upon his lips. “Sweet,” he murmured against her mouth. “So beautiful.”

“Nay,” she murmured with a sigh, closing her eyes.

“Aye, lass,” he asserted. “Ye are.” And he deepened the kiss.

With all her heart, Page welcomed the gentle invasion of her mouth, delighting in the way he seemed to savor her with every liquid stroke of his tongue .. . the way his mouth seemed to revere her own. Never in her life had she felt so cherished.

Never in her life had she loved someone more.

But this was not love, she reminded herself.

To expect love would bring her only heartache. Nay... this was something else entirely... and if she didn’t want for something more... something she could never have, then she’d not be crushed by sorrow when it never came.

Aye, this was something else, not love.

This was a possession of her body, sweet and wicked.

Nothing more.

That’s what she told herself. And she wanted it more desperately than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

Iain was a man consumed.

It was his greatest desire to pleasure her.

Aye, but he wanted even more than that to make her stay. He withdrew and gazed down into her passion-flushed face. He wanted her to look at him just so always... to bask in his kisses like a blossom opening to the heat of the sun. But then he knew the way to bind her to him was not to make love to her. He’d attempted that with Mairi, and while in the dark of the night she’d relented to his skillful persuasion, in the morning light she’d despised him for it, too.

And then she’d borne him a child, and he’d lost her forever.

He’d be damned if he’d travel that road again.

Before Mairi, there had been lasses aplenty. Since her, there had been nary a one.

Because he couldn’t forget.

This loving would be for her, he decided.

For sweet, lovely Page.

For himself he would claim only the pleasure of seeing the passion played out upon her face.

Nothing more.

That’s what he commanded himself.

When he reached out and lifted her arm, placing tiny, delicate kisses along the sensitive inner flesh, Page shuddered and squeezed her eyes closed, abandoning herself wholly to his will. Arriving at her hand, he kissed her palm, lapped it with his tongue, suckled her fingers, and nibbled the heel of her palm, until Page shuddered with rapture, and then he guided that hand above her head, moving to the other and doing the same. With one hand he held both her wrists, pinioning her arms above her head as he shifted over her, his body shielding her from the sun, bathing her in cool shadows.

But she was far from cool. She was hot. Burning hot, her skin afire.

Page sensed the heat of his gaze upon her, though she wasn’t bold enough to meet his knowing eyes. As he hovered above her, she was aware of everything in that moment. Every nuance. The subtle shifting of the breeze, the warmth of the sun against her skin where it touched her, the birds twittering somewhere high above. The sound of the grass as it succumbed beneath their bodies. The elusive scent of the crocus. And the musky male scent of the man hovering above her.

When he lowered his face to her neck, she shuddered, and dared to bare it fully, arching with complete abandon, moaning with delight as he suckled her flesh, lapped it with his tongue once more. Like a painter in love with his labors, he left no part of her untouched by his divining brush. He cherished her body, showered her with kisses until it seemed her very soul would rise out of her body and meld with his.

“Yesssss,” she whispered, and felt him shudder above her.

His kisses became more fervent then, straying to her breasts. He suckled through her wet gown, and Page’s heart thundered, for she wanted in that insane instant for him to rip the offending gown from her body, to feel the heat of his lips upon her bare flesh. To feel his body lie upon her.

Instead, he moved lower still... leaving her hands free, and sliding his arm beneath her waist to raise her body for his fervent kisses. She moaned with exhilaration, nearly mindless with the pleasure he was giving her, impatient with his caresses. She clutched at her gown, drawing it up desperately, inviting him without words.