“You want me so much?”
“Fiona, dinna be a wee cat. Ye ken what you do to me.”
With a radiant smile that set his poor overburdened heart cartwheeling again, she drew herself up and sent him a direct look. “Then it’s time, my husband, that you kissed your bride.”
Chapter 24
Fiona sounded braver than she felt. When Ian Grant went to his final rest, she’d sworn that she’d never again submit to a man’s demands. But these days in Diarmid’s company had made her wonder if the male touch must always be harsh and greedy and frightening.
She’d never felt desire, but she couldn’t deny that sometimes when she looked at the man she’d just married, wanton curiosity stirred in her blood.
Ian Grant had made her skin crawl. Diarmid Mactavish’s touch made her feel safe and cherished, even before he took the astonishing step of marrying her to keep her safe. If gratitude and liking meant anything, she could endure what was to come. At least he didn’t smell like an old man, and his breath was sweet.
Men enjoyed the vile act. She couldn’t imagine women ever did.
Except all day, Marina’s words had played in her mind. As Fiona stood beside Diarmid’s bed, she couldn’t help wondering if perhaps there might be…more.
This time when she offered her hand, he took it. As those strong fingers closed around hers, heat surged up her arm and settled around her stuttering heart.
“Ye do me such honor, Fiona.” His dark eyes were steady. “I promise I willnae hurt you.”
“I know you won’t.” She believed that at least he’d try.
“If you’re frightened, tell me and we’ll stop.” He frowned. “Your hand is trembling.”
“I’m nervous. That’s natural.” She made herself meet that perceptive gaze. It was difficult not to keep staring at the muscled expanse of his bare chest. She’d never imagined she’d find a male torso quite such a compelling sight. “But today I promised you my body. Don’t make me dishonor my word.”
“Verra well,” he
said softly.
“What should I do?”
Tenderness softened that searching black stare. “Venturing a wee step closer might help.”
She blushed. For heaven’s sake, she’d been married nine years and borne a child. Stupid to feel as uncertain as a maiden with her first lover. “Are you staying in the bed?”
Self-mockery twisted his expressive mouth. “I fear if I throw the sheets aside, you’ll run screaming from the room.”
Her eyes settled on the way the loosely draped sheet tented below his waist. All the moisture dried from her mouth, and her pulse fluttered erratically. That was the part of him he’d shove into her. She struggled not to remember how it had felt when Ian strained and grunted.
“I’m made of sterner stuff than that.” She prayed she spoke the truth.
The smile deepened, and so did the tenderness. “Let’s no’ put it to the test just yet.”
Something in his expression set up a thrumming pulse in the base of her belly. She bit her lip and cast a nervous glance around the room. “Before we go any further, shouldn’t I extinguish the lamps?”
“No.”
“No?” The question emerged as a squeak.
He shook his head. “I want to engage all your senses, including sight.” The comprehensive survey he gave her body made that throbbing between her legs more insistent. “I’ve dreamed of seeing ye.”
She licked dry lips and noticed with another jolt of awareness how his eyes flared when they focused on the betraying movement. “You have?”
“Aye.” The fervor in the simple answer made her tremble. “Take off your shawl and come and sit beside me, Fiona.”
She’d always loved how he said her name. Right now, with night surrounding them and the prospect of his possession looming, her name turned into music on his lips.