He brought her down beside him and shifted to lean on his elbow. She hated the way she stiffened in wariness, but lying next to a man like this reminded her too vividly of her first husband. “Diarmid…”
“Whisht, lassie,” he murmured, trailing his fingers along her hairline and across her ears and down her cheeks. “You’re awfully bonny. Later, I’d like to take down your hair. I’ve had a thousand fantasies involving your hair.”
“My hair?” she asked, unable to hide her astonishment.
He laughed softly and kept up those teasing, unthreatening touches. “Aye, your hair. It’s beautiful.”
“I assumed you’d only think about…”
A smile hovered around his mouth, as those drifting fingers trailed heat wherever they touched.
“Och, I’ve thought about that, too, never ye fear, sweetheart.” He caught her chin and angled it up. “But that’s all for later—or perhaps never. Now I’m going to teach ye how to kiss a man.”
She should be frightened, but fear had moved further out of reach than she’d ever imagined it could. “A man?”
“Well, me. I’m hoping you’ll find the lesson so satisfactory that ye won’t want to broaden your range of kissees.”
“Kissees?” she queried on a gurgle of laughter. “Is that a technical term?”
“Och, aye. Ye need to learn the correct words for what we do together.”
“How…educational.”
“I aim to please.”
He bent in so close that his breath made the sensitive skin of her lips tingle with what she was shocked to recognize was longing. Another shock shivered through her as she realized she’d laughed. In bed. With a man. Who was going to push inside her before the night was done.
Lying with Ian had always been an act of grim endurance. When she’d come to Diarmid tonight, she’d been keyed up for an onerous experience. She hadn’t expected this enchanting lightness.
He brushed his lips across hers. Automatically, she closed her mouth and her eyes.
When nothing else happened, Fiona opened her eyes to find him watching her with a fond amusement that had her silly heart performing wild acrobatics.
“Why do ye shut your mouth so tightly?”
“Aren’t I meant to?”
“If you’re kissing your grandfather, perhaps.” When his fingers caressed her jaw, her lips loosened of their own volition. “Relax a wee bit, and follow my lead.”
He bent his head again, and this time her nervousness receded to a point where she moved her lips against his. The tingling sensation increased and spread until she felt the contact across every inch of her body. When the pressure on her lips shifted and changed, she tried to imitate it.
After a few seconds, he raised his head. “Better.” His breathing was unsteady. “Shall we try again?”
“Yes,” she said on a whisper.
This time the pressure was more purposeful, and she felt the flicker of his tongue. When she whimpered in protest, he stopped.
“Ye dinna like it?”
She gasped for air, and her heart banged in her ears like a madman’s drum. “I’m…I’m not sure.”
“Perhaps I’m going too fast.”
He returned to playful kisses that teased her into yearning up toward him. Little glancing touches that surprised and tantalized. His hand cupped her jaw and held her still, as he kissed her lips then shifted to quick kisses across her cheeks and eyelids and chin and nose.
A choked giggle escaped her. “It tickles.”
“In a nice way?” He punctuated each word with a brief kiss somewhere on her face.