“Diarmid,” she said slowly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you enjoyed what we did, isn’t that enough?”
He shook his head. “My dear, ye married a fool.”
Fiona placed a hand on his shoulder, before she wondered if she had the right to touch him, now the act was done. She’d never wanted to touch Ian, but the turmoil in her mind made her need the solid reassurance of contact with Diarmid.
Before she could withdraw, he turned his head and placed a quick kiss on her fingers. Relief filled her. Clearly he didn’t mind her touching him.
“I think I must be the fool,” she said huskily. “Please explain what you mean, and keep it simple.”
His smile was rueful, and so charming that her heart did another of those disorienting flips. “A woman can enjoy congress as much as a man.”
Her eyes rounded, even as disbelief added a skeptical note to her reply. “I doubt it.”
“I’d like to prove it to ye.”
“You want to do that again,” she said in a flat voice.
“Aye, I do.”
A quick glance toward his thighs confirmed that he wasn’t exaggerating. “Is a man capable of doing that more than once a night?”
“He is indeed. Can ye bear it?”
Fio
na found the courage to tell him the truth. “If you kiss me and touch me again, I’ll be delighted.”
He kissed her with a sweetness that thickened her blood to syrup. “I dinna think ye know what delighted means, my darling.”
Her heart squeezed hard at the endearment. “You’re still speaking in riddles.”
He studied her as if she belonged to some strange new species. “You didnae feel there was something missing at the end? Ye were definitely on the way.”
“After the kissing, I didn’t mind what you did.”
“High praise,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. You made me feel things I never had before, and I loved that I gave you ease.”
“Aye, I’ve been in a state about ye since we met.”
She thought back over the evening’s astonishing events. Diarmid’s kisses had swept her into a sublime world she’d never known existed. His caresses had roused strange but enjoyable quakes. Were they the explosions Marina spoke about?
When he moved inside her, those shivery little explosions had risen again. She’d loved hearing his groan of completion as he filled her. What else could there be?
Apparently more.
At least she hadn’t been wrong about pleasing him. When she feared she hadn’t, she’d wanted to shrivel up and die. “What should I do?”
A slow smile curved his lips. Suddenly steadfast, upright Diarmid Mactavish looked dauntingly devilish. “Och, just lie back, lassie, and let me do all the work.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“You’ll get your turn.”
She was still blushing. “Do you mind if I have a wash first?”
“No’ at all.”