"Please don’t delay," he said in a hoarse voice as she balanced over him. "I’m only human."
"You? Only human? Don’t make me laugh." The anticipation in her smile made him shake. Clever hands gripped him, ready for her descent. "You’re the heroic Laird of Glen Lyon."
When she slid down, it was even more perfect than he could have imagined. There was a delicious slippery moment when he realized that what they’d done had aroused her to madness, then he was deep inside her. With a gasp of female excitement, Emily clenched around him. Every time she moved, sensation crashed through him like hot gunfire.
Hamish fought for control, but he was too close. A ragged groan escaped him, as she leaned forward to press an openmouthed kiss to his lips. When her tongue thrust into his mouth, she squeezed him. He bit back a whimper and slipped one shaking hand between their bodies.
She bucked and cried out. Hamish’s control shattered. On another broken groan, he lifted his hips and filled her. He dived headlong into a fiery inferno where the only reality was his wife’s passion and the incendiary pleasure they created together.
When he came back to himself, an exhausted bundle of fragrant femininity sprawled across his chest. The air was thick with sexual satisfaction.
He firmed his grip on Emily and smiled up at the painted ceiling. The luckiest man in Scotland? He was the luckiest man in the entire world.
Eventually Emily stirred and raised her head. She looked happy. She looked tired. She looked beautiful. For a long time, they stared at each other before he reached forward and stroked the tumble of sable hair back from her forehead.
He drew her down for a kiss that spoke of tenderness rather than desire. "Thank you."
Hamish shifted, bringing her with him so they rested against the back of the chaise longue. She draped across his lap, boneless with exhaustion and the lingering remnants of her climax. Emily buried her face in his chest, and he felt her lips move in a kiss. Her sweetness in this aftermath touched him anew.
He was startled to hear a muffled giggle. "What is it?"
Sparkling hazel eyes more gold than green focused on him. "I can’t believe I was so very wicked – yet somehow I’m still wearing my dress."
"I’ll fix that next time."
"I can’t wait."
It was his turn to laugh. "You may have to – at least until I’ve recovered. You drained me to the dregs." His voice lowered. "You’re the lover a man dreams of, Emily."
She blushed, which he found touching, given what she’d just done to him. "I’m sorry I was so afraid when we married. If I had any idea—"
"Shh, sweetheart," he crooned, stroking her back. "What we have now is worth any amount of waiting."
"The things you make me feel…" Her gesture conveyed what words could not.
He smiled at her, enchanted anew. "Do you know what we should do now?"
Eyes shining with curiosity leveled on him. "What?"
His smile widened. "I think we should have a party."
Chapter 27
These Scots certainly knew how to celebrate.
Emily clung to Hamish’s arm and surveyed the crowd of jubilant people crammed into Lyon House’s vast ballroom. Most of them were strangers to her, and the throng included all levels of society. Crofters. Villagers. Neighbors. The local grandees. All mixing with an ease that impressed someone from the much more class-ridden south.
Most of them were strangers, but not all. Big Billy towered over everyone. There were the people she’d come to know who worked at the house. And standing with her and Hamish were Diarmid and Fiona and Fergus and Marina.
The noise was terrific. Chatter. Laughter. A cohort of fiddlers doing their best to be heard above the cacophony.
"Not like a London party," Hamish said, smiling at her.
"No, not at all," Emily said faintly. In this riotous gathering, she felt awfully English and hidebound and out of place. And it was so important that these people liked her and welcomed her to the glen. For her
sake and for Hamish’s.
"You look wonderful, Emily," Fiona said. "The clan will take you to their hearts."