When a Scot Ties the Knot - Page 91/99

And the dreams. He’d dreamed of her, day and night, and for the first time in his life there was nothing cold or dark or lonely about those fantasies. They were flooded with more color and light than a circus tent.

Her shoulders gave another slight quiver. Was she laughing at him again?

He heaved a teasing sigh, then regretted it. Even sighing hurt. “What have I done that’s so humorous this time?”

She didn’t answer. Because, just as softly as she’d started to laugh a few minutes earlier, she had begun to cry.

“I was so afraid.”

“It’s all right, mo chridhe. It’s all right. I’m here now. I’m not going to leave you, either.”

He tipped her lovely face to his.

And then he kissed her. How could he not?

If he tried to speak, he would have failed. There were no words for the emotions flooding his chest. His heart pounded in his chest so fiercely that he feared it would break his ribs again—­this time from the inside. Or simply burst from being swollen with too much feeling.

Too much joy.

All that emotion had to go somewhere, or it would surely kill him. A kiss was the only answer.

She kissed him back, as though it meant her very life as well, sliding her fingers into his damp hair to hold him tight. Beneath the bed linens, sleeping parts of him began to stir and assert their vitality, making demands. We’re not dead yet, they said.

“I want you,” he whispered, tugging at the neckline of her frock and bending to kiss her neck. “Here. Now. Maddie, I need you.”

I love you. God, I love you.

The thought moved through his mind, and Logan fought the instinct to drive it away. He didn’t say it aloud—­but he didn’t chase it down and squash it like a bug, either. That alone felt like a victory.

He moved one hand to her breast, thumbing her nipple to a tight point and easing his fingers under the lacy neckline of her powder-­blue frock to feel the delicate heat of her skin. A possessive growl rose in his chest.

“Logan . . .”

Despite her chiding tone, she let her head roll to the side, giving him more room to nibble at her earlobe.

“Let me have you, mo chridhe.” He slid his hand inside her stays, cupping her breast. “We won’t be disturbed.”

“Logan.” She pulled away with obvious regret. “Munro said no strenuous exercise. You know I can’t ignore his orders. I care about you too much.”

He let his head fall back against the pillow.

“So . . .” She walked her fingers up the center of his bandaged chest, until they reached his breastbone and her eyes lifted to his. “ . . . we’ll have to be very, very careful.”

Yes. Holy God, yes.

“I can be careful. I can be so careful.” Logan reached for her.

“Shhh.” She held those two fingers against his solar plexus and pushed him, gently but firmly, back against the bed. “I’m the one who’s going to be careful. Just let me do everything.”

“You dinna have to do everything.”

Her fingers pinned him to the mattress. “I’m going to do everything. And you must lie there and take it.”

There was nothing in the world that came less naturally to Logan than reclining on a cloud-­soft featherbed and allowing someone else to do everything. Much less the woman he’d come to treasure and protect.

But part of him liked the idea.

Liked it verra, verra much.

“I’m going to take care of you,” she whispered in his left ear. She slipped her loosened frock downward, whispering in his right ear. “I’ll give you everything you need.”

Her breathy, sensual promise sent chills racing over his scalp and cascading down his spine. The unobstructed view of her breasts left his mouth dry with thirst.

He could only manage a word in response: “Hurry.”

She gave him a slow, mischievous smile.

She lifted her breast with her hand and leaned forward, teasing the lavender-­scented softness against his unshaven cheek. Logan turned his head, capturing her nipple. He drew the tight, luscious peak into his mouth, and she gave a breathy gasp that made his cock stir.

He licked and teased with abandon, loving the taste and softness of her. Even better were the little noises she made as he suckled her hard. Gasps and sighs and low, erotic moans.

“I . . . I’m supposed to be pleasing you.”

He released her nipple just long enough to reply, “You are, lass. You are.”

He ducked his head, nuzzling the underside of her breast and pushing it higher with his brow so that he could lick the sensitive curve beneath. Then he found her nipple once more and lavished it with long, slow passes of his tongue.