Kiss of the Highlander

“Your point?” she managed.

“They have more room to grow,” he said, as if she were simpleminded.

Gwen blushed. Of all things to play a joke on her about. Stuffing socks in his pants, indeed! “MacKeltar, I do not believe for one minute that that”—she gestured at the bulge in his jeans—“is you. I may be gullible, but I do know what men look like, and that is not what men look like.”

He flattened her up against the door of the dressing room, and his sensual mouth, much too close for safety, curved in a cocksure smile. “Then you will simply have to see for yourself. Touch me, lass. Feel my…sock.” His silver gaze sizzled with challenge, as he unzipped his zipper.

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head for added emphasis.

“Then find me a pair of trews that doona threaten to sever my manparts.”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed, trying not to think about that unzipped zipper.

“Doona let this frighten you, lass. We will fit together well when I make love to you,” he purred.

Weel was how it came out, and his lovely brogue, coupled with his “sock,” were nearly all the persuasion she needed to set to removing his jeans with her teeth. She closed her eyes. “Back up, bud, or I’ll help you fit in those trews,” she threatened. “With your sword, if necessary.”

“Look at me, Gwendolyn,” he said softly.

“Gwen,” she snapped.

“Gwen,” he acquiesced. Right before he kissed her.

7

Heat lightning, Gwen thought. His touch is electrifying. Attraction sizzled between them, and she knew he felt it too, because he drew back and looked at her strangely. Then, nudging her lips apart with his thumb, he opened her mouth and brushed his firm lips back and forth over hers, creating a light and irresistible friction.

Yes, she thought. This is what I’ve needed. I feel…ooh! He tilted her head at the perfect angle—just like Lancelot did Guinevere in that single kiss between them in the movie First Knight—and sealed his mouth over hers. She shivered when his tongue plunged between her lips, hot and silky and raw man.

Take that, Miriam.

Dizzied by a rush of desire, her head plopped limply back against the dressing-room door. She slid her hands up the rippling muscles of his arms, over his shoulders, then locked them firmly behind his neck. She hadn’t gone to Scotland, fallen in a hole, and met a madman. She’d died and gone to heaven, and he was her reward for putting up with her parents for so many years. He closed his hands on her waist, then slid them intimately upward as he deepened the kiss, lingering over each curve. When he flattened his palms roughly over her breasts, her thighs popped open so smoothly that she wondered why she didn’t just have a placard taped across them that said SQUEEZE HERE FOR SEX. She arched her back, rubbing her hard nipples against his callused palms. The sock she’d accused him of having was the hardest sock she’d ever felt and dangerously close to being smack-dab between her thighs.

And she wanted him there, by God.

She wanted to feel him silky and hot inside her, naked, with nothing between them.

He brushed her nipples with his thumbs as his tongue glided deeper, slick and hungry, so deep it coaxed soft little mewling noises from her throat. With a subtle turn of their bodies, he shifted his erection into the vee of her thighs and thrust his hips with the same ruthless, insistent rhythm as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. When he cupped her bottom and lifted her against him, she vaulted happily onto him, wrapped her legs around his waist, and kissed him frantically.

She arched against him, trying to get as close as possible, with so much irritating, restrictive clothing between them. She threaded her fingers into his silky hair, she suckled his tongue, desperate for more of him. He made a kind of laughing, satisfied male sound deep in his throat, clamped her head between his hands, and kissed her so hard he drew her breath into his body. His tongue glided into her mouth, withdrew, and returned. She felt her skin rippling with kinetic energy where he touched her; she was soaking it up and growing hotter at the core. This man knew her natural frequency and was making her resonate to perfect pitch. And as fine crystal, if vibrated continuously at its natural frequency, would shatter, she hovered mere caresses away from a similar explosion.

“Might I find you a different size or style?” chirped Miriam beyond the dressing-room door, inspiring the only benevolent feeling Gwen would ever entertain about her, for rescuing her before she shucked her virginity on a fitting-room floor to a madman. With a door that ended a foot above the floor.

Drustan groaned, then deepened the kiss.