Page 55 of Plaid Attitude
“I see that now.” It had taken her too bloody long. “I’m sorry.”
He grinned crookedly. “I forgive ye. I meant it when I said I’d be here for ye. Nae matter what yer Da says today, what decision ye make because of it, I’ll be here for ye.”
Suddenly shy, Coira dropped her gaze to his chin.
It was anicechin.
“A month ago…” She took a deep breath and started again. “When I was feeling scared and overwhelmed, ye…helped me.”
“Aye.” There was humor in his tone, as if he knew why she wasn’t looking him in the eye. “I taught ye how to kiss.”
And other things. “I’m…I’m feeling a little scared now,” she admitted in a whisper.
He didn’t say anything. It took a long moment to bolster her courage and look him in the eye again, and ‘twas to find him grinning.
“Well, aright then,” he drawled.
And then, holding her gaze, her lowered his lips to hers.
This kiss…
This kiss was full of promise. And hope. And love and friendship and all the good things in life.
This kiss was a vow.
And this kiss got very, veryhot.
In no time at all, Coira realized she was rubbing her pelvis against his firm length, which seemed barely contained by his kilt. One of his hands had strayed to her arse and helped hold her in place as she rose on her toes to better align his hardness against the place where she needed the pressure.
His other hand cupped her breast, and through the thick wool of her tunic, her nipple pebbled hard enough to make her gasp.
Without breaking the kiss, her hands fumbled for the clasps of the tunic. He helped her wrench them free and push the heavy material down her shoulders, revealing the linen shirt beneath. It was the work shirt she always wore, but the way he caressed her made her feel like a princess.
“Coira,” he murmured against her lips, even as his fingers plucked the ties at the shirt’s collar. “We…yer father…God’s Wounds!”
This was in response to the sound she’d made as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and her hips jerked forward.
But…he was right. As he trailed kisses along her jaw, Coira tried to focus across the room.
He’d left the door open.
The fooking door was stillopen.
“Doughall,” she gasped, and when he stilled, she closed her eyes on a groan. “Ye’re right,” she finally admitted. “The others are likely waiting on us.”
Although there was much she’d rather be doing than hearing her father choose one of her brothers-in-law for his heir, and kissing Doughall ranked high on that list.
Right behindFooking DoughallandLoving Doughall.
Speaking of which…
“I love ye,” she blurted.
When he straightened—his cock still throbbing incessantly against her—and frowned, she realized how poorly timed that had been.
She winced. “Sorry.” She seemed to be apologizing often these days.
Slowly, he withdrew his hand from her shirt and allowed her to slide down his body to stand on her own feet while he concentrated on her ties. His gaze was on her collar as he worked, and he was still frowning.
