Page 22 of Plaid Attitude
Did he mean…?
Her heart began to pound at the thought of more kisses. Her heart—and something much lower.
“Coira, can I kiss ye again?”
This time, she was the one to break into a smile, and the one to cuphischeek.
And she was the one to kiss him.
This kiss wasn’t slow, wasn’t soft, wasn’t sensual. Instead, it was hot and hard and demanding, everything she was feeling spilling into his touch.
His calluses caught on her hair, pulling it from its braid, and for the first time, she cursed her braies, whose supple leather kept her from feeling him when she tossed one thigh across his lap.
When they emerged for air, each was breathing hard and she was pleased to see his hair was as mussed as hers.
“How do ye feel?” he asked again.
“Still tense,” she murmured, eyeing his lips.
“Shall we try again?” His hand slid down the curve of her side, resting on her hip, and she resisted the urge to arch forward, buck her pelvis against his hardness.
Instead, all she did was sigh, “Aye, please,” and allow him to teach her what she needed to know.
She was an eager pupil.
Chapter 4
Coira feltas if she were floating through life, each day focused entirely on one thing.
And it wasn’t the upcoming Easter celebration.
In fact, as Lent drew to a close—really, how many ways could fish be prepared? Baked fish, poached fish. Fish in soup. Fish in stews. Haddock. Salmon. Trout. Even oatcakes topped with hot, smoked trout—forbreakfast!. She was sick of fish!—her workload increased. Mother was frantic to ensure this celebration wasperfectand coming to Coira hourly with suggested changes.
But instead of causing Coira more stress, she just…smiled and nodded and promised Mother she’d work on it.
Because of Doughall’s kisses.
Nay, because ofDoughall.
After that first day and the kisses they’d shared in her chamber, he’d helped her to her feet and smiled that soft, wry smile of his.
“If I dinnae leave now, Coira, I willnae have the strength to ever leave.”
Since she’d seen the very obvious evidence of his arousal tenting the front of his kilt, she’d blushed. But she’d met his eye and squeezed his hand and said, “Thank ye.”
Thank ye for the kisses. Thank ye for seeing what I needed. Thank ye for wanting to help me.
His parting kiss had been soft and sweet and told her he’d understood her unspoken words.
That night she’d laid in her bed—and could swear she could still feel his heat!—squirming in need. His touch hadn’t been erotic, but had awakened a throbbing demand in her, and her fingers just weren’t satisfying.
The next day, having not gotten nearly enough rest, she was just as tense as she’d been the day before. So,shesoughthimout.
He’d been sweaty from the lists, with hay stuck in his hair, but he’d grinned when he saw her coming and said something to his cousin to send the other man away. He’d met her in the middle of the bailey and taken her hand and led her toward the back of the stables.
If she’d thought it was amazing to sit beside him on the bed while he kissed her, it was even more incredible to stand against the stable wall with him pressed against her front where she could feeleverything.
His hips pinned her, and her legs parted so she could rub against him. His chest was wide and her nipples pebbled as she felt the strength of his muscles and smelled his scent.
