Page 24 of Kilty Plea
And now he understood her desperation for reaching MacIntyre lands…he couldn’t deny her.
He’d take her home with him tomorrow.
Decided, he raised his chin…to find her staring at him, head cocked to one side, and a small grin on her lips. “What?”
Ignoring his defensive tone, she unfolded her legs and stood. “Do ye ken, ye do that when ye’re thinking, or ye’re frustrated?”
“Do what?” he asked, although he wasn’t focused on her words…not when he’d caught a tantalizing glimpse of thigh as she crossed to stand before him.
She was smiling now as she came to a stop in front of him. “Ye try to rub yer face, but the helmet doesnae allow it. Ye said ye wear it whenever ye’re on a mission, but ‘tis obvious ye’re no’ used to wearing it nonstop.”
Unbidden, Payton’s hands curled into fists where they rested atop his thighs. She was close enough he could reach out and hold her. Pull her into his lap. Bury his face between her small breasts.Taste her.
“Will ye remove it, Sir Hunter?” she whispered, standing over him. “No’ just for me, but for yerself, as well?”
St. Bart’s bellybutton! She was so damned soft and sweet and…
Paytonwantedto remove the helmet.
That’s what it came down to.
He didn’t want to wear the thing right now.
And besides…if he was going to take her to his home tomorrow, she’d see him without the helm then. He always removed it afore entering MacIntyre land, to remind himself he wasn’t there on King’s business.
If she was going to see him without it…might as well be now.
Her small hands were already on the steel and she was just waiting for his approval.
His voice harsh, he whispered, “Go ahead.”
Slowly, reverently, she lifted his helmet.
Payton realized he was holding his breath, waiting for her gaze to land on the scar which had destroyed his visage. Waiting for her to recoil in revulsion—or worse, pity.
But…
Flora’s eyeshadgone right to the scar, and aye, her breath had hitched for a moment. But then her gaze caressed his jaw, his hairline, his whole ear on the right side, and finally…landed on his eyes.
Her gaze met his, and slowly, her smile bloomed again.
The beauty of that smile—crooked teeth and all—punched him right in the gut.
Without looking, she placed the helmet on the table, freeing her hands. She reached for him, her fingertips caressing his ruined cheek before cupping his jaw.
Then she leaned toward him. “Thank ye, Payton,” she whispered, a moment before her lips brushed his.
Payton broke.
His control broke.
With a growl, he reached for her hips, pulling her down into his lap, as their lips crushed together. ‘Twas joyous, aye, but also desperate, as if a dam had broken somewhere upstream, and there was naught they could do but ride this out.
His tongue dragged across her lower lip, the way he’d been aching to do since that first night, and her lips parted on a small whimper.
‘Twas obvious she was new at this, but an eager learner, and he caught her little gasps of pleasure and matched them.
But as her arms settled around his neck and she squirmed against his arousal, a dim part of Payton remembered he couldn’t take this too far. Last night, she’d offered him bliss, but only as a bribe.
