Page 60 of A Virgin for the Vicious Highlander
Seizing the opportunity, Cecilia went to the fireplace and turned her back to him. “If ye could unlace this one first, I’d be ever-so grateful.” She paused. “And aye, I had a drink with Tara last night. I needed someone to fill the void that Paisley left behind. I wish she would have stayed longer.”
A few moments passed before she heard Murdoch approach… and he was not gentle in undressing her. He tugged on the knot and tore at the laces, her body jerking with every pull. She made it seem like he had pulled even harder and knocked into hischest, staying there for a moment, enjoying the familiar solidity of him. Remembering how it had felt to be pressed against him.
“Ye ought to be more delicate,” she teased, turning her head to peer up at him.
The hunger in his eyes had intensified, his gaze almost ravenous as his fingertips tugged more gently on the laces of her dress. He bent his head slightly, and for a thrilling second, she was convinced he was going to kiss her.
“If I wasnae bein’ delicate,” he replied, “I’d have taken me dirk and cut the laces.”
She shivered at the thought. “Perhaps, if we were in a hurry. But we have nay need to rush. We can take our time.”
“Yemight nae have nay need to rush, but I have important things to attend to,” he growled.
“More important than helping yer wife undress?”
His eyes flashed. “Aye. Now, turn around.”
She did as he asked, gazing at the fire instead, waiting for the moment he would break his rules. He grabbed her skirts and pulled her dress over her head, his breathing quickening as he peeled the garment off her. She was not wearing drawers and had entirely forgotten that she had not put them on that morning.
He willnae be able to resist.
He tossed the dress on a nearby armchair. The air in the room thickened as she felt his eyes roam over her half-bare form. She did not look up at him, letting him decide when to make the first move.
Any moment now…
“Where is yer other dress?” he asked flatly, and her excitement evaporated in an instant.
“It’s over there, hangin’ on the door of the armoire,” she replied, wondering if he could hear the disappointment in her voice.
He went to retrieve the dress, and as he turned back around, his eyes flitted to her, roving over her bare legs and stomach, lingering on the apex of her thighs as his tongue wet his lips. A second later, it was as if he had snapped out of a trance, his expression blank, his posture rigid again as he made his way back to her and handed her the dress.
“Be quick about it,” he commanded.
More annoyed than she cared to admit, her pride slightly bruised, she pulled the dress over her head and let the heavy fabric slide down her body. He was behind her again in an instant, tightening the laces all the way to the nape of her neck, where he made a knot.
“Wear a thick cloak,” was all he added before he marched out of her bedchamber.
Cecilia whirled around just in time to see the door close, and she rested her hands on her hips, glaring at the spot where he had just been.
Ye might think ye can win this, but ye have nay idea whom ye married. I dinnae give up so easily, and ye can be sure that I willnae give up on the hope of experiencin’ everythin’ that I wrote on that list. With ye. Me husband.
Grabbing her warmest cloak and reaching behind her to loosen the knot he had made, she decided to seek him out again. After all, he surely would not want some other man fixing his ‘mistake.’
Murdoch did not enter the council chamber in the best of moods. He was frustrated. He had visions of Cecilia whirling around in his head and fire in his blood—the kind that might burn him to ashes if he did not claim her immediately. But, of course, he could not, which only served to make him doubly frustrated.
“M'Laird, thank ye for joinin’ us,” George MacGill said cheerily as he stood and bowed his head. “We werenae sure if ye would have the time for us, seein’ as ye’re on yer honeymoon.”
Murdoch strode to his chair at the head of the table and sat down, balancing one foot on his opposite knee and glowering at the gathered men. “Nothin’ is more important than me duties to the clan.”
“Aye, well, the matter of yer honeymoon brings us nicely to our first order of business,” one of the other councilmen, a younger fellow called Kelvin Stonehaven, piped up.
Murdoch shot him a dark look. “What’s it got to do with ye?”
“Everythin’, M’Laird,” another councilman, Roger McGinty, chimed in. “As ye ken, yer marriage was a happy surprise to the clan. And we were hopin’ there might be another… happy surprise before the end of next year.”
“It’s a matter of legacy, ye understand,” Kelvin interjected.
Roger nodded. “A few sons would ensure the continuation of yer line.”
