Page 67 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
“He is gone,” she muttered to herself. Like this was really happening. Like the echoes that carried an air of finality agreed with her.
Ciaran finished painting and turned to her, droplets of paint sliding down the tip of his brush.
“He doesnae deserve a clean forehead, do ye nae think?” he asked.
Elinor stared at him for what must have been a minute. Then, she felt her lips widen and her cheeks rise. Then, she laughed. It rose from the pit of her belly, the laugh. Ciaran did the same, his voice a harmonious dissonance with hers.
They laughed like that for the next two minutes. Then, Elinor looked back up at the painting, at the flower on Murdock’s forehead that was drying up quickly.
Ciaran handed her the brush. “Do ye want to have a go? I am certain ye have something to paint on his head, too.”
Elinor took the brush and stared at it. Then, she dipped it into black paint and drew bristles around the forehead, covering the roses and turning his forehead pitch black. “He doesnae deserve roses either.”
Ciaran laughed, and she followed.
“I agree with ye,” he said.
She nodded, and their laughter died down.
After what seemed like a minute of low chuckles and snickers, a sigh escaped Elinor’s lips.
Ciaran dipped the brush in yellow paint and smeared it across Murdock’s face. He then handed her the brush again, and she did the same, this time with green.
They switched colors and hands for the next ten minutes, and when they were finally done, it was impossible to tell if there had ever been a man behind the splash of colors or if the man ever had eyes.
“Ye ken, I havenae laughed like this in a while.”
“A while?” Ciaran arched his eyebrows.
“Aye. Three years and six months. Certainly, I laughed when I heard he died, but it wasnae a hearty laugh.”
“It was a bitter one,” Ciaran guessed.
“Aye.” She nodded.
Ciaran stared at her.
Something about the way she looked in the afternoon light that streamed through the windows tugged at something beneath his navel. He was certain it was desire.
She looked freer than she had ever been, and he wanted to see it up close. He wanted to touch her freedom, the smile on her face, her melodic laughter as it echoed through the gallery.
He wanted to hear her voice again. He wanted it to fill the gallery, instead of her laughter.
Without a second thought, he grabbed her by the wrist and spun her to him. Their eyes met, and in a few seconds, so did their lips.
Ciaran’s mouth claimed hers with no hesitation, and she opened to him. Her lack of protest quickly burned the last threads of his restraint.
He slowly backed her up until her back hit the wall. He didn’t wait for her to catch her breath. He slid his palms beneath her thighs, lifted her again into his arms, and gently lowered her onto the floor. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he deepened the kiss.
He lowered himself atop her, his hips pressing into hers. His hand then moved to her jaw and tilted it so she would keep looking at him. Her lips were already swollen and parted, and she let out a shaky moan that stirred something even hotter within him.
He was intrigued that she was not muffling her sounds. He trailed the back of his fingers over her face before slowly tugging down the neckline of her dress.
Her neck was warm, red, and pulsed with what he could only assume to be desire. He leaned down and lowered his lips to the hollow at the base of her throat. His tongue dragged along her skin, tasting her salt. She arched beneath him when he reached her collarbone.
But instead of pausing, he pulled her dress down further. She helped him, her hands desperately fumbling with the laces. Her bodice finally popped open, and her breasts spilled out. He heard her sharp intake of breath and felt her stomach tense up. He leaned down once again and took her nipple in his mouth. Her back arched off the floor.
Her hands flew to his hair, her fingers sliding in with no hesitation. Her body jerked into him, a blatant indication of everything he needed to know. He let her tug at his hair as he dragged his tongue over her nipple, sucking lightly until her hips shifted and bucked beneath him.
