Page 70 of The Wrong Bride
“’Tis me,” he said. It was strange how numb his lips felt.
“Hugh.” She said his name with relief.
“Who else would come to ye in the rooms of the chief?”
He sat down heavily beside her, and she rolled toward him as the mattress sagged.
Bracing a hand on his thigh, she said, “You sound extremely proud of yourself.”
Was she teasing him or laughingathim? It was hard to tell the difference after all the whisky he’d consumed.
She glanced toward the window, where the sky had begun to lighten to gray. “A full night of celebration, I see.”
He leaned down to nuzzle behind her ear. “We could celebrate more.”
She coughed when he breathed on her.
“But we don’t have the time,” he said, slapping her backside.
She gasped. “Hugh!”
“Up, woman, we need to leave. My chieftains have invited us to travel our lands and be feted. I want ye to see what ye’ll be a part of.”
He saw the sadness that still lingered in her eyes when she thought he didn’t notice. He might be drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. He cupped her face in both hands. “Riona, Riona,” he murmured, between kisses. He almost asked her to love him as awife should a husband, but held back the words. He wasn’tthatmindless.
“We’re going on a journey together?” she asked with hope in her voice.
“We are.”
“Then we have much to prepare for. I suggest you get some sleep so you’re refreshed.”
“Don’t need sleep.” But her bed was very comfortable, and he lay down beside her.
She frowned. “Youneed to sleep, but I’m awake now. Why don’t you let me out and—”
He shook his head, grinning.
“Hugh, a journey requires much preparation.”
She started to climb across him, but the moment she put one leg across him, he pulled her down on top of him. Her thighs straddled his hips, and she was right where he wanted her to be.
She rolled her eyes. “Hugh, please, you’ve overindulged.”
He ignored her, arching his hips to press his cock into the warmth between her thighs. He heard her quick intake of breath, saw the way her eyes seemed to lose focus.
“No ropes holding your legs together now,” he murmured.
He let his hands wander up her torso, cupping her breasts, flicking her nipples with his thumbs, and enjoying the way she gave a tremble that he felt deep within. He cupped her face and pulled herlow over him, so that she was forced to brace her hands on his shoulders or fall right into his kiss.
“I’ve got nothing on under my plaid,” he said with satisfaction. “And ye’ve got nothing on under that nightshift.” And then he kissed her.
CHAPTER 19
The whisky swam in Riona’s head as if she’d drunk it herself. The taste of it was in Hugh’s mouth and on his breath. With his hands holding her head to him, she had no choice but to accept the kiss—not that she could refuse. Just the touch of him, even drunk, was enough to reawaken her body to the pleasure they could share.
But this was dangerous, she knew. Little separated them from intercourse itself, certainly not ropes. If he decided to finish what they’d been working toward for weeks, she probably could not stop him. He rolled his hips up into hers, slowly, rhythmically, setting off the flutters she now knew would escalate into need.
She pressed against his shoulders and lifted her head. “Hugh, stop. If we’re leaving today, you need to sleep.”
