Page 22 of The Outlaw's Bride
Lachlann gazed at the young woman before him. The wine had caused the stress of the day to slough away. He’d even forgotten his aching back, shoulders, and arms—from all the rowing he’d done.
“Because ye are bonny,” he murmured.
He watched Adaira wet her lips nervously. Yet she continued to hold his gaze.
Innocent, and yet with a certain boldness.
It wasn’t a lie; he did find her beautiful. Not in the obvious way some women were—no, Adaira MacLeod’s attractiveness lay in something earthier. Her long walnut-colored hair lay in heavy waves around an elfin face. Frank hazel eyes, flecked with green, watched him with guileless interest.
Now that she no longer wore her heavy cloak, he’d noticed that her figure, although girlish, had a delicious lushness at her hips and bust. Her dark-green kirtle was laced over the swell of full, high breasts.
And yet it was her mouth that fascinated him the most: delicate, yet full. Her lips parted slightly as their stare drew out. He saw her bosom rise sharply as she sought to control her breathing.
Lachlann’s pulse quickened in response.
“Ye shouldn’t say such things,” she whispered.
He gave a soft laugh. “Why not?” He shifted closer to her, his hand lifting to where a heavy curl lay across her throat. “I’m merely stating the obvious. Ye are lovely, and I long to kiss ye.”
Her breathing hitched then, and before she could protest, Lachlann leaned in and kissed her softly on the mouth. It was a light touch, the merest brushing of the lips, and yet it sent a jolt through his groin that made him catch his breath.
Reaching up, he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. She trembled, and he leaned in for another kiss. This time he lingered, and when she sighed, her soft lips parting slightly, he slid the tip of his tongue between them and deepened the kiss.
Adaira moaned.
The sound unleashed something within Lachlann, a hunger that he had trouble controlling. She was a maid; this was likely to be the first time she’d ever been kissed. He didn’t want to frighten her.
But he couldn’t stop. His tongue explored her mouth as they melted into each other.
Lord, she’s delicious.
Maybe it was the wine, but he’d never enjoyed a kiss like this. His hands ached to reach down and explore her lithe body, caress those lush breasts. He’d never wanted anything so much. He was grateful that the loose folds of his braies hid his arousal; he didn’t want her to panic.
Then his hand grazed the tip of her left breast, and she gasped against his mouth.
Heat surged through Lachlann. He’d only leaned in to steal a kiss, yet the sounds she made nearly made him forget himself.
With a great effort, he pulled back from her.
Breathing hard, they both stared at each other. The sight of her parted lips, her eyes hooded with desire, made him stifle a groan of his own. Suddenly, he ached for Adaira MacLeod—and yet he knew to take things any further would ruin her. He wasn’t a man with many scruples, and yet even he couldn’t do that.
“Apologies,” he rasped. “I forgot myself.”
Adaira drew in a shuddering breath. Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs, and her body pulsed with need.
What just happened?
One moment she’d been sitting there, enjoying the warmth of the wine in her belly, a languorousness in her limbs, and the next Lachlann Fraser was kissing her.
And to her shock, she’d hadn’t wanted him to stop.
Despite the embarrassing scene earlier that day, Adaira had enjoyed Lachlann’s company during the journey. He’d been caring and considerate of her. She’d found it easy to talk to him and had appreciated the way he’d taken charge.
She felt safe with him.
But underlying it all, there had been a growing tension between them, an awareness that made every interaction feel charged—like the air right before a storm.
Lachlann’s kiss had been consuming, intoxicating.
