Page 72 of The Rogue's Bride
Alasdair groaned against the breast he suckled. He loved how quickly she responded to him, how little it took for him to bring her to the edge.
It excited him beyond measure.
They were so aware of each other that even a heated glance across a crowded room was enough to arouse him. The feel of being buried deep inside her was enough to bring him to the brink of madness.
Tearing his mouth from her swollen nipple, he gazed up at Caitrin. She was lost in a haze of pleasure, neck arched back, eyes closed, and an expression of rapture upon her face.
“Caitrin,” he rasped. “My love.”
She opened her eyes and gazed down at him. “Alasdair,” she whispered, her breath hitching. “Mo chridhe.”
My heart.
Alasdair sucked in a breath. This was the first time she’d uttered such an endearment to him, the first time she’d openly acknowledged that she felt as he did.
He reached up, pulling her down for a kiss. Their mouths collided, hungry and devouring. Alasdair gripped her hips, lifting her. He then slid her up and down the length of his shaft with relentless determination. He wanted to take her over the brink, to see her shatter.
Caitrin cried out into his mouth, her body shuddering now. But still she rode him, the bath water splashing over the sides of the tub onto the floor. Neither of them paid it any mind, and when Caitrin finally sobbed his name, Alasdair’s cries joined hers.
Caitrin stretched out on the bed, smiling. She felt as if she was floating, untethered from the earth.
“What are ye looking so pleased about?”
Her eyes flickered open to see that Alasdair had propped himself up on an elbow and was staring down at her.
Caitrin’s smile widened. “If I say, ye will be insufferable.”
His mouth twitched. “How so?”
She reached out, her fingertips tracing the whorls of dark hair on his chest. “Ye are a wonderful lover.”
He did smile then, as she’d known he would, delight twinkling in his eyes. “Why, thank ye, milady.”
“I mean it.”
He captured her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing her fingers gently. “I know ye do. Although I don’t think I can take all the credit … ye play yer part.”
Silence stretched between them. Caitrin stared up at him, her smile fading. “Do I? Sometimes I worry that ye must think me cold … emotionally that is …”
He inclined his head. “Why would I think that?”
“Because I hold back my feelings … I know I do.” She swallowed. “I don’t think I’ve ever trusted a man … any man.”
His gaze widened. “Even yer father?”
Caitrin huffed. “Especially him. He’s behaved better of late, but any woman who puts her faith in Malcolm MacLeod’s loyalty is a fool. Ye know what he did to my sisters.”
Alasdair nodded. Releasing her hand, he reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “I want ye to trust me,” he said softly, “and I will work to earn it. Even if it takes me the rest of my life.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Duntulm Fair
One month later …
CAITRIN WALKED AMONGST the crowds in Duntulm village. A sense of contentment settled over her like a warm cloak. Of all the festivals that marked the year, this one was her favorite: Duntulm Fair. Her home of Dunvegan held a similar festival a little later in the summer, yet she preferred this one.
Folk from miles around came for the festival, swelling Duntulm’s population to nearly five times its usual size. The screech of a highland pipe echoed through the streets, although the sound was almost drowned out by the excited chatter of conversation.
