Page 85 of A Virgin for the Icy Highlander
“It needs more kindling,” Hunter said as he pulled his dagger from his boot.
Grace feigned a pout. “Don’t leave me again. Just come and sit with me, and enjoy this warmth for a while.”
“I dinnae have to go very far,” he replied, walking over. “Stand up.”
She raised an amused eyebrow as she rose to her feet. “Why do I need to stand up?”
“Because I’ve been starin’ at that dress for hours, and I cannae stand it a second longer,” he said, coming to stand in front of her. “I want it to burn, along with the memory of the past week. The only weddin’ gown I want to see ye wear is the one ye’ll wear for our weddin’.”
She gazed into his eyes, warmed by the realization that he hadn’t spent the past week cursing her name, but thinking of her with longing. Perhaps they had been thinking of one another at the same time without knowing.
“I can’t wait for that day,” she said softly, gasping a little as he brought the blade to the top edge of her bodice.
“May I?”
She nodded. “I trust you.”
She held her breath as he began to cut, slicing the sharp edge through the thick, structured fabric. All the while, she held his gaze, only a little nervous that he wasn’t looking where he was cutting because his eyes were locked onto hers.
Relief swept through her as the blade reached the other end. The bodice fell away, allowing her to breathe properly. It was only then that she realized how talented a swordsman he was, for the blade had cut cleanly through her chemise, and her stays, too, yet her skin was untouched by that sharp edge.
For her full, heavy silk skirts, he made a single notch at the waist and tucked his dagger in the belt of his kilt. With a smirk, he grabbed the fabric and tugged, tearing the entire thing in half.
“I hope you realize that this is the second time you have done this to me,” she said with a smile, standing naked before him, in naught but her stockings. “And I’m afraid it simply isn’t fair.”
Biting her lip, she reached for his belt, unfastening the buckle with unsteady hands. As she did, he gently cradled her face, brushing his thumb across her skin.
With a satisfying whisper of fabric and a dull thud, his kilt dropped to the sand. She dared a glance downward, but his long shirt covered the part of him she had only felt but never seen.
Swallowing thickly, her nervous fingertips grabbed his shirt. She tugged it up and over his head to join his kilt on the sand.
“Is that fair now?” he asked, taking a step back.
She couldn’t speak. All she could do was stare, admiring every muscle, every contour, every carved line of his perfect body.
It was greater than anything she could have imagined. Her eyes feasted on the majesty of his figure, from the power of his thighs to the broad expanse of his chest to the sculpted shape of his arms. But she could only ignore the obvious for so long as her gaze was drawn involuntarily.
Oh goodness…
Gulping, she nodded. “Fairer.”
“Good.” He stooped to gather her ripped wedding dress and tossed it straight into the bonfire, where the flames licked hungrily at the wretched thing, devouring it.
That done, he stepped toward her again, pulling her into him, kissing her slowly and softly. He covered her in teasing, tantalizing grazes that sent her flames rising higher.
Without the hindrance of their clothes, she could let her hands explore wherever they pleased. Running her fingers across warm skin and hard muscle, she savored the shape of his powerful thighs and the diagonal depressions that slanted down from his hips, as if guiding her to the part of him that had her so intrigued.
That hard flesh, when she touched it, was hotter than she had expected. His manhood was silky and pleasant against her palm, satisfying in its thickness as she curled her hand around it.
“Nay, love,” Hunter said in a throaty voice as he grabbed her wrist. “If ye do that now, ye’ll have to wait for the other Scottish tradition that makes ye me wife.”
Eyeing him with playful suspicion, she drew her hand away, pressing her palms to his chest. “And what tradition might that be?”
He kissed her fiercely. His tongue glided against hers as he held her close in the glow of the bonfire, the firelight dancing across his skin. She kissed him back with a week’s worth of longing and desire. Her mouth was hot and hungry, savoring every press, every catch of his mouth, every bruising crush.
A moment later, he hoisted her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around him, showing his immense strength as he slowly kneeled down, all while holding her. She gasped as he leaned forward and laid her down on the blankets he’d arranged around the fire, pressed skin to skin, closer than he had ever been.
He lay there with her, atop her, for a quiet moment. Simply gazing into her eyes, caressing the side of her face.
