Page 80 of The Scot's Perfect Match
He held her close, his chest still heaving, his lips pressing a kiss to her temple. “I meant what I said,” he murmured. “Every day of my life, Ava. I’ll make sure ye never doubt me.”
She smiled against his shoulder, tears pricking her eyes. “I love ye, Lord Darkwood.”
“And I love ye, Lady Darkwood,” he said, pulling her tighter into the warmth of his embrace.
And in the quiet, ivy-wrapped castle by the loch, Ava realized that lying here with Gavan, life had never before felt so complete.
EPILOGUE
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
A newly married wife must conduct herself with grace and moderation, remembering that her chief ornament is obedience. She should speak gently, laugh only at her husband’s wit, and manage her household in such a way that her own hand is invisible and his appears masterly. Above all, she must strive to preserve the illusion that her happiness depends entirely upon his—whether or not it truly does.
Ava woke up just after dawn, wrapped in the softest warmth that was part tartan and part Highlander. Before she even opened her eyes, a thrill of happiness buzzed through her, and a smile spread over her lips that still tingled from being kissed over and over again. The room smelled faintly of smoke and something headier... A scent that reminded her of just why her body ached in ways that were both unfamiliar and tantalizing.
Memories of the day before came slowly, like the tide rolling in, until they crashed with a delicious thrill. The castle. The way his hands had learned every inch of her. His mouth… The way his voice had broken on her name as bliss consumed him.
Gavan’s body stirred, his arm shifting where it rested on her waist. Ava rolled over onto her other side, where she found her husband staring at her in that half-hazy, dreamlike state that gave him a rugged and delicious expression. His hair was mussed, and his tanned skin was exposed from his shoulders to his hip. Gavan winked at her, a rakish smile on his lips.
“Good morning, wife,” he said, his voice still rough with sleep.
She tried to summon something clever, something teasing, but all she could manage was a quiet, “Ye’re staring.”
“Any man would be addled no’ to.” He ran a finger over her bare shoulder. “Especially with all this… skin ready for the taking.”
Wicked heat filled her cheeks, and she scooted closer, lifting a leg over his thigh. “Flatterer.”
“Truth-teller,” he countered, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. The simple gesture unraveled her more than any of the wicked and delicious kisses from the night before.
She nestled closer, feeling the solid warmth of him against her, and wondering if this was why her friends were so happy. That they basked in the glow of waking up to their husband's naked and adoring bodies each morning.
Gavan reached for her, his fingers trailing over her hip, and her breath hitched.
“Gavan,” she murmured, a quiet warning, or perhaps an invitation.
His thumb skimmed over her inner thigh, slow and deliberate. “Are ye… sore?”
Sore, nay. If anything, she was gloriously alive and tingling.
“No,” she whispered, meeting his gaze.
Gavan’s expression darkened with desire. His eyelids lowered at half-mast, and his gaze shifted toward her lips.
“Ye undo me,” he said quietly, as though confessing a secret.
Before she could answer, he gripped her buttocks, hauling her against him, and kissed her with a hunger that left no doubt of how badly he wanted her again.
She answered in kind, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as the tartan coverlet slipped onto the floor. The morning light poured across their skin, laying witness to her body arching to meet his, his hands retracing every inch of her body that he’d branded the night before.
“Last night,” she breathed against his lips, “I thought nothing could be better than that.”
His smile curved against her mouth. “Then I’ll just have to prove ye wrong.”
When he entered her again, it was slower, deeper, as if they had all the time in the world to learn each other this way. She clung to him, her legs wrapping around his hips, her fingers digging into his shoulders as the steady rhythm built between them.
“Ye’re mine,” he murmured against her ear, a vow more than a claim.
“And ye’re mine,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with the weight of it.
