When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After #3)(51)

Maddie worried it would be impolite or lewd to stare, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away. She was fascinated. Not only as an artist but as a woman as well.

Good heavens. His male organ jutted out from its nest of dark hair, a thick, dusky curve of flesh that appeared, at first glance, quite alarming in size. As she stared at him, her mind was doing estimations, drawing diagrams.

How could . . . ? Why did . . . ?

Her brain could scarcely complete a question. She needed more observation.

Which meant she needed to give him something to watch, too.

With her fingertips, she traced the globe of her breast. Slowly circling her fingers round and round.

He gave a low groan. With one hand, he gripped the bedpost.

He wrapped his other hand around his staff.

The jolt of arousal was immediate. Electric. The moment his hand closed around his rigid staff, her own breeding parts went soft and quivering.

Perhaps she ought to have felt embarrassed—-and to be truthful, she did, a bit. But she couldn’t look away. The visible proof of his arousal, the strength of his grip, the tension in the sinews of his neck as he stroked up and down . . .

She’d caused that. All of it.

The surge of power was intoxicating.

Most thrilling of all was the way he looked at her, or rather looked through her. Inside her. Somewhere behind those eyes, he was making love to her in bold, passionate strokes.

And something told her it wasn’t the first time he’d been lost in that particular fantasy.

The idea was wildly arousing.

She let her fingertip circle one nipple, then the other. Then she drew that single fingertip down her belly. To her own most sensitive place.

He nodded. His eyes, heavy with desire, lifted to hers. “Go on.”

Maddie could scarcely believe she was doing this, but her arousal was so powerful that it pushed out any sense of shame. At his urging, she touched herself there. Just the way she knew it would please her most if she were alone.

But she wasn’t alone. Logan was watching her, and that meant every sensation was heightened. There was danger here between them, but also trust. The most frightening sense of safety she’d ever known.

He stroked himself faster, bracing his head against his propped arm. His breathing was rough.

Her pleasure spiraled toward a steep, fast--approaching peak.

She wanted to hold back, the better to watch him and absorb every detail of the sight. But all too soon, the pleasure broke over her. She curled in on herself, closing her eyes and letting the waves of bliss rock her again and again.

She was dimly aware of his low groan. When the haze of her own climax lifted, she looked up to find him wiping himself clean with his discarded shirt.

Her breath heaved in her chest.

Good heavens. What did they say to each other after that?

Nothing, apparently.

Without a word, Logan lay down on the bed alongside her. Not touching. Just beside her. No pillows or tension between them—-only warmth.

His breathing calmed, and a delicious languor spread through her body. Neither of them seemed willing to ruin the pleasant truce by speaking.

So they were quiet.

And then they were asleep.

Logan’s sleep was much as it always was.

Dark. Cold. Empty.

Seemingly endless.

Then, out of nowhere, a face appeared to him in the darkness. A pale, pretty face with dark eyes.

She called to him in a sweet, husky voice. “Logan.”

Well, Logan thought. If he was going to develop the talent for dreaming, these were the kinds of dreams he could enjoy.

He reached for her, wanting to draw her close.

And then the face began to recede. Back into the darkness.

No.

No, come back.

“Logan.”

This time, there was fear in her voice.

He had to get to her. Hold her. Keep her from slipping away.

But he reached for her in vain. Looking down, he saw to his horror that his feet had sunk into the ground. His arms weren’t his own anymore. They were freakishly thin. Child--sized. He couldn’t stretch them far enough, no matter how he tried.

And he did try.

Again and again and again.

“Logan.”

He sat bolt upright in the bed, shaking and breathing hard. The bed linens were bathed in perspiration.

Maddie sat up next to him. Her hand went to his shoulder. “Logan, are you well? You were having a dream.”

He shook his head. “It’s not possible. I never . . .”

“You do. You do dream, you stubborn man. I’ve seen this more than once. You dream, and you talk. Sometimes I’m able to settle you in your sleep, but this time was different. I’m sorry to wake you, but I couldn’t bear to watch you suffer that way.”

Logan’s breath heaved in his chest.

He didn’t know how to receive this news. Apparently he’d been embarrassing himself nightly in front of her . . . and she’d been soothing him when he’d been insensible to it?

He pushed both hands through his hair, frustrated in more ways than one.

“You’re fine now,” she crooned, sweeping her fingers down his spine. “We can go back to sleep.”

He shrugged off her touch. “It’s nearly morning. We might as well rise and be dressed if we’re going to be in Inverness when the shops open for the day.”