When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After #3)(71)

He would not let those words into his heart. He would not believe them.

But he would use them to his advantage, any way he could.

She kissed his mouth, so softly. Then his cheek. Then his temple.

“Remember the first night we made love?” she whispered, sliding her arms around his waist. “It was Beltane. Everyone was gathered around the bonfire, and we slipped away in secret.”

“Aye.” The word slipped out as a moan. He could feel himself giving in to the sweet warmth of her. “I remember.”

“Remind me what happened next. Did we spread your plaid on the heather and make love beneath the stars?”

He shook his head, nuzzling her throat. “We almost did. It was tempting. But I wanted our first time to be in a proper bed.”

“Oh, that’s right. I recall it now.”

She stared up at him, waiting.

Enough with teasing. He needed to know.

Logan made his voice grave. He framed her face in his hands and gave her a mild shake to be sure she was paying attention. “If you dinna want this, tell me now. I know you’re curious. I know you have desires. And if a bit of exploration’s all you’re after, there’s no shame in that. But that’s not what will happen if we do this tonight.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

“I mean to make you mine, mo chridhe. Touch all of you. Taste all of you. Learn you from the inside out. Once I’ve held you like that, I’m not going to let go. Ever.”

And in response, she spoke a single word:

“Good.”

Very well. He’d tried to warn her. He’d given her every chance to demur. She’d asked for this.

He did what he’d been threatening to do since the very first night. He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of oats.

And carried his bride home.

To bed.

It might have seemed strange, Maddie supposed, for a woman who was currently slung over a Scotsman’s shoulder with her hair and feet dangling in the night wind to claim that moment as any sort of triumph.

But victory was exactly what she felt.

At last, she was getting the man of her dreams. On her own terms. And unless her Highland lover meant to expose himself as a shameless liar . . .

Tonight was going to be verra, verra, verra good.

The castle was completely dark. Every fire had been extinguished. Moonlight got them as far as the courtyard, then Logan was forced to set her down. They gathered a candle and flint from the table in the entry hall and, after a bit of cursing and fumbling in the dark, managed to light it.

The small yellow light glowed like a promise.

It wasn’t a spark carried home from the bonfire, but it was one they’d created themselves.

A new flame. A fresh start. Nothing in the past mattered any longer. There was only the future now.

And the future was theirs for the taking.

Maddie placed the candle in a holder, and together they climbed the stairs to her bedchamber.

Their bedchamber.

Her heart began to pound harder with every step. She closed the door behind them and turned the key in the lock.

Then she found herself pinned against the door.

He caged her there with his body, using one hand to wind her loosened hair around his fist, pulling it up and away. Then his mouth, hot and hungry, descended on her neck.

She gasped with the sweet shock of it. The firm tug on a thousand nerve endings. His tongue, running from her collarbone to her ear.

Her knees wobbled.

She braced her arm against the door.

She slumped forward there, helpless to move as he covered every inch of her neck with kisses and possessive sweeps of his tongue. The rasp of stubble scraped against her skin, adding a deliciously sharp contrast to the soft heat of his mouth.

Soon her whole body felt aflame. Beneath her bodice, her nipples pressed to hard points, craving touch. Craving his mouth. And his kisses kindled a low, hollow ache between her thighs.

She’d been biting her lip to keep from crying out. But when he reached to cup her breast, she couldn’t hold back any longer. She abandoned that last shred of self--consciousness and moaned with pleasure.

The sound only seemed to encourage him. He responded with a low groan of his own.

His free arm slid around her waist, and he gathered her close. His erection pressed against the small of her back. Impressively hot and rigid, even through the layers of chemise, corset, frock, and heavy kilt.

He kissed her ear now, tracing the ridges with his tongue and catching the nub of her earlobe between his teeth. His thumb found her nipple, and he rubbed it back and forth. Just lightly teasing. The torture was exquisite.

“Logan. Please.”

She tried to turn to face him. He put his hand on her waist, forbidding it.

“Not just yet.”

“But . . . when?”

“Soon, mo chridhe. Soon.”

His hands went to the closures of her frock. He fumbled and cursed as he yanked them free. His difficulty with the buttons let her know he wasn’t quite as collected and in control as he would have her believe.

He was every bit as eager as she was. Perhaps even anxious.

Desperate.

When he’d loosed the hooks and buttons and laces sufficiently to allow her frock to slide to the waist, he spun her around to face him, pressing her to the door once again as he took her mouth in a possessive kiss. His hands tugged at her frock and her stays. She tried to help as best she could, pulling her arms free and then getting them out of the way by lacing her hands behind his neck.