Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(59)

“Hmm?” Celia raised her head. She smelled of warmth and sleep and bare woman. Alec’s troubles began to recede as desire pushed through his thoughts. “Am I gentle? I get that from my father, I suppose. Whatever you think of him, he is a kind man, has always been good to me. If you met him, you’d understand.” She gave a light laugh. “You will have to meet him, eventually. You stole me away from him.”

“That I did.” Alec put his hand behind her heavy braid and pulled her close. “And I’m glad. You might be regretting it, Lady Alec Mackenzie, but I am not.”

Celia’s eyes widened. “Lady Alec. Yes, I suppose I am now.” Her wonder filled the cold spaces in his heart. “A fine name.”

Alec hauled her up against him, pushing the covers down until there was nothing but her nightdress between him and the woman inside.

He brushed her face with his thumb, tracing her cheekbone that went pink under his touch. Her lips were parted, red, desirable. Alec gathered her closer and kissed her.

Celia still wasn’t skilled at kissing, in spite of Alec’s previous instruction. Better, but not practiced. She bumped his mouth, not knowing how to open his lips.

Alec smiled into the kiss, deciding to surrender to her and let her do as she willed.

“What sort of kisses are these?” Celia asked when they eased apart. “Married kisses?”

“Kisses of lovers.” Alec skimmed his hand over her hair and drew it down her braid. “Kisses of passion.”

“Passion.”

Her whisper undid him. Alec was hard for her, need rising fast. Sunshine broke through the rain, slanting through the mist-streaked window to touch her body.

Alec moved his hand down her back, reveling in the suppleness of it, his fingers coming to rest on her hip. “I want you, love. I think I’m dying of wanting you.”

Celia touched his face. “Is wanting so very perilous? If so, I am in great danger.”

“It’s no’ funny, lass.”

“I know. I am deadly serious.”

Then why did Alec want to laugh?

He untied the ribbon that held her nightdress closed, and the loosened gown slid from her as Alec kissed her again, baring her skin. His hands found the smooth flesh of her shoulders, the soft curve of her side, and then the firmer curve of her breast.

Alec cupped it, feeling her nipple drawn to a point, the desire that flowed through him strong in her.

He needed more. Alec bunched the nightdress in his hands, pulling it up Celia’s body. He sank into another kiss then lifted her so he could pull the nightdress off over her head.

Celia landed on him again, not a stitch on her now, her face pink with shyness. Alec had divested himself of coat and boots before falling on the bed in his kilt, shirt, and stocking feet. Now Celia worked open the tapes that held his shirt closed, her fingers moving against his chest.

“I was shocked when you stripped off your clothes that first day.” She dipped her head to kiss the hollow of his throat. “That was your purpose, wasn’t it? To shock me.”

“Aye.” Alec kissed her hair while she tasted his skin. “The prim duke’s daughter. I wanted to frighten you. But you weren’t afraid at all. You took up your pencil, and you drew me.”

She gave him a self-deprecating look. “Not very well.”

“You’re wrong about that. That’s why we had to take the sketch away from ye. Ye caught me too well.”

“I couldn’t help it.” Celia ran fingertips along the face she’d rendered almost exactly. “You seemed to speak to me, and my hands knew what you were saying. Please tell me Lady Flora didn’t burn it.”

“I have it safe. ’Tis special to me.”

“The man in it is special to me.”

Alec’s heart pumped hard, his need no longer able to stay quiet. He helped her pull his shirt up and off, Alec tossing it to the floor.

Celia lost herself in exploring his bare chest, touching, kissing, nuzzling. Alec twined his legs around her, positioning himself at her opening. Celia didn’t react at first, squirming a bit as she sought to kiss every inch of his neck and chest. Alec let her play, the rub of her against him through the dark plaid firing his need.

She was a beautiful, enchanting woman, a bud ready to flower. No, a better metaphor was one of the fairy folk the villagers of Kilmorgan were always going on about, trapped in a bubble of rain, unable to grow or change until one day, a human touched the bubble, and released the beautiful being within.

Alec would take her to his homeland one day, into the beauty of the wild lands, to listen to the crofters and their tales. But his home was gone, he remembered with a jolt, destroyed.

Celia was his family now. And Jenny, safe in a room above them, looked after by the cheerful Sally.

Family. My wife.

Alec ran his hand over Celia’s hips, loving her softness, then tangled his legs with hers, rubbing his foot in its cotton stocking up and down her leg.

Celia lifted her head, her eyes sparkling with need but uncertainty. “We will join now?” She wet her lips, a nervous gesture, but it made her mouth moist and delectable. “The man inserts his phallic rod into the woman’s receptacle and spills his seed.”

Alec stared up at her in amazement. Her expression was serious as she calmly voiced the dispassionate outline of what would happen.