Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(82)
“You’re back!” she exclaimed with relief.
He turned around and checked her with his gaze, taking in every inch of her bedraggled appearance with one glance, including the fresh spots of mud on her hem. Her pulse spiked as she read his suspicion.
Though he looked exhausted and his handsome face was weather-beaten from the cold and rain, he’d never looked more incredible. She’d missed him terribly. Yet something was different. . . .
The beard. A heavy shadow of stubble framed his hard, square jaw. She wagered he hadn’t shaved since he’d left. Though she wasn’t typically fond of whiskers, on Jamie there was no denying the primitive appeal. It gave him a dangerous edge that matched his ruthless reputation. If she’d met him looking like this all those months ago, she might not have been so trusting that he was a gentleman.
A wave of wistfulness passed over her at the memory of their first meeting. That day seemed like a lifetime ago.
She took a step toward him, but he stopped her with the forbidding clip of his voice. “Where have you been?”
She plastered a wide, welcoming smile on her face. “In the kitchens seeing to the preparations for your arrival.” She felt a pang of guilt at how easily the lie slipped from her tongue. Cursing Niall for putting her in this position, she walked toward him, hating the need to deceive him. “I thought you and your men might be hungry.”
He was not so easily put off. His gaze slid over her face. “Your cheeks are flushed.”
Her smile grew stiff. “The fires in the kitchens were hot.”
“You’re out of breath.”
She laughed carelessly and slid her arms around his neck, knowing she had to do something to stop his questioning. “I just ran up four flights of stairs.” Before he could ask her anything else, she batted her eyes playfully and nestled up against him. “Is this the manner of your greeting, then? Are you going to question me all day, or are you going to give me a proper welcome?”
She lifted her mouth to his, and he did not ignore her none too subtle request. Her heart squeezed at the tender longing in his gaze as his eyes swept over her upturned face, before his mouth fell on hers, hot and hungry. The deprivation of a week demanded fulfillment.
She sighed against him. God, how she’d missed him. The spicy masculine taste filled her senses like a potent aphrodisiac. She opened, taking him deep in her mouth. His tongue circled hers, thrusting deeper and deeper in long, languid strokes that seemed to reach to her toes.
Heat spread through her limbs, as hot and heavy as molten lava. She sank into him. Her br**sts crushed against his chest. She was achingly aware of the hard length of his arousal thrusting against her stomach. It had been too long since she’d taken him in her body and felt him filling her.
Distracting him had become secondary to sating the firestorm that combusted between them the moment his lips touched hers. With each stroke of his tongue, the tremors of desire rippling through her body grew more insistent.
It was madness. All he had to do was kiss her and she craved completion. How familiar he’d become . . . how vital.
The stubble shadowing his jaw scraped the sensitive skin around her mouth as his hands moved down her back, sliding over her hips to cup her bottom and bring her more fully against him. The subtle friction made her tingle with impatience as heat spread through every nerve ending, and she dampened with anticipation.
She felt deliciously soft and warm, her body dissolving against the hard steel of his muscular chest and legs. She would never grow used to the strength and power of his body. Her hands slid over the hard bulge of his muscled arms, savoring the raw masculinity that made her deeply conscious of her own femininity. At one time, his strength might have felt threatening, but now it gave her a feeling of safety and contentment that she’d never dreamed possible.
But it was more than that. It was the feeling that she had to touch him, that if she didn’t, she would go mad. She ached to splay her hands on his hot skin and feel the flex of his muscles under her fingertips. She’d never thought that simply the sight and sensation of a man’s body could rouse such wicked urges inside her, but his appeal was visceral—claiming every part of her.
Reluctantly, he pulled back, breaking the kiss. His breathing came as hard and uneven as hers. He swept his finger down the curve of her cheek. “I’ve missed you.”
“And I you.” She put her hand on his jaw and teased, “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
He looked embarrassed. “I’ll shave when I have a chance to bathe later.”
She shook her head. “Leave it for a while. It suits you.” She liked this dangerous side of him. He looked nothing like the polished courtier, but every inch a powerful Highland warrior. And there was no denying the dark, sensual appeal in that.
As if he could read her thoughts, his gaze darkened with heat. “A proper welcome will have to wait. I’ve some matters to attend to, and then I must see to my men.” His gaze grew intent. “But I was anxious to see you, and when you were not in the courtyard I grew alarmed.”
Caitrina cursed inwardly. She should have known that he would not be so easily distracted. “I’m sorry. As I explained, I was in the kitchens and did not hear your arrival.”
He challenged her with his unflinching gaze. “So you said.”
Not liking being on the defensive, she had an idea of how to turn the tables. After all, despite their passionate embrace, she still had not forgiven him for the manner of his leaving—or for his “instructions.”