The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(52)

He wasn’t coming after all.

Telling herself that it was nothing, that there was no reason for the tightness burning in her chest, she forced herself to lie back down on the bed. The tears, however, were harder to stop.

What was wrong with her? Did her husband not want her?

The numbness of sleep beckoned, hovering like an oasis just out of reach. She’d almost succumbed when the door opened.

The sound startled her fully awake. Instinctively, she grasped the cover to her chest. In the darkness, she could just make out the shadow of his massive form in the doorway. He stood stone still. Though he had yet to enter, his presence seemed to fill the room.

“You’re still awake,” he said.

The edge in his voice caused the hairs on her arms to rise. “Aye,” she said softly. He was the most terrifying man she’d ever beheld, but never had she felt his danger so intensely. He seemed like a man about to do battle, rather than a man about to make love to his bride. A fierce aura surrounded him. His long, muscular limbs seemed taut and strained.

All of a sudden she felt a trickle of fear. He wouldn’t hurt her, would he?

Closing the door behind him, he crossed the room in virtual darkness. Only the soft rays of moonlight streaming through the wood planks of the shutters softened the blackness.

Her senses prickled. Her heartbeat raced. After days of wondering, of waiting, the time was finally here. They were alone. And unlike before, they were both aware of the fact—and of what was coming. It crackled in the night between them.

Now that he was here, she was a little bit frightened, but even more, she was scared that she would somehow disappoint him.

Her eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness, and she could see him unclasp the large pin at his neck and unwrap the plaid from around his shoulders. He removed the rest of his clothes with equal matter-of-factness—as if he were alone in the room and not having his every move dissected by a wide-eyed, shallow-breathing, very nervous bride.

Business. Duty. The words came to her unheeded. Was that what she was to him? she thought with a pang. She wanted to make it good for him.

She swallowed when he turned and started toward the bed, the smooth outline of his muscles revealed by the shadows leaving no doubt that he was naked. She would have blushed but was too overwhelmed. Power. Strength. Vitality. His body was a fortress. Raw masculinity in its most impressive form.

A most unmaidenly thought sprang to mind: Too bad the candle had gone out.

Perhaps he heard the shortness of her breath, because when he slid in beside her, he said, “There is nothing to fear. I will be gentle. It will be nothing like last time.”

She didn’t know whether that was good or bad. The last time had been quite amazing—to a point.

The bed dipped with his weight. Her heart wasn’t racing any longer because it had come to a jolting stop. He hadn’t touched her, but he was close enough for her to feel the brace of cold on his skin. Cold with wind. “You’ve been outside?” she asked, surprised. She’d thought he was with his men in the solar.

He stilled. “Aye.”

“Where were you? Is something wrong?”

She could feel his eyes on her, piercing the veil of darkness. “It is nothing that concerns you,” he said.

She frowned at the non-answer. If it concerned him, it concerned her. Surely, he was the most recalcitrant man she’d ever known. But before she could question him further, he leaned down on his side to stretch out alongside her, completely erasing all other thoughts from her mind.

Gently, he pried the covers she was still clutching from her fingers and tossed them to the side. She could feel the weight of his body pressing against her side. Even through her chemise, her skin flamed at the contact.

“There’s only one thing I want to think about right now.” His voice was deep and sultry, full of wicked promise.

She shuddered when she felt his finger trace the faintest line over the contour of her breast, the feathery touch making every nerve ending stand on edge. Her heart pounded in her throat. “What’s that?” she managed, her voice a soft breath.

The hard pad of his finger found the taut tip of her nipple, circling it through the thin linen of her chemise. She gasped in surprise when his mouth replaced his finger. The soft wet warmth of his kiss sent shards of pleasure straight from her breast to between her legs. God, it was incredible! The sensations were like a burst of warm pleasure showering over her in an effervescent rain. But when he sucked the tight bud, drawing it gently between his teeth, her gasp became a deep moan.

He chuckled against her. “This,” he answered, “is the only thing I want to think about.” He sucked her again, circling his tongue over the throbbing tip. “I want to suck your lovely ni**les in my mouth until your body weeps with desire.” He drew his fingers down the flat of her stomach and cupped her mound gently in his big, strong hand. No hesitation. All raw sexual energy. The possessive gesture filled her with an acute sense of destiny—as if this was meant to be. “I want to touch you here,” his finger swept the seam of her womanhood through the cloth, “and make you wet until you are ready for me.” Her body answered with a rush of heat and dampness in the very place he had stroked. “And then,” he leaned his head over to kiss her neck, whispering in her ear, “and then I want to be inside you and make you come apart.” She arched and twisted at his wicked words, shivering as his tongue and lips found the sensitive part of her neck below her ear.