The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,56

could be so insistent,” he said, chuckling. “I’m afraid you are far better at this game than I.”

“My turn.” She cleared her throat. “Did you swim…um…” Good heavens, how could she finish? And why the devil hadn’t she considered the nature of her question before she opened her mouth?

“You are well aware I swam this day.”

“That wasn’t my query.”

“Very well.” He cleared his throat. “Did I swimmmm…?”

“Naked.”

Silence.

Emma wiped a hand down her face as the air in the soundless room grew more uncomfortable. She didn’t need to touch him to sense the intensity of his stare boring through her.

“Am I utterly shameful for asking?” she whispered, hoping he heard, but praying he hadn’t.

“What did you think?” he asked, blast him. He was supposed to answer directly, not pose a question.

Emma bit her lip, her mind racing. I thought you disrobed and walked into the surf without a stitch of clothing on your person. That very moment was exactly when I would have given my soul for a brief gift of sight. Och aye, to see you—the brawny Highlander who preoccupies my dreams—to see all of you would have granted me a memory to cherish for all my days.

“You were bare, were you not?” she asked, trying to sound unperturbed, trying not to reveal how fast her heart raced between her breasts. But the ensuing silence made her so very self-aware. In an effort to mask her mortification, she pounded the table. “The commander demands an answer!”

“I was,” Ciar said boldly before he drank, though his cup scarcely made a noise when he set it down. Why had he been reluctant to tell the truth? “I…ah…er…I must apologize for my vulgarity, disrobing in your presence. I didn’t think…”

Emma clapped a hand over her chest to prevent her heart from leaping across the room. “Did you speak true when you said I stirred a fire deep within you?”

“Ah…” He audibly gulped. “That is two questions, commander.”

“Did you?” she demanded, pounding her fist once more.

“If you believe I would lie about something so deeply personal that was uttered with the gravest of humility and intended only to be heard by your ears and yours alone, you are quite mistaken.”

Unable to sit for a moment longer, Emma grasped his shoulder and stood. Slowly, she slid her fingers down the length of his arm, stopping only to swirl a gentle touch over the back of his hand.

Never in her life had she felt so bold or so empowered.

Might it be the wine? Nay…not this night.

He felt something for her—something affectionate, just as she did for him. She refused to allow any other doubts to cloud her mind. The only thing that mattered was being there alone with Ciar MacDougall, a man who had always treated her with respect. A man she had admired all her life.

She slid onto his lap and laced her arms around his neck. “You may have spoken true, but the commander demands you pay a forfeit for wounding me this afternoon.”

Not waiting for his response, she moved closer, first finding his lips with the pad of her thumb, then sealing her lips with his.

Ciar gripped her waist powerfully, his mouth softening against hers. Fresh in her mind was the stolen kiss in the corridor at Achnacarry, and as she swayed against him, she pulled on that experience to impart the most determined, passionate kiss she could muster.

Encouraged by his shudder, she plunged her fingers into his hair and explored with her hands. She adored the natural curl. His sturdy neck. His powerful shoulders.

She adored him kissing her.

As his lips gently slid away, she embraced him, caressing her cheek over his. “You have no idea of the torch I carry in my heart for you.”

“Och, mo leannan,” he purred. “I am not a saint. Being intimate with you makes me crave more—so much more.”

“I never assumed you were anything but a man, flesh and blood. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I am on the only adventure of my life. I want to experience everything. I may die a spinster, but I intend to have the memory of this time with you to cherish in my heart for the rest of my days.”

His lips gradually moved over hers. His tongue swept into her mouth with slow, languid strokes. His mouth was silky and warm, and she never wanted this moment to end.

Emma’s head swam, whether from the wine or from the hot desire coursing through her blood she did