Highlander Most Wanted Page 0,93
to ever conquer.”
He picked her up as if she weighed naught and carried her to the bed, where he dropped her with a soft bounce.
He stood over her, looming, big and fierce, as he quickly divested himself of his clothing. He stripped his tunic over his head and she sucked in her breath at the expanse of muscles, the rock-solid breadth of his chest and his thick shoulders and arms.
So strong, able to protect, and yet capable of being exquisitely tender and loving. So very loving. There was nothing she delighted in more than lying surrounded by those huge arms, knowing that he’d allow nothing to harm her.
He pulled his leggings down and hastily pried his leather boots from his feet, tossing them across the room with no care.
He was magnificent, a study in a warrior’s form. Beautiful. Scarred and beautiful.
Realization was stark and strong as it struck her that she was willing to forgive his scars and even considered them beautiful. A mark of who he was. What made him the person he was. Aye, they made him beautiful, and yet she was deeply shamed by the mark on her face. She’d never viewed it as a badge of honor, proof of her survival and the ability to overcome devastating odds. But she was willing to grant those attributes to Bowen, denying herself the same accord.
They both bore scars. They were both survivors. These were marks to be borne with heads held high. Could she ever accept that and stop hiding behind her shame and humiliation? It was a nice thought, but the deepest scars were those unseen, the ones on her heart and her soul and her mind. And those were the most difficult to overcome.
“I’m going to take your clothing piece by piece so that I may enjoy seeing each part of you bared before me,” he said in a husky, passion-laced voice. “And then I’m going to love you until dawn’s rays reach through the window and signal our departure.”
Her pulse leapt to life and she arched restlessly, impatient to feel his hands on her body, coaxing it to life.
Never had she known pleasure at a man’s hand until now. Until Bowen.
He settled on the edge of the bed and began working at the lacings on her dress. With patience he’d not displayed while undressing himself, he worked at disrobing her, removing her clothes piece by piece, his gaze soaking in her body as it was bared.
“You are a sight to behold, lass,” Bowen breathed as he divested her of the last remaining piece.
She lay naked on the bed, vulnerable and open to his look, his touch. Her nipples were achingly erect, anticipating his mouth and hands. And her most feminine flesh pulsed as she remembered his mouth and tongue stroking over sensitive points.
Never could she have imagined the act of coupling as being a give-and-take, an act of mutual pleasure on the part of the man and the woman. With Bowen it wasn’t just him taking, her giving and being left with naught.
He gave all he received and often more. He was patient and exacting, ensuring that he gave her as much pleasure as she gave him.
For that reason, she wanted this night to be special. One that he’d long remember. Relying on her instincts—she’d never done more than lie and endure Ian’s brutality—she levered herself up and smoothed her hands over Bowen’s broad chest.
She kissed him, taking the lead, exhibiting a new boldness that was completely foreign to her. He groaned and melted into her touch, tilting precariously until she placed both hands on his chest to prevent him from coming down on top of her.
She maneuvered up to her knees so she would have position over him and then fused her mouth to his, hotly and as demanding as he’d been, and she bore him down to the bed.
He landed with a slight bounce, his eyes widening and darkening in the same breath. She kissed him deeply, taking her cue from the way he’d kissed her the night before.
Then she straddled him, taking him between her knees. His erection strained upward, resting against the sensitive skin of her belly, and she tentatively touched him, circling his girth with her fingers.
He flinched and she yanked her hands away, fearful that she’d hurt him in some way.
“God no, lass, touch me. Don’t take your hands away,” he groaned. “ ’Tis heaven, your fingers around me.”
Relieved that he’d liked her boldness, she gently took him in