him by?
He never used to be so dull. When he was a child he would’ve been in the thick of things, ready to do battle and protect his own. What a fool he’d been.
Inheriting the land, being Laird MacLeod, was not a light burden to carry. He’d sworn on his father’s grave to bring order, rules, and peace throughout his lands. That he would never allow the threat of others to impact his clan’s people, if he could help it. A laird guarded with his trust, guarded with his heart and home, and never allowed anything to threaten that peace.
And he’d lived by that decree to this day. Right up to the moment Abigail Cross had entered his life and brought nothing but chaos to his secure, regimented world.
She placed her hands on her hips, the action lifting her breasts closer to the top of her gaping gown. “That’s it, from now on, whatever stupid thoughts are flying about in that brain of yours must stop. How are you going to know if you have feelings for a woman if you don’t even talk to her, have fun, learn to be their friend and confidant? Never mind kissing the girl to see if you enjoy it.”
“So now you want me to kiss all the women I think could be a suitable bride? I don’t want to be married to all of them.” Not that this would occur, if he was careful, but still, kissing a lass when one was a laird wasn’t as easy at Abigail seemed to think. Many clans would demand a handfasting ceremony without delay.
“Do you even know how to kiss?” Her gaze flicked to his lips and his body tensed. “Have you ever kissed a woman? And I mean, really kissed her, as if she was the world to you?”
“Don’t be daft, woman. Of course I’ve kissed a lass, but had I kissed her like that I would be married already.” He’d even enjoyed the action a time or two, especially with the kitchen wenches who were more than willing and wanted no promises in return.
“And when you kiss, do you allow yourself to take pleasure in it? Do you let that stoic character of yours relax, and fall into the moment with abandonment?”
He raised his brow. “Are you going to start spouting poetry next?”
Her hands came up and lay on his shoulders. Her touch burned through his tunic, and he fought not to give in to his desire, the fire that blazed in his gut threatened to consume him.
Her fingers glided into his hair, pulling him close. Her lips were a lean away, their breathing intertwined like the moon and stars in the night sky.
“If I started reading poetry would you listen to me?”
He clasped her hips, unable to keep his hands off her. She didn’t pull away, or start at his touch, if anything she came closer, teasing him with the notion of tasting her. Of kissing her.
“Perhaps,” he said, losing the point of their conversation.
“And if I kissed you, Aedan MacLeod, do you think you’d enjoy it? Or are you scared you’ll suffer from that terrible, scary notion called regard for the wrong woman for your perfect plans.”
She was teasing him, making fun of his rules and regulations, but as her tongue came out and wet her pink, soft bottom lip, all he wanted was to devour her, damn if she didn’t care for it. “Shall we find out?”
Their gazes locked, and he could see the excitement and determination in her golden brown eyes. Then their lips touched.
The lightest melding of mouths, a brush, no harder than a flutter of a feather. He stood motionless for a moment, completely shocked to his core by what her miniscule touch did to him.
A hunger he’d never known roared inside. A hunger that was no longer willing to be denied. He brought his hand up around her nape, the skin on the back of her neck soft and smooth, and pulled her mouth hard against his.
He angled her head and deepened the kiss. She gasped, and he used the advantage to slide his tongue against hers. Desire exploded through his veins, hardening every ounce of his being. He kissed her long and deep, the feelings, the emotion her kiss ignited in him addictive and new.
Aedan knew in that moment, when she kissed him back with as much force, with as much need and desperation, that he wanted her. Only her.
They didn’t move, but kissed to the