The Scot's Secret - Cecelia Mecca Page 0,69

the remainder of his clothing. She didn’t turn away this time. Indeed, she watched him so intently that he sprang to life immediately.

“Um, Alex.”

Her eyes were so wide, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Trust me, Clara,” he said.

“Can I. . .” She took a step toward him. God help him, Clara was going to touch him. He may have nodded but wasn’t sure. She reached out and tentatively placed her hand on him. Alex closed his eyes and prayed for the strength he’d need to do this right.

Gently. Slowly.

When she wrapped her hand around him, his eyes popped open.

“Clara.” He reached for her, but she wouldn’t be dissuaded. And while she was the first virgin he’d been with, Alex would wager she did not act like most women who hadn’t yet experienced the joy of lovemaking.

This was a woman who’d spent six years disguised as a boy. Afraid for her life. Living among men and camp followers in one of the most brutal settings on either side of the border. Tournaments offered gold and jeweled prizes, and their stands glittered from spectators in fancy clothes, but the reality of what went on behind the scenes was harsh and raw—and she’d been exposed to all of it.

“Show me,” she said, looking at him appreciatively.

He mistakenly looked down at her hand wrapped around him, and while he’d enjoy nothing more than for her to continue, he couldn’t do it. Not before he gave her pleasure.

He guided her hand away from him.

“Later,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

He pulled Clara toward him, their bodies slamming together, skin on skin, his column pressed against her. He kissed her deeply, their tongues melding together, as he ached from a need so powerful it terrified him.

He refused to think about that now and pressed against her, allowing her to grow accustomed to the feel and size of him. She returned the pressure, grasping at his back, trying to get even closer. He knew what she wanted, but he’d promised her something else first.

Without warning, Alex picked her up and carried her to the bed. He tore the covering completely off and tossed it onto the ground, laying her down as gently as possible. He shoved the trunk at the foot of the bed, standing in the place it had vacated.

“Come toward me,” he told her, no longer able to see her expression now that they were farther away from the fire.

“I don’t understand.” Her voice faltered, and Alex knew how she felt. The need to be inside her nearly consumed him, but he had vowed to make this night about her. She deserved pleasure after so much pain. And he was going to give it to her.

He pulled her toward him and toward the edge of the bed, where he knelt below her. Just a little closer.

“I made a promise that I intend to keep,” he murmured, lowering his head toward her.

And that’s when she nearly screamed.

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t dinner, she’d thought he was surely jesting, but he really did intend to. . .

All thoughts of stopping him fled her mind. At the first flicker of his tongue, she grabbed the coverlet and decided never to let go. She squeezed it and arched her back toward him. The sensation was similar to when he touched her there, but much, much more intense. She raised her head and immediately wished she hadn’t. The sight of his head between her legs, the muscles of his shoulders moving as he did indeed taste her. . .

“I. . . can’t,” she murmured.

She wasn’t even sure what that meant.

He stopped just long enough to prod her legs apart. No, it wasn’t anything like the time he’d pleasured her at the beach. This was so much more primal. He teased and tormented, and her grip tightened. The pressure was almost unbearable.

“Not too loud, love.”

Had she made a sound? “Please don’t stop.”

When Alex chuckled against her, the sound so familiar and yet unexpected at this particular moment, another feeling took hold. One deep within her that made her feel more connected to this man than anyone in her life.

Dear lord. . . how had she allowed herself to fall in love with this Scotsman?

And that was when her entire world shattered. She arched toward him and tried not to cry out while every muscle tensed and exploded. It was as if she was being torn apart from the inside, but in a good way. Nay, a magnificent way. Clara couldn’t breathe. She lay motionless,