the table behind her. Evina set the pit in the tray and then started to reach for one of the linens on the table, intending to wipe away the peach juice that had slid from the fruit and run over her hand, but Conran caught her by the wrist to stop her.
Blinking in surprise, Evina glanced to his face and then simply watched as he raised her hand to his mouth and began to lick away the juices, his tongue rasping over her palm. Her eyes widened slightly as the action caused a reaction in her body, but she began to squirm on the tabletop when his tongue ran between her fingers, sending butterflies fluttering in her stomach. That was unexpected, she thought, and when he closed his mouth over one finger and suckled as he drew it out, she couldn’t resist reaching for him. Catching him by the hip, she tried to draw him closer, but he resisted and moved on to her second finger instead.
He was driving her crazy. Who could have imagined that licking her fingers could be so enervating? She’d licked her own fingers often enough and never felt this excited need that was building in her.
“Conran,” she protested finally, pulling on her hand and his hip at the same time.
“Aye,” he murmured, and gave up on her hand to kiss her lips instead.
Evina kissed him eagerly back, a combination of need and relief flowing through her as he moved closer and she was able to slide her arms around his waist. She wanted him again. Needed him even. She wanted to again experience that pleasure he’d shown her. She wanted her blood to sing, and her body to throb. She wanted him touching and licking and inside her, Evina thought, and tried to tell him that by reaching for the hardness between them and clasping it in hand, trying to draw him forward and into her.
When Conran caught her wrist and broke their kiss, she opened her eyes and scowled with frustration. For some reason, that made him smile, but he said, “Murine and Dougall arrived today and Niels is expected tomorrow.”
Evina blinked, her mind slow to adjust to this new subject, but then she realized what he was saying. Niels and his wife were the last of his family coming. Once they arrived, her father would want to hold the wedding, she realized, and stared at him silently, her mind working. Evina’s first instinct when her father had announced that she’d have to marry Conran had been refusal. She’d tried to talk him out of it and, failing that, had considered fleeing. But then Conran had started spending time with her in her room, talking and playing games to help pass the time.
It was the talking that had slowly begun to change her mind. Conran was a good man, a smart man, a patient man. Even when she’d got frustrated and testy at being stuck in her room, he’d remained good-humored and pleasant. And he’d promised never to hit her, she recalled. He’d even agreed to have it put in the wedding contract. And then there was the pleasure he gave her. That first time in the clearing had been just awful, but her experiences with him since then . . . There was no pain. It was all pleasure now, even when he’d joined with her again the last time. Her body had welcomed him . . . and it wanted him again. She wanted him again. The marriage bed was no longer something she feared but something Evina yearned for.
Still . . . She would be giving him power over her. She would lose the independence her father gave her, and Conran might not be as easygoing as him. He might expect her to actually follow the marriage vows and obey and—
“Evi?” Conran asked gently. “Will ye marry me?”
Evina stilled in surprise at the question. It was the first time she’d been asked. She’d been told she was marrying him by her father, but even he, who she knew loved her, hadn’t made her feel like she had a choice, or that he cared whether she wanted to or not. Conran though was asking. She almost said yes for that reason alone, but then caught the word back and told him, “I won’t promise to obey ye.”
Conran nodded as if he’d expected as much and assured her, “That’s fine. I wouldn’t want ye to risk yer soul by lying before the priest