She opened her mouth, hoping he’d slide his tongue inside and flick it across hers. When he did, her knees lost all strength. With a groan, he caught her to the solid muscles of his body and lifted her, stroking her over his stone-hard shaft. She squirmed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She craved him beyond all reason.

Why this intensity? She could scarce breathe. His lips ate at hers, his tongue tasted and seduced.

He kissed a teasing trail down her neck and sparked sensations through her breasts without even touching them. Oh, her nipples were hard, craving the heat and suction of his mouth savoring them.

She murmured a sound between a gasp and a moan before she could squelch it. How scandalous she was, but she could not renounce her needs.

Harsh breaths escaping him, he set her down gently and tried to hold her away from him, even as he kept pressing light kisses to her mouth. “Sweet Mother Mary, I believe you’re right, m’lady. Not wise.”

She didn’t want it to end, this dream, this sensual haven. She had experienced what went on between a man and a woman on a few occasions, but never had she yearned for it this badly. He was like a lodestone, and she could not back away.

Already, she missed the heat and solidity of his body. She followed him when he retreated, unable to smother her wanton hunger.

“Let me lock the door.” He lowered his lashes, half concealing the dark desire that burned in his eyes.

She couldn’t respond to such a request, for the implications far outreached the simple statement.

I can’t do this.

Yet, she had to. It was not in her power to say no. She needed him too much.

“M’lady—Gwyneth,” he whispered against her ear. “I’m wanting you now as I’ve never wanted another woman. You have damn well bewitched me, and all I can think of is being inside you, taking you over and over.”

Good heavens! Such shocking words he spoke. But, because of them, she ached.

“What say you? Do you want me as well?”

She grasped all her courage together. “Yes, I want you…Alasdair,” she whispered.

“Och! Dear God, how is this possible?”

She wondered the same thing. How could she have happened upon such a treasure as him? And such undeniable passion?

With a click of the key turning in the lock, he shielded them from the intrusion of the outside world. For this beautiful moment, he was hers alone in the intimacy of his bedchamber.

He picked her up, flush against his body, and kissed her…a deep devouring kiss. She perceived that he withheld nothing, but infused this kiss with his soul, and all his hunger. So fogged was her rationality, she didn’t realize they’d moved across the room until he lowered her to his bed.

He drew his shirt over his head, removed his sporran, but left his kilt belted at his waist. Viewing the sprinkling of dark hair over the battle-honed muscles of his chest and abdomen was a wicked indulgence. His eyes gleamed with seductive promises, anticipation, but what she treasured most was the care and compassion she saw there. This was a man such as she never knew existed. He would not selfishly take from her; he’d give her what she craved, generously.

Standing at the edge of the bed, watching her with eyes near dark as onyx, he gently pushed up her petticoats and skirts. His rough hands smoothing up her thighs above the tops of her stockings sent chills over her body.

“Mmm…Gwyneth.” He crawled onto the bed, between her legs, and kissed her neck, licked a trail down toward her breasts where they were pushed up by her corset.

With a muttered Gaelic word, he pressed kisses to the upper swells of her breasts and slid his tongue along her cleavage.

A sharp yearning speared her, and she mindlessly thrust her hips toward him where he hovered over her. “Oh,” she gasped.

His hand beneath her skirts, he caught her and cradled her derriere. At the touch of his warm palm rasping her delicate skin, she grew impatient and pulled him closer.

Gazing into her eyes, he stroked gentle fingers through her moisture, parting the sensitive lips of her sex. Drawing air between his teeth, he hissed, his eyes almost closing.

Such forbidden cravings that he elicited stole her thoughts and reasoning. “Alasdair?”

“Mmm, I wish I had time to take off every stitch of your clothing. But I’m on the edge. I cannot take another minute of your tempting.”

He couldn’t be talking about her. Yet when he gazed at her with such raw intensity, she knew he told her true.

Shifting, he brought her hand down to his sleek hard shaft. Fever-hot and generously proportioned. She wrapped her fingers around him, marveling at how exquisitely made he was.

His eyes drifted closed and his jaw tightened at her touch. Though she should be embarrassed, she wasn’t. The feel of him was heaven. And she wanted him, that part of him, inside her. She squeezed and stroked.

“You’re amazing,” she whispered and couldn’t help the way her voice trembled.

“Och, lass.” He shook his head, his hair tickling over her face. “You’re the one who’s amazing. You’re my undoing.”

“I want you now,” she whispered, unable to tolerate the aching need any longer.

“Aye.” Drawing near, he kissed her, flicked his tongue between her lips in an erotic echo. “Guide me into you,” he murmured against her mouth.

“Yes.” How he aroused her and empowered her, giving her control over their lovemaking. She stroked the broad tip of his shaft through her moisture. “Oh. That feels…” Splendid. Her yearning for him magnified. She positioned him just where she wanted him.

His muscles bunched, and he slid in, slowly stretching her with sublime fullness. “Beautiful,” he moaned in an awed tone against her ear, blocking out her own frenetic sounds. “You are so…beautiful. Gwyneth. Mmm.” He inched slowly deeper.

Yes, yes! She wanted to give herself over to him completely. She wanted him to pin her down, thrust hard, fast and without restraint. Instead, he held himself still and rigid within her, scarcely breathing, as if savoring their erotic bond.

“Please,” she whispered. “Alasdair.”

“Aye, m’eudail.” In that moment, he seemed to understand what she needed for he withdrew and plunged in deeper, again and again, becoming slicker, sliding easier each time. His movements came faster, more forcefully.

Oh, she could scarce believe what carnal bliss.

“Saints!” he growled.

It seemed she had never experienced this before, because never had the joining given her such an upheaval of pleasure. But not just pleasure—magnitude, a depth of meaning. Something this thrilling had to be sinful, but she felt no shame.

Her body burned where it joined with his. She couldn’t discern her own breaths from his against her lips. She was as close to him as she could get, yet she grasped him to her, wanting closer, more, wanting to touch all of him at once. Her clothing was a hateful barrier between them. Craving his naked skin against her own, she wrapped her legs around his, and her arms around his neck.

And the way he moved, undulating. He slid in a fluid motion, thrusting to her depths and away, fast and powerfully. What magic.

“Mo dia, Gwyneth,” he rasped between kisses. “You’re so lovely.” He watched her, gazed into her soul. As if he understood and felt what she did. As if he was wholly there with her, drowning in this ocean of madness. He was. He had to be; she saw it in his eyes.

Her corset turned sweltering and constricting. She couldn’t breathe deeply enough.

A hot tingling began in her center where he slid. It gathered speed and intensity. A breathless sensation gripped her and the pleasure crashed in on itself, magnified, seized her thoughts.

What’s happening? I’m dying! She screamed, but Alasdair closed his mouth over hers, muffling her sounds. She pulled him harder against her. She wanted him all the way inside. More, more, more.