Brogan dipped his spoon into the bowl and brought a bite to his mouth and nearly died of pleasure. “’Tis verra good.”
Everyone agreed around mouthfuls of food. Having something good to eat seemed only to brighten everyone’s mood, and as they finished their meal, full of delicious food and ale, more jests were bandied about, and Fiona seemed to grow warmer beside him.
He wanted to kiss her. A distraction for himself. For her. He didn’t want to ruin everyone’s mood by discussing any plans yet. Waiting until they were on the ferry and out of earshot of anyone who just might happen to be lurking was best. Which meant that tonight, maybe he could pull her against him, press his lips to hers…
No one would object. They were supposed to be husband and wife after all. As if reading his thoughts, Fiona glanced up at him with her violet doe eyes and a hint of a smile.
“There’s something I was hoping we could discuss,” she said. “In private.”
Brogan sat up a little taller, and the men started to elbow each other and waggle their brows. He ignored them but not before issuing a few threats.
“Aye, lass. Anything,” he said, following her out of the tavern.
Milla, seeming to sense her presence wasn’t required, stayed back with Sorley, or maybe it was that the man was feeding her bites of stew and bread.
Brogan followed Fiona up the stairs, unable to take his eyes off the way her hips swayed. The roundness of her bottom that he knew fit so well in his hands. Good God, how he’d like to grip it as he drove inside her…
At the top, she led him down the corridor toward room three and opened the door to the cozy chamber. A fire had been lit in the small hearth. There was a bed big enough for two smaller people, but certainly not for a man his size. How a man could sleep on it without his legs completely off was puzzling. Still, he didn’t plan to sleep…at least not for a little while.
Brogan gripped her hand softly to keep her from walking across the chamber. She turned around as he shut the door, putting his back up against it, and pressed against him. Her lush figure collided with his, and he nearly groaned as his mouth sought hers, warm, pliable, salty. They melted together, a perfect fit. Lips sliding over lips. His tongue sought hers, and she kissed him boldly back, her palms sliding over his chest to his shoulders.
Hands on her waist, he moved lower, gripping the roundness of her bottom and tugging her closer, his arousal pressing hotly against her. The lass’s arse was everything he’d dreamed of. Soft yet firm, round and supple. God, he could massage it all day, every day. Fiona sighed against him, deepening the kiss, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck.
She felt so good in his arms, to his touch, her body responding to his kiss just as eagerly. Brogan slid his palm over her ribs toward her breast, groaning when his thumb brushed a puckered nipple. Aye, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Had she sat through their supper thinking of this moment? Had she made up the excuse of needing to talk to bring him up here? A man could hope…
Brogan broke their kiss but only because he wanted to taste her neck, his lips sliding over her skin, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin up to her ear.
“I want ye so bad it aches,” he whispered as he nibbled at her earlobe.
Fiona moaned, sliding her hands down his arms, over his chest, touching him, massaging his skin, and then she was tugging his shirt from where it was tucked in his breeches, her fingers dancing over the bare skin of his belly as she pushed his shirt up.
“I want ye too,” she said.
Brogan groaned and tore the shirt from his body, tossing it aside, and she pushed him back to the door, her hands exploring and then her mouth as she kissed the place over his heart, his collarbones. Her lips were light as a butterfly and drove him wild. She flicked her tongue over his nipples, and he could take no more. Brogan gripped her rear and lifted her into the air, encouraging her legs to wrap around him. He turned her around and pressed her back to the door, his cock placed at her heat, wishing to strip away the barriers of clothes between them.
He swiveled his hips against her, showing her with his body what he wanted to do as his lips sought hers. “Ye’re a fiery temptress,” he groaned.
“Nay,” she moaned as he tugged at her gown and clamped his mouth on her freed nipple. “’Tis ye that tempt me.”
With one hand holding her up, his other slipped beneath her skirts, over her thigh, and back to her arse, seeking out the slit in her drawers to touch that warm heat. And there it was, slick and on fire as he brushed over the silken folds.
“Oh,” Fiona cried out.
Oh, indeed… He stroked against her folds, dipping a finger inside as he ground his hips against her, imagining it was his cock and not his finger wrapped in her heat. And he kissed her with the heat of a thousand suns, until they were both panting, until she was writhing against him, crying out her pleasure.
Forget their pact. Forget rules. He wanted to sink inside her.
Brogan turned them around, his lips on hers, and blindly led them to the bed, trying to remember exactly where it was. When he laid her down, the bed crinkled as if he’d laid her on papers.
Wait…he had laid her on papers. He pulled away for just the barest moment to see that there were scraps of paper littering the coverlet. Letters.
“Ye might put these away.” He picked one up, seeing first the signature at the bottom.
Aes.
The lad she’d wanted to marry but he had married someone else.
Here they were running around the country in a deceptive marriage, and she was reading old letters from someone else? Not just someone else—another man. Brogan had been about to make love to her…on top of her letters from another lover.
He stood and handed her back Aes’s letter where she lay.
That was the thing, though, wasn’t it? Their marriage was a ruse. Not real. Seeing that name should not have sent a lance of jealousy burning through his chest. Thinking of her with another man made him want to bellow at the sky. He wanted to find this Aes and demand to know how he would make up for causing her unhappiness.
“Oh,” Fiona said breathlessly, taking the letter and sitting up. She gathered up the rest quickly, shuffling them away from his view. “Sorry.”
Sorry… Why did that simple word and her flustered appearance dig in so much?
Brogan forced a laugh. “Sorry about what? We all like to reminisce sometimes.” He hated that she was reminiscing about another man. The very one whom she’d told him she’d thought of marrying.
She cocked her head, staring at him strangely before giving a short nod.
Brogan crossed the room and poured two glasses of wine, gulping the contents of one as he tried to act completely natural. All the desire that had been pounding through his skin leached out, replaced with the burn of an emotion he didn’t want to identify.