when he looked at her with those dark eyes, he really looked. His gaze didn’t gloss over her. He observed, he studied, he took her in.
And she took him in, too. The way his shirt fell over his shoulders and showed the bulge of muscle beneath. His perfectly masculine face, his dark eyes and brow, his thick, nearly black shoulder-l ength hair.
She wanted to rub her cheek against the rough shadow of a beard that had formed on his jaw. She wanted to trace the curve of his bottom lip with her fingertip. And then she wanted to touch him all over. Every dip of every muscle. From head to toe, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. And he looked upon her as though she were the most beautiful woman.
She glanced up to see him focused intently on her.
She shuddered again, and those thick brows snapped together. He glanced from her to the fire and back again. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
He cocked his head. “Will you . . . May I?” He reached out cautiously, as if he were frightened she might scurry away at the gesture. But she wasn’t afraid anymore. She craved his touch—she had ever since they’d walked out in the snow together. Though she truly wasn’t cold, she gratefully snuggled into the crook of his arm.
The contact jerked through Maggie, jolting her all the way to her toes. Simultaneously both of them stiffened and then pulled back.
She stared at him. Had he felt it too?
He gazed back at her, his brows arched in surprise. And then, before she knew what was happening, he cupped her head in his hands and tugged her toward him. He didn’t hesitate—his lips descended on hers.
A sharp, piercing need spiraled through Maggie. She wrapped her arms around his neck, sifted her fingers through his soft hair, and pulled him closer. His lips were warm and smooth, but he kissed like a starved man tasting ambrosia. His mouth took hers, possessed it, left her gasping as his erotic touch traveled through her veins and ignited every inch of her skin.
He nipped her lower lip, then soothed it with tender kisses that moved to the corner of her mouth and across her jaw. His lips traveled to her earlobe in a whisper of sensation that made Maggie groan.
Finally he pulled away, grinding his teeth. A muscle quivered in his jaw, and she could almost see him clinging to the taut thread of his control.
He did this for her. Because she’d pulled away from him so often, he wasn’t certain of her response. His hesitance served as yet another sign that he was an honorable man.
This was the moment. She swallowed. The wafts of peat smoke drifting through the rafters seemed to pause in suspense. Even the flames of the fire stopped flickering.
If she said no, he’d respect that. He’d stop. But if she said yes, if she asked him to continue . . .
She’d been celibate for five years.
She wanted Logan Douglas. In a way, beyond the original pain and distrust and trauma of her experience with Innes Munroe, she’d wanted Logan from the moment she’d seen him.
Staring at him, she released a slow breath. With deliberate motions, she moved her hands to the pin that closed her plaid. She tossed the pin aside and let the plaid slide down her body to puddle at her bottom. Logan watched her every move with rapt attention.
She rose onto her knees on the mattress and pulled off her shift, revealing her body to him. His dark eyes raked over her, similar and yet different from the first time she’d stood naked before him. The hunger in them made her shiver.
Never breaking his gaze from hers, he rose and stripped off his plaid and shirt in seconds, exposing his magnificent body, marred only by the linen bandage wrapped around his thigh. The flames of the fire cast flickering gold tones over his skin. She’d never seen anyone so well muscled. So broad. And his cock jutted out proudly, spectacularly, in proportion with the rest of him.
“Lord, you are beautiful,” she whispered.
He lifted her to her feet and drew her against him,
And she took him in, too. The way his shirt fell over his shoulders and showed the bulge of muscle beneath. His perfectly masculine face, his dark eyes and brow, his thick, nearly black shoulder-l ength hair.
She wanted to rub her cheek against the rough shadow of a beard that had formed on his jaw. She wanted to trace the curve of his bottom lip with her fingertip. And then she wanted to touch him all over. Every dip of every muscle. From head to toe, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. And he looked upon her as though she were the most beautiful woman.
She glanced up to see him focused intently on her.
She shuddered again, and those thick brows snapped together. He glanced from her to the fire and back again. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
He cocked his head. “Will you . . . May I?” He reached out cautiously, as if he were frightened she might scurry away at the gesture. But she wasn’t afraid anymore. She craved his touch—she had ever since they’d walked out in the snow together. Though she truly wasn’t cold, she gratefully snuggled into the crook of his arm.
The contact jerked through Maggie, jolting her all the way to her toes. Simultaneously both of them stiffened and then pulled back.
She stared at him. Had he felt it too?
He gazed back at her, his brows arched in surprise. And then, before she knew what was happening, he cupped her head in his hands and tugged her toward him. He didn’t hesitate—his lips descended on hers.
A sharp, piercing need spiraled through Maggie. She wrapped her arms around his neck, sifted her fingers through his soft hair, and pulled him closer. His lips were warm and smooth, but he kissed like a starved man tasting ambrosia. His mouth took hers, possessed it, left her gasping as his erotic touch traveled through her veins and ignited every inch of her skin.
He nipped her lower lip, then soothed it with tender kisses that moved to the corner of her mouth and across her jaw. His lips traveled to her earlobe in a whisper of sensation that made Maggie groan.
Finally he pulled away, grinding his teeth. A muscle quivered in his jaw, and she could almost see him clinging to the taut thread of his control.
He did this for her. Because she’d pulled away from him so often, he wasn’t certain of her response. His hesitance served as yet another sign that he was an honorable man.
This was the moment. She swallowed. The wafts of peat smoke drifting through the rafters seemed to pause in suspense. Even the flames of the fire stopped flickering.
If she said no, he’d respect that. He’d stop. But if she said yes, if she asked him to continue . . .
She’d been celibate for five years.
She wanted Logan Douglas. In a way, beyond the original pain and distrust and trauma of her experience with Innes Munroe, she’d wanted Logan from the moment she’d seen him.
Staring at him, she released a slow breath. With deliberate motions, she moved her hands to the pin that closed her plaid. She tossed the pin aside and let the plaid slide down her body to puddle at her bottom. Logan watched her every move with rapt attention.
She rose onto her knees on the mattress and pulled off her shift, revealing her body to him. His dark eyes raked over her, similar and yet different from the first time she’d stood naked before him. The hunger in them made her shiver.
Never breaking his gaze from hers, he rose and stripped off his plaid and shirt in seconds, exposing his magnificent body, marred only by the linen bandage wrapped around his thigh. The flames of the fire cast flickering gold tones over his skin. She’d never seen anyone so well muscled. So broad. And his cock jutted out proudly, spectacularly, in proportion with the rest of him.
“Lord, you are beautiful,” she whispered.
He lifted her to her feet and drew her against him,
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