his lips returning to hers. His powerful hand with its gentle touch remained where it was, caressing the soft skin of Brigettes inner thighs. Iain stroked her tiny button, and a bolt of hot sensation burst from that tiny center of her being. Brigette trembled, nearly delirious with the pleasure of it.
Ye ken what Im goin to do? he asked huskily.
Glazed with desire, Brigettes eyes opened, and Iain was certain that at this precise moment his wife was unable to recall her own name. He kissed her deeply and at the same time positioned himself between her thighs, the scarlet knob of his manhood poised at the opening of her moist, virginal tunnel.
I love ye. He plunged deeply, breaking the maidenly barrier in one kind but powerful thrust.
Brigette cried out, and tears of surprised pain sprang from her eyes. Iains mouth covered hers, his tongue thrusting as his manhood pierced. In spite of his desperate need, Iain lay motionless, allowing Brigette a moment to acquaint herself with the feel of him inside her.
My God! he marveled. The ultimate female â soft, hot, and tight! He moved then, in and out, gently and slowly. Brigettes breath came in shallow gasps, the valley between her thighs heating with each sweetly tormenting movement.
Wrap yer legs around me, he ordered. When she obeyed, his thrusts came deeper, faster, harder.
Innocence vanished and instinct emerged. Brigette arched her hips to meet each maddeningly wild thrust, building the tension that would surely kill her. She climbed a mountain of ecstasy and then peaked in screaming pleasure, floating gloriously back to earth as if riding a billowy cloud.
Calling her name, Iain tensed and shuddered, his seed flooding her. With their bodies joined as one, Iain rolled to the side and then kissed her, but Brigette was unaware. Her eyes were already closed in sated sleep.
Brigette felt something warm and moist tickling her face. Ross, dont, she said, giggling, then heard his deep rumble of laughter.
I amna the guilty party, he protested, but the tickling continued.
Her eyes flew open, and Iain laughed at her surprised expression. Sly was licking her cheek.
Ill let him out. Brigette modestly wrapped herself in the blanket, earning a mockingly arched brow from Iain, but he said nothing.
After Sly had answered natures call, Brigette returned to the fur. Iain, his dark eyes glowing with love, kissed her deeply and thoroughly. Their moment of truth had arrived.
I know a woman should not be so forward, Brigette said, giving him the perfect opening, but I wish we were wed.
We are. His voice was a light caress. Then he added, matter-of-factly, We return to Dunridge in the mornin. This raidin season promises to be especially bloody.
What? Brigette stared blankly at him.
We return to Dunridge, hinny, in the mornin.
No! We cannot go there!
We must.
Ross. Brigettes voice was a contrite whisper. Ross, I am not a Gypsy â
Iains laughter cut off her confession. Im aware of the fact ye arena a Gypsy, Lady Brigette.
You know who I am? She was flabbergasted. You know Im your brothers wife?
Ye arena my brothers wife, sweetheart.
But I am! she protested and sat up. Iain and I were wed by proxy in England â
Listen to what Im sayin, hinny, he interrupted, his voice gently insistent. I am Iain MacArthur, yer husband.
No, you are Ross MacArthur, the bastard son of the Earl of Dunridge.
I am Iain Ross MacArthur, heir to the Earl of Dunridge, he said, smiling. And yer my bonnie Sassenach bride, the future Countess of Dunridge. His hand reached to caress her cheek.
Understanding lit Brigettes eyes. She slapped his hand away and leaped to her feet, then glared at him in a murderous rage. You lying . . . scheming . . . vile . . . underhanded . . . treacherous . . . she sputtered, searching for a more hideous word to describe him.
Iain stood and towered over her, his size alone threatening. Humor had vanished from his expression; his eyes, so recently filled with love,
Ye ken what Im goin to do? he asked huskily.
Glazed with desire, Brigettes eyes opened, and Iain was certain that at this precise moment his wife was unable to recall her own name. He kissed her deeply and at the same time positioned himself between her thighs, the scarlet knob of his manhood poised at the opening of her moist, virginal tunnel.
I love ye. He plunged deeply, breaking the maidenly barrier in one kind but powerful thrust.
Brigette cried out, and tears of surprised pain sprang from her eyes. Iains mouth covered hers, his tongue thrusting as his manhood pierced. In spite of his desperate need, Iain lay motionless, allowing Brigette a moment to acquaint herself with the feel of him inside her.
My God! he marveled. The ultimate female â soft, hot, and tight! He moved then, in and out, gently and slowly. Brigettes breath came in shallow gasps, the valley between her thighs heating with each sweetly tormenting movement.
Wrap yer legs around me, he ordered. When she obeyed, his thrusts came deeper, faster, harder.
Innocence vanished and instinct emerged. Brigette arched her hips to meet each maddeningly wild thrust, building the tension that would surely kill her. She climbed a mountain of ecstasy and then peaked in screaming pleasure, floating gloriously back to earth as if riding a billowy cloud.
Calling her name, Iain tensed and shuddered, his seed flooding her. With their bodies joined as one, Iain rolled to the side and then kissed her, but Brigette was unaware. Her eyes were already closed in sated sleep.
Brigette felt something warm and moist tickling her face. Ross, dont, she said, giggling, then heard his deep rumble of laughter.
I amna the guilty party, he protested, but the tickling continued.
Her eyes flew open, and Iain laughed at her surprised expression. Sly was licking her cheek.
Ill let him out. Brigette modestly wrapped herself in the blanket, earning a mockingly arched brow from Iain, but he said nothing.
After Sly had answered natures call, Brigette returned to the fur. Iain, his dark eyes glowing with love, kissed her deeply and thoroughly. Their moment of truth had arrived.
I know a woman should not be so forward, Brigette said, giving him the perfect opening, but I wish we were wed.
We are. His voice was a light caress. Then he added, matter-of-factly, We return to Dunridge in the mornin. This raidin season promises to be especially bloody.
What? Brigette stared blankly at him.
We return to Dunridge, hinny, in the mornin.
No! We cannot go there!
We must.
Ross. Brigettes voice was a contrite whisper. Ross, I am not a Gypsy â
Iains laughter cut off her confession. Im aware of the fact ye arena a Gypsy, Lady Brigette.
You know who I am? She was flabbergasted. You know Im your brothers wife?
Ye arena my brothers wife, sweetheart.
But I am! she protested and sat up. Iain and I were wed by proxy in England â
Listen to what Im sayin, hinny, he interrupted, his voice gently insistent. I am Iain MacArthur, yer husband.
No, you are Ross MacArthur, the bastard son of the Earl of Dunridge.
I am Iain Ross MacArthur, heir to the Earl of Dunridge, he said, smiling. And yer my bonnie Sassenach bride, the future Countess of Dunridge. His hand reached to caress her cheek.
Understanding lit Brigettes eyes. She slapped his hand away and leaped to her feet, then glared at him in a murderous rage. You lying . . . scheming . . . vile . . . underhanded . . . treacherous . . . she sputtered, searching for a more hideous word to describe him.
Iain stood and towered over her, his size alone threatening. Humor had vanished from his expression; his eyes, so recently filled with love,
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