Highland Wedding by Hannah Howell Page A

bury themselves in her thick, hip-length hair.
    For such a tiny girl she had a real skill for heating his blood. It was going to be very hard to keep that in control. Even harder for a large part of him did not want to control it, wanted to savor it to its fullest. The need for a woman, any woman, indiscriminate as it was, had been easy enough to control. What Islaen instilled in him was all mixed up with who she was, her looks, her character, even her smell. It was not easy to dispel it. In truth, it was beginning to prove impossible.
    “I ken that my night rail isnae fitting for a lady, but Meg has made some more suitable ones,” she murmured as she fumbled to unlace her shift and felt color flood her cheeks even as her heart beat against the wall of her chest in growing agitation.
    Realizing the girl was about to strip before his very eyes, Iain croaked, “’Tis no matter, lass. We can keep the candle snuffed.”
    He felt close to panic and actually thought of bolting from the room no matter how foolish that would look. Unfortunately, his body was not obeying his mind’s frantic urgings to get away. It intended to stay where it was, intended that he should see if her image fit the one that had recently haunted his dreams.
    “That willnae help, sir. Ye will still be aware of my deceit. Dinnae fear to hurt my feelings. I will understand if ye cannae bear it. Ye see, I am weel aware of my ugliness. ’Tis why I have hidden it. I couldnae bear to reveal my oddness to the world.”
    She let her shift fall, her folded arms all that kept her from complete exposure asthe loosened top draped over them. Iain stared speechless at the full ivory breasts she revealed, the pink tips hardening as he watched. Forcing his hungry gaze from such beauty, he searched for the defect she spoke of. He almost hoped for some startling mar so as to divert his mind from the lushness within reach of his lips. Aside from noting that the rest of her was still very tiny, he found nothing. His gaze returned to her breasts although he had intended to look at her face. Other than a few faint freckles that he found delightfully alluring, she was perfection. Groaning, his hand found its way to one of those full firm breasts that almost seemed too much for her slight frame as if it had a mind of its own.
    His mind screamed its warning of the danger he now faced but he heeded it not. He felt spellbound. It seemed as if there was no part of his body that did not ache for her.
    The feel of her warm silken breast beneath his hand made him shake with want. He knew he could not pull back now, could not grab at some semblance of sanity. All he could do was touch her, savor the feel of her and pray that she would stop him, even flee. A small part of his passion-fogged mind reluctantly admitted that there was little chance of that. She did not seem to see the danger she was in.
    Trying to speak even though his touch was sending pure fire shooting through her veins, Islaen croaked, “Ye see? I grew all out of proportion. There is nay a need to pretend; I will truly understand if ye cannae abide such an oddity for a wife.”
    “Oh, God,” was all Iain managed to say as he dropped the tankard in his other hand and reached out to cup her other breast.
    Whatever reaction she had anticipated, it was not this. Touching them as he was, his fingers toying with the hard tips, seemed to indicate that he was not repulsed. Nonetheless, there was an odd look upon his face, a strange fire in his eyes that turned them green, and a tic in his cheek that she was having trouble deciphering, especially with a mind that was rapidly disfunctioning as the heat in her body increased.
    “Iain,” she gasped as one of his hands moved down to her stomach, pushing her folded arms down as well. “Will ye say naught? Are we still to be wed?”
    In the grip of a force he could not fight, Iain simply reiterated, “Oh God.”
    His mouth was drawn to her and his tongue flicked over each taut