Read Online The Highlander's Bride by Michele Sinclair - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michele Sinclair
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bindings.
“Sorry,” he said roughly, referring to having kept her waiting.
“Hmm? Oh, that’s all right,” she said, staring at his shirt that was molded to his chest. He must have bathed as well and dressed while still wet. He was so solid and strong, and his semi-wet top emphasized the natural elegance of his powerful frame. The hair on his chest was dark and tapered as she lowered her gaze. She had not realized how much the loose linen shirt hid. What had not occurred to her was that she had dressed after bathing in the same wet state, her thin, lacy chemise clinging and revealing her well-formed body.
Conor, though, was well aware of her garment and how it hugged every inch of her. He could concentrate on little else. Her breasts were ample, and he could see the rosy nipples through the thin cloth. The chemise was molded to her hips, leaving him no doubt as to her curves and beauty. The tightness in his loins multiplied.
“Conor?” Laurel inquired as she innocently handed him the bindings he had used last time. “If you could assist me just one more time. I didn’t realize how much they were helping me.”
He took the wrappings and began binding her ribs once again. In doing so, he inadvertently touched her breasts several times. The sensation caused a liquid warmth to pool between her legs. All of a sudden she wanted him to really touch her, not just through fabric. She wanted to feel his skin against hers.
She couldn’t understand these cravings or where they were coming from. She didn’t love him, did she? He was an incredibly attractive man, but he was also an aggravating, insufferable, arrogant giant who deliberately set out to goad her into anger, then enjoyed her unladylike responses. She desperately sought to control herself and her behavior.
Conor knew he was playing with fire as he bound her ribs. First, he investigated the injury to ensure that she had not made things worse by throwing the dagger. He admitted to himself that he had been duly impressed when she exhibited her skills. He had never seen a woman move more deftly and swiftly with a weapon. Her skill and accuracy evoked a pride in him that he couldn’t explain. But it was there nonetheless.
Laurel not only had the traits of a real lady—beauty, charm, and grace—but she had all the requirements needed to survive in the highlands. She was smart, skilled, resourceful, courageous, and had enough stamina to outlast any female he knew, and several men.
Her damp hair smelled of highland flowers in the spring, and her skin was smooth and sensual. He hurried to complete the torturous task. As he finished, he looked up and saw gratitude in her eyes. But there was something else there. She wanted him. Aye, she was just as disturbed as he was by their proximity.
She looked at him, motionless, as if waiting for him to make the first move. Something primitive erupted deep inside Conor under her glittering gaze. His hand brushed her cheek as he pushed her wet locks behind her shoulders. His other hand stroked her arm as he looked all the while into her eyes. Without a word, he leaned down and brushed his mouth lightly across hers, urging her to comply.
Her lips were soft, warm and innocent. He slanted his mouth against hers, and she kissed back, increasing the pressure. Her fingers splayed across his back, and he carefully pulled her up against his chest. The effect of her roving hands and her breasts on his body caused the constant ache in his loins to grow painful with need.
He deepened the kiss and played with her lower lip, encouraging her mouth to open to him. When she finally did, he dove in, absorbing her into himself while his hands slid slowly up her spine. She tasted so good. Just like her scent, her kisses were fresh, new, and innocent.
Laurel didn’t know that men and women ever kissed like this. When his tongue first danced with hers, she wanted to retract, but he wouldn’t let her. The erotic feel of his mouth grew until
“Sorry,” he said roughly, referring to having kept her waiting.
“Hmm? Oh, that’s all right,” she said, staring at his shirt that was molded to his chest. He must have bathed as well and dressed while still wet. He was so solid and strong, and his semi-wet top emphasized the natural elegance of his powerful frame. The hair on his chest was dark and tapered as she lowered her gaze. She had not realized how much the loose linen shirt hid. What had not occurred to her was that she had dressed after bathing in the same wet state, her thin, lacy chemise clinging and revealing her well-formed body.
Conor, though, was well aware of her garment and how it hugged every inch of her. He could concentrate on little else. Her breasts were ample, and he could see the rosy nipples through the thin cloth. The chemise was molded to her hips, leaving him no doubt as to her curves and beauty. The tightness in his loins multiplied.
“Conor?” Laurel inquired as she innocently handed him the bindings he had used last time. “If you could assist me just one more time. I didn’t realize how much they were helping me.”
He took the wrappings and began binding her ribs once again. In doing so, he inadvertently touched her breasts several times. The sensation caused a liquid warmth to pool between her legs. All of a sudden she wanted him to really touch her, not just through fabric. She wanted to feel his skin against hers.
She couldn’t understand these cravings or where they were coming from. She didn’t love him, did she? He was an incredibly attractive man, but he was also an aggravating, insufferable, arrogant giant who deliberately set out to goad her into anger, then enjoyed her unladylike responses. She desperately sought to control herself and her behavior.
Conor knew he was playing with fire as he bound her ribs. First, he investigated the injury to ensure that she had not made things worse by throwing the dagger. He admitted to himself that he had been duly impressed when she exhibited her skills. He had never seen a woman move more deftly and swiftly with a weapon. Her skill and accuracy evoked a pride in him that he couldn’t explain. But it was there nonetheless.
Laurel not only had the traits of a real lady—beauty, charm, and grace—but she had all the requirements needed to survive in the highlands. She was smart, skilled, resourceful, courageous, and had enough stamina to outlast any female he knew, and several men.
Her damp hair smelled of highland flowers in the spring, and her skin was smooth and sensual. He hurried to complete the torturous task. As he finished, he looked up and saw gratitude in her eyes. But there was something else there. She wanted him. Aye, she was just as disturbed as he was by their proximity.
She looked at him, motionless, as if waiting for him to make the first move. Something primitive erupted deep inside Conor under her glittering gaze. His hand brushed her cheek as he pushed her wet locks behind her shoulders. His other hand stroked her arm as he looked all the while into her eyes. Without a word, he leaned down and brushed his mouth lightly across hers, urging her to comply.
Her lips were soft, warm and innocent. He slanted his mouth against hers, and she kissed back, increasing the pressure. Her fingers splayed across his back, and he carefully pulled her up against his chest. The effect of her roving hands and her breasts on his body caused the constant ache in his loins to grow painful with need.
He deepened the kiss and played with her lower lip, encouraging her mouth to open to him. When she finally did, he dove in, absorbing her into himself while his hands slid slowly up her spine. She tasted so good. Just like her scent, her kisses were fresh, new, and innocent.
Laurel didn’t know that men and women ever kissed like this. When his tongue first danced with hers, she wanted to retract, but he wouldn’t let her. The erotic feel of his mouth grew until
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