Her Magic Touch (Celtic Rogues Book 3) by Kimberly Cates

Author:Kimberly Cates [Cates, Kimberly]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Gnarly Wool Publishing
Published: 2020-04-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Exhausted, Ciaran sagged back into the chair he'd drawn into the thin stream of light that pierced the divide between the curtains, his hands still, his task finished at last.

It had taken him longer than he'd imagined, though he'd started soon after Fallon fell asleep. He had slipped from the bed where he'd made her his own then worked by the flickering light of the fire with whatever makeshift tools he could find. When the fire had died, he'd shifted to the window so that the first watery rays of dawn could filter down over his work as he labored.

He'd worked until his hands ached, and his fingers were raw and bleeding. But he didn't care. He had wanted it to be perfect. Perfect. He grimaced. The only thing he'd managed to do was to make himself feel like a perfect fool. He stared down at the trinket he had made, as it lay cupped in the palm of his hand. A pitiful offering. Yet, it was truly his. His gift. His token, to be given to the lady who lay sleeping still.

A smile curved his lips, and wistfulness tugged at his heart as he glanced over at her, a drowsy water nymph afloat upon foamy coverlets. She'd gobbled up the space on the bed, adorable in her greediness. Her arms and legs had sprawled over him, her fingers curling in his hair. He'd never felt anything more precious than her slight weight against him. And no matter what happened in the future, he knew that just before he closed his eyes in death, her face would be the face he'd see, her eyes, her mouth, just as they'd looked when he'd made love to her this first time.

He closed his eyes, recalling the flickering images he would carry with him forever, memories that he was certain would never lose their luster. Petal-pink lips parting in gasps of pleasure, the dainty column of a slender thigh, so pale in contrast to his own rough, tanned hand as he'd slid his fingers from the sensitive inside of her knee, higher, higher, to a cache of downy red curls.

Those incredible eyes that had flashed open, wide, when he'd touched damp satin, surprise and awe at the sensations his intimate explorations unleashed between them making her seem almost luminous. The flame of a red-gold candle, destined to lead him out of darkness.

He might never have known another woman's body, but still, he knew that if he'd taken a hundred to his bed, none would touch him as deeply as Mary Fallon had. She was the rarest kind of treasure. Unspoiled as a wild doe tamed to his hand, the rivers of passion that shone in her face untapped by any other man. As if she had been waiting for him forever.

She had offered her maidenhead with the same generosity as she'd offered him her help there upon the sea cliffs. She'd opened herself to his possession as eagerly as she'd embraced the magic in her legends.

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