The Saint by Cathy MacRae

Author:Cathy MacRae [MacRae, Cathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, medieval, romance
Publisher: WolfeBane Publishing
Published: 2018-07-17T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Marsaili rose on her knees, leaning close as she slowly lowered her face to his. For a brief moment their breaths mingled, and she ached to press her lips against his. His hand slid from beneath the layers of fur and captured her wrist. With a sharp tug, he pulled her against him, and Marsaili offered no resistance.

Her lips molded to his, perfectly, as though they’d been made only for him. They moved against his, pledging a hundred things she could not voice. Regaining her balance, she cradled his face in her palms as though she feared he would leave her before she’d drank her fill. His lips parted, his tongue twining sensuously with hers, and Marsaili’s world came apart.

His hand slid up her arm, pushing its way inside her cloak, stopping to cup the fullness of her breast. She gasped as his thumb rubbed the sensitive peak, creating friction that exploded through her into shards of need. His other hand broke free of the furs and he palmed the back of her head, his fingers winnowing through her hair.

She moaned against his mouth and Geoffrey abandoned her breast, reaching behind her, fingers fumbling with the lacings at her back. Jerking them free, he loosened the gown over her shoulders, drawing it forward until the neckline gaped downward. Breaking their kiss with a groan, he cupped both hands beneath her breasts, spilling them over the top of her dress. Marsaili’s exposed flesh tingled in the cold air, and in the heat of his hungry gaze.

She shifted slightly, bringing her breasts closer, offering them to him. He accepted, running his mouth over the sensitive skin, circling the rigid crests with his tongue. His heated breath played havoc with Marsaili’s insides, twisting them like a banner in a tempest.

Raking the sleeves of her dress down from her shoulders, he scooped her breasts free, hefting them gently in his warm palms. “My God, Marsaili! You are perfect.”

His admiration wrung a wry smile from her as it sparked less-than-fond memories. “’Tis kind of ye to say so, Milord,” she whispered.

“There is no kindness meant, but the very truth. You cannot begin to imagine how much you fascinate me.” He smoothed his fingers over the tops of her breasts. “Though I confess I still do not understand.”

Marsaili sagged backward, finding a comfortable niche in the crook of his elbow. “What do ye not understand, Milord?”

Geoffrey’s eyes darkened and he tilted her chin upward until their lips met. “This.”

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