Free Kathleen Harrington by Lachlan's Bride Page B

others before him, Kinrath didn’t smash his mouth against hers, clumsily demanding that she return an unwanted kiss. Rather, he gently took her lower lip between his and tugged softly, then nibbled seductively on her upper lip, silently coaxing her to respond of her own accord.
    When he adjusted the tilt of his head without ending the alluring feel of his mouth molding to hers, she placed her hands against his shoulders, intending to push him away, but not before she’d savored the feel of his bare male skin beneath her trembling fingers.
    Sinew and bone had the rock-hard strength of an impregnable fortress. The sudden realization that she couldn’t shove him away should her life depend upon it brought a tingle of breathless excitement.
    Kinrath slowly, lingeringly broke the kiss and met her gaze.
    Resting the back of her head against the palm of his hand, Francine studied his face, marveling at his classic perfection. His features were sharp and strong and achingly handsome. The reddish brown of his thick lashes and brows deepened the brilliant green of his eyes. Intelligent eyes that seemed to read her befuddled thoughts.
    The discerning eyes of a sorcerer.
    Could he tell that she’d never experienced anything like this before? Could he sense how inexperienced she really was?
    “I . . . you . . .” she whispered on an exhalation of air, searching for words to express her mystification.
    “That’s right, a ghaolaich ,” he said softly. “You and I. We would be magic together.”
    At the beguiling lilt of those unfamiliar words, spoken with such sinful familiarity, Francine fought the startling sensations that seeped through her. Time slowed to a halt. The yearning to lie across that rumpled bed wrapped in his heathen arms made it hard to breathe.
    “Magic?” she asked, her voice thick and raspy. “Are you, then, an enchanter, just as I suspected from the beginning? Are you attempting to place me under your spell with your strange, unintelligible words?”
    His slow smile was filled with tenderness. “’Tis I, milady, who am under your spell.”
    Francine drew a shaky breath, inhaling the tantalizing scent of the forest. Fresh and clean from the bath, Kinrath smelled of pine boughs and juniper berries. His wet hair, deepened to mahogany, was caught with a leather thong at the back of his neck, where it fell in one long braid. The ruby on his earlobe glittered in the firelight, as exotic and alien as a bejeweled fan from the faraway court of Cathay.
    He lowered his head to kiss her again, and this time Francine tentatively returned the kiss. She slid her hands from his broad shoulders to the base of his neck, where she could feel his pulse beating strong beneath the pads of her thumbs.
    Her lips still on his, Francine gave a sigh of pleasure deep in her throat. Her lids drifted downward, as she concentrated on the feel of his mouth gently caressing hers.
    She was beginning to enjoy this new and intriguing experience, though she was well aware it must end soon, before he made the wrong assumption. She’d always been very careful not to encourage a would-be suitor. Since the death of her husband, she’d never willingly allowed any gentleman to kiss her, for she had no intention of ever lying beside a man. And God above knew a second marriage was out of the question.
    Still, she couldn’t deny that kissing the tall Scotsman felt very, very pleasant indeed.
    Unexpectedly, Kinrath’s tongue brushed against the seam of her closed lips, and she opened her eyes in confusion. When she started to ask what he intended, he boldly thrust his tongue inside her mouth.
    Shocked, Francine drew back. “What are you doing?” she demanded, still caught within the circle of his arms.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked with a perplexed frown.
    When she tried to shove him away, he immediately released her and stepped back.
    Francine shook her finger in warning. “I’m leaving this room and don’t you dare try to stop