Chapter 3
Laird Donell MacDuff stared at the vixen crawling about on the floor, wearing nothing but a slip of fabric.
His mouth hung open, his eyes wide. He must have fallen asleep quicker than he realized, but that was quite all right.
Watching this little minx was making for a heavenly dream.
He grunted as the slip of fabric opened a bit and the slope of a creamy white breast peeped through.
The woman in his dream looked up, her eyes sparkling green, and let out a shrill scream.
“Dinna be afraid, lass.” He walked to her and extended his hands.
She looked at him skeptically but still took the hands he offered. Her own were soft and feminine. He liked this dream. All the women in his world had rough, callused hands.
“Who…who are you?” she asked timidly, biting a plump red lip. Her skin glowed, and her fine flaxen hair waved about her face.
He held her at arm’s length, enjoying the curves pressing against the fabric of her covering.
“Ye know who I am,” he said gruffly, drawing her to his body. She smelled so sweet, like roses and wine. He wanted to take a sip of her, taste her.
“I do?” Her voice was feminine, with a strange accent but oh-so-sensual. He could see her nipples pebble through the silk as he rubbed her palms with his thumbs.
“Aye, ye are here in my dream, ye must know.”
A light twinkled in her eye at his words and her comprehension of them.
“A dream. Yes.”
“Come to me, let me taste ye,” he whispered, luring her closer.
Her body molded with his. The sinful wrap she wore allowed him to feel each and every curve, even with his body clothed. He must have forgotten to undress before falling asleep.
Donell leaned down and tasted the exquisite mouth of this fairy.
She tasted just as sweet as he imagined.
With a growl, he pressed his mouth to hers again, allowing his tongue to slip between two plump lips and into warm, wet velvet.
She tasted sweeter inside than out. His body reacted violently to the lushness of the kiss and the sensations of her body rubbing against his.
He’d spent years hardening himself after Highland battles and skirmishes that stole half his men. He hadn’t let himself feel anything beyond duty. Yet one glance at the golden-haired stranger, and the walls he’d built began to crack.
He thanked the saints above he’d fallen asleep, for he was undoubtedly going to enjoy this dream. And when he woke, those walls would be back where they belonged.