Chapter Five #5
“Probably,” Mhàiri answered, eyes still closed, unperturbed at the idea.
“And are you going to let him?”
Conan’s clipped tone caused Mhàiri to open her eyes.
She held his gaze steady and answered, “Of course, I am. I told you that I wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man. All the farmers I met while at the priory wanted to marry me. To kiss them would have been like accepting a marriage proposal. Now I finally have the chance, and I am going to take it.”
Conan could feel his jaw clench. The logic was there. Mhàiri did not sound as if she desired Loman, and yet the idea of that man’s lips against hers was turning his stomach into knots. “And you don’t think that Loman wants to marry you?”
Mhàiri thought for a moment and then, with a shrug, shook her head.
She leaned back again, closed her eyes, and continued enjoying the sun.
“He knows I plan to leave McTiernay Castle and travel with my father. And I don’t see Loman suddenly wanting to become a merchant.
So no, I don’t think he has any thoughts toward marriage and a kiss certainly isn’t going to create them. We just enjoy each other’s company.”
Conan stood up abruptly. Mhàiri reopened her eyes to see that he was packing his things. “We’re leaving?” she asked, rising to her feet as well.
“Aye,” he said, clearly disgruntled.
“I promise we will get together again in two days and I will show you how to draw buildings, castles, or whatever you want.”
Conan dropped his things to the ground. “You think that’s what I care about right now?
” He reached out and his hands gripped her arms, not painfully, but with enough force Mhàiri could feel the tension raging in his body.
“If you wanted to know what a kiss was like so damn bad, you should have asked me.”
The desire Conan had worked so hard to suppress suddenly erupted and was beyond his control.
His mouth came down on hers before Mhàiri could even think of moving.
He caught her face between his hands, pulled her close, and kissed her—hard and deliberately—letting her feel the frustration and temper she had aroused in him.
Mhàiri was not sure what was happening until the moment she felt Conan’s mouth close roughly over hers, searing their lips together.
Surprised, she at first clutched his forearms and resisted, but Conan did not lessen his hold.
The pressure against her mouth was deep and persuasive and undeniable.
And before she realized what she was doing, her mouth opened and welcomed him in.
Her first real kiss. It was more than Mhàiri had ever dreamed it could be.
She knew there were different types of kisses—those with closed lips and those with an open mouth.
And when she had thought about what her first kiss should be, she had always envisioned something soft and sweet, where two pairs of lips met together.
The exchange was supposed to be pleasurable—nothing like what she was feeling with Conan.
Her body was on fire. She felt as if she were melting and hungry at the same time.
Conan moaned. Mhàiri’s initial resistance was gone, and she was starting to respond.
When she finally reached out and tasted him with her tongue, a shudder of need racked him.
Something told him to let her go and maybe he would have found the will if Mhàiri’s slim fingers had not slid up his arms and clutched at his shoulders.
Ending the kiss now was not a possibility.
A sharp groan escaped his throat and Conan pulled her in closer. His whole body was tight with desire. The full force of his own hunger burned inside him, and he refused to suffer alone. He would fan her own growing desire to such levels that she would never consider kissing another man.
Mhàiri whimpered as Conan invaded the vulnerable warmth behind her lips with an intimate aggression that seared her senses.
She had been completely unprepared for the flood of sensations his tongue would create, boldly stroking the inside of her mouth.
His arms and body were taut with muscle.
He was broader and, excitingly, harder than she.
Mhàiri knew she should do something to stop Conan’s passionate assault upon her senses, but she couldn’t muster the will to push him away. Not yet.
If anything, she wanted to be closer to him and leaned into him, unable to rationalize why or what she was doing.
His musky scent filled her nostrils and caused an unfamiliar stir in her belly.
Her hands ran down over his chest of their own accord and then back up around his neck.
He matched her need and pulled her tightly to him, causing her to groan.
Conan reveled in the way her lips moved against his. Mhàiri tasted as good as he had known she would, but instead of quenching his desire for her, her taste only inflamed it. He wanted her more than he had ever thought it possible to want any woman.
Conan’s hands became as undisciplined as his mouth, taming and exciting as he stroked a warm path from her shoulders to the base of her spine.
Mhàiri trembled under his touch. It hardly seemed possible, but his fierce kiss had turned even more wild and ravenous.
A shiver rolled through her and she suspected that what she was feeling could not be experienced in the arms of any other man.
Conan was masterful, demanding, and all consuming.
The hot, sensuous kiss went on and on, suffusing her body with an aching need for more.
He was kissing her as though she were a drink of water and he were a man dying of thirst, and part of her hoped he would never be quenched.
She moaned and felt her legs begin to quiver.
Conan held her tight so that she did not fall, but he did break off the kiss, giving them a chance to suck in much-needed air.
“Conan,” Mhàiri whispered just before she rocked against him and went up on her tiptoes to seek his mouth again.
He cursed, “Murt,” and then bent his head to kiss her once more, his tongue penetrating, stroking, taking. His body hard and hot with wanting her.
Over and over again, he slanted his mouth over Mhàiri’s. He curved his hand around the nape of her neck, keeping her in place, enjoying the silken feel of her skin while his body raged for something more.
Mhàiri let go another moan, and Conan knew he was at the brink of insanity. He had never shared an embrace that had turned so hot, so consuming, as to be in danger of losing control. But that was where he was at with Mhàiri.
With the last of his strength, he lifted his mouth from hers and looked down into her pale emerald eyes.
She stared back at him with a mixture of confusion and vulnerability, but he steeled himself against it.
Her chest heaved with the effort it took to breathe.
He had never before experienced a need so deep, and it felt . . . threatening.
Suddenly, he needed to protect himself, his heart, and his future. He needed to get away. Now, before it was too late.
Conan held her face in his hands and looked down into the shining depths of her passion-filled eyes.
“There. Now you have something to compare Loman’s kiss to.”
Then he let her go and walked away, knowing those words, when they finally penetrated, would keep her from running after him.