Lyon's Gift (29 page)

Not upon her lips.

Nay, but his mouth had found more intimate
places to caress.

The very thought of it... the very memory of
where his lips and tongue had been, made her knees buckle beneath
her. He caught her, and she cried out softly, not for the pain in
the arm cradled between them, but because in that instant... his
lips met her own, and it was the sweetest, most wicked sensation
she had ever known.

Meghan moaned softly. So warm... and
smooth... his lips moved over her mouth, molding with her own, like
warm wet silk—hard yet gentle, too. Meghan thought she would die
with the thrill of it. His lips were moist and sweet, but
insistent, and his tongue slipped out to trace the seam of her
lips, sending quiver after delicious quiver down her spine.

Meghan slid her arm about his neck, but she
wasn’t certain whether her reaction was meant to support herself,
or to clutch him to her lest he leave her wanting. Parting her lips
as he coaxed her to, she moaned again as his tongue slid within her
mouth, drinking of her will as surely as though it were a goblet
tilted to his lips.

Closing her eyes, she savored the moment...
never wanting him to stop.

“
I want you,” he murmured.
“I need you, Meghan.”

Meghan sighed softly in reply.

“
I want to be inside you,”
he said feverishly. “Do you understand?” And a quiver shuddered
through her at his words.

Emboldened by her own desire, Meghan slid
from his embrace to the dewy grass, dragging him by the hand down
with her. He followed her, the look in his eyes both hungry and
fierce, and like a wanton she lay back upon the grass in blatant
invitation. She didn’t care if she was brazen... she wanted more of
what he’d given her last night.

Aye, she wanted more.

He moved over her, gently covering her,
taking care with her arm. And then he kissed her once more, and it
was slow and tender, his lips coaxing her own to part. And once
again he slid within, tasting the very depths of her mouth.

Sweet Mary... never had she imagined...

Meghan could no longer think.

He severed the kiss suddenly, startling her
with the abrupt departure, and lifted himself to look down into her
face, leaving her to stare up at him in a haze of dreamy,
bewildered pleasure.

“
I want to see you,” he
murmured. “All of you, Meghan.”

In that instant, she forgot to breathe. Her
heart hammered against her breast, and she swallowed convulsively.
No man had ever seen her unclothed. No man. Not even last evening
had he laid eyes upon her, for he’d extinguished the light
beforehand. Meghan was suddenly both frightened and exhilarated by
the thought of baring herself to his scrutiny... beneath the
bright-blue heavens, no less.

If she allowed him to undress her, she
knew... there would be no turning back.

If she let him look upon her... and then she
looked into his eyes... and spied that same adoration there... she
could not deny him...

He hadn’t meant to do this so soon.

Hadn’t meant to ask.

And then before he could stop himself the
words were out of his mouth—and God help him, he was not saint
enough to rescind them when she so eagerly drew him down into her
arms.

And yet... he suddenly needed to know that
she wanted this as much as he did.

“
Meghan?” he whispered,
and watched her face intently.

Her beautiful green eyes were undeniably
glazed with passion, but he wished to hear from her own two lips
that she wanted him to make her his own.

Never in his life had this simple act of
sharing bodies been such a momentous decision.

He brushed his knuckles along her jaw and
his heart jolted when she leaned so sweetly into his touch once
more, closing her eyes.

“
Tell me what you wish,”
he demanded softly. “Tell me what you want from me.”

“
More,” she whispered, and
that was all Lyon needed to hear. He shuddered with pleasure over
the single word, and bent to kiss her mouth once more before
sliding down to kiss her belly. And then down further... wanting
more than anything to taste her once more.

But first things first...

For the moment, he passed over the treasure
that awaited him, and removed her slippers, set them aside. And
then he drew up her skirts slowly and kissed a thigh, then the
other. He wanted everything off her body this instant, and were she
not injured, he thought he might have rent the clothes from her
flesh, so desperate was he to see her in full.

He drew the dress up, raising her bare
bottom to lift it past her hips, and the feel of her soft flesh
within his palm sent fire once more through his loins. Drawing her
up by her good arm, he raised the gown, kirtle and undergown both,
untangling her sleeve first from her injured arm before lifting it
up and over her head. He tossed the dress aside, his heart
hammering against his ribs.

At then at last she was revealed to him
fully, and he found himself dumb with awe. He sucked in a breath
for she was lovelier than he could ever have imagined.

For the longest instant, Lyon could merely
stare at the creamy flesh he’d uncovered. Her legs were as long and
lean as he’d known they would be. A vision of her walking with the
baby lamb in the forest, her luscious hair wild and free, her
skirts clinging to her long limbs came to him, and he blinked,
overwhelmed.

And her breasts... Christ... he craved the
feel of her hardened nipples against his tongue... her soft round
flesh against his palm... exquisite.

“
Meghan,” he whispered,
“you cannot be real!”

Meghan’s heart quickened at his words.

She lay before him, wholly revealed to his
eyes, and the expression upon his face warmed her as the sun never
could.

Jesu, but she loved the way he looked at
her.

She thrilled at the hunger so evident within
his gleaming blue eyes.

And she didn’t care just now what it
revealed of herself; she wanted only for him to adore her body the
way he had last night.

She wanted his lips upon her own... his
hands upon her, caressing...

He lowered his head once more, all the while
watching her with wicked eyes that glittered as with fever, and
Meghan lay frozen in anticipation.

What wicked place would his mouth seek
now?

What unspeakable things would he do to
her?

And then she knew...

His lips brushed softly against her breasts,
the touch delicate and even reverent, and she gasped at the feeling
of his tongue caressing her there. She whimpered, closing her eyes,
arching for him, and he rewarded her by taking her full into his
mouth, suckling like a babe at his mother’s breast. The sensation
made her quiver with delight, and she discovered some heretofore
unknown connection between this place... and that other... some
sweet thread of pleasure that seemed to uncoil as he suckled...
until the thread was a taut ache in her belly... and her hunger
undeniable.

She wanted to be his...
wanted him to have her... wanted him to do anything to
her...
anything
... wanted to please him, as well...

“
Lyon,” she whimpered,
reaching out and lacing her fingers into his hair.

Dear God, she couldn’t speak... couldn’t
think for the things his mouth was doing to her... he moved down
her belly, kissing her as he went... and Meghan wanted to say that
it wasn’t enough. Somewhere deep within her there was another ache
that his mouth couldn’t appease... that his lips and tongue were
only heightening. She wanted to tell him but she didn’t know how.
Didn’t know what she wanted... what she needed.

“
Tell me,” he whispered.
“Tell me what you want, Meghan.”

He stopped long enough for Meghan to gather
her senses. She peered up at him, panting softly.

“
I want to please you,” he
said.

“
I—I want to see you,
too,” she confessed, greedy for the sight of him as well. “Show
me,” she commanded him.

His blue eyes glimmered with a fierce
satisfaction, and a knowing smile curved his Lips. Meghan held her
breath as he began to untie the plaid at his waist—a plaid he wore
because he obviously wanted to be one of them. He slid it off and
cast it aside. And then as she watched, breathless with
anticipation, he drew off his tunic and cast it aside as well. He
stood, then, and removed his boots, and began to unlace his braies.
Though modesty would have had her turn away, Meghan refused. She
stared, eyes wide with expectation over what would be revealed to
her. She lifted her gaze to spy the look of relish in his eyes, and
her body quivered in response.

He wanted her to see him.

Wicked man.

Wicked as she.

He stood there a moment; their gazes locked,
entwined like lovers, and Meghan gulped in a breath as he drew the
braies down at long last and shrugged them off. He cast them, too,
aside.

Jesu, but he was beautiful.

He stood before her in all his glory,
unashamed.

And then he fell to his knees. And Meghan
forgot to breathe as he reached out and took her legs into his
hands, positioning her so that he was settled between her thighs
once more.

“
In the East,” he began,
his voice husky and low, “a maiden’s defloration is done in the
presence of both mothers of the wedding couple, with loving care
and a gentle finger. Are you a virgin, Meghan?”

Meghan drew in a breath at his bold
question. She was and yet why was she not offended by his asking?
The look in his eyes held no condemnation, no expectation, but she
was suddenly afraid to answer. He must have been with many
women—was she doing something wrong?

“
It matters not,” he
swore, seeming to read her thoughts. “I only wish to make this
pleasurable for you. I do not wish to cause you pain, Meghan, and
there is a way to lessen it.”

She nodded almost imperceptibly.

“
A virgin?” he asked once
more.

Again Meghan nodded, words failing her, her
throat too tight to let sound pass.

Her disclosure seemed to please him, because
he smiled down at her. “Will you trust me?” he asked, and Meghan
nodded once more.

His smile deepened.

“
Close your eyes,” he
commanded, “and feel, Meghan. Only feel. Can you do that for
me?”

“
Aye,” Meghan answered and
did as he bade her. She closed her eyes and felt him lift her knees
and part her legs to his scrutiny. Her body shivered, suddenly
aware of every sensation... the gentle breeze upon her flesh... the
heat of the sun bearing down upon her like a lover’s body... the
moist bed of grass she lay upon.

And then once again his lips were there...
upon her... and she moaned in delight.

God have mercy upon her wicked soul, but she
loved him... loved his mouth... loved the way he adored her.

He suckled her and lapped her gently, and
then she felt the pressure of his finger, sliding in as he kissed
and reassured her. He pushed within suddenly, and Meghan felt only
the slightest pain as he severed her maidenhead. She heard him
groan, the sound an echo of her own desire, and then he withdrew
his finger, and she felt him cover her, felt his hands prepare her,
and then once more the pressure.

Only this was not his finger.

He entered her with a single thrust and
Meghan gasped at the feel of it—pleasure and pain together, though
the pleasure far outweighed the pain. He waited an instant, seeming
to know that she needed him to, and then he began to move within
her, stroking her in the most delightful way, and Meghan was lost
in a whirlwind of sensation.

“
Oh, God!” she
cried.

He slid a hand beneath her waist, lifting
her, and continued to move within her, filling her and withdrawing,
and Meghan thought she would die from so much exquisite pleasure.
He was slow and purposeful, and seemed to know exactly what to
do... how to move. Warmth flooded her, and something new kindled
within her belly. She focused upon it, feeling it as it grew,
following it with all of her heart and her soul. She lifted to each
thrust, tilting her hips greedily to take him fully. And then,
without warning, something exploded within her, and her body
shuddered with sensation unlike any she’d ever known.

She cried out in exultation.

Lyon heard her, felt her convulse about him,
and it was what he’d waited for, what he’d craved. He held her hips
within his hands and released himself from his careful restraint.
His own body convulsed as he thrust a final time, spilling himself
for the first time in so damned long. He cast his head back and
cried out.

God help him, it felt so right.

So good.

And in that instant of completion, Lyon
suddenly found what he’d been looking for all his life.

And it was a feeling unlike any he’d ever
imagined.

Soul-deep contentment.

Damned if he hadn’t found it in the arms of
a woman, after all.

And her name was Meghan Brodie.

CHAPTER 22

Rolling white clouds feathered the heavens
above, swirling across the blue sky like furls of spun silk.

Meghan had never imagined she could feel so
free. She could scarcely believe she was lying in the middle of a
meadow, fully revealed beneath God’s eyes, and relishing every
moment.

For the first time in her life, she felt no
shame in herself. She lay enfolded within his embrace, feeling his
heart beat against her cheek, and felt only exhilaration at the
sensation of lying so uninhibited within his arms.