“Och, there you are. I was wonderin’ where you’d be wantin’
me to put his lordship.”
Rory swept Aileanna into his arms, turning his back to Mrs. Mac so she wouldn’t see his raging cock-stand or Aileanna’s flushed face and passion-fil ed eyes. Just as he was about to tel her exactly where he wanted Alasdair, the woman in his arms took hold of his shoulder and pul ed herself up to say, “Why don’t you put him in Brianna’s room, Mrs. Mac? It might be nice for him to be sur
rounded by some of his daughter’s things.”
“’Tis a wonderful idea, my lady.”
“Wonderful, just bloody wonderful,” Rory muttered as he strode along the corridor toward Aileanna’s room. She frowned at him. “What’s wrong with putting him in Brianna’s room?”
“What’s wrong is by doin’ that”—he shoved open the door to her room—“yer puttin’ him in the room next to mine.”
She rol ed her eyes. “Rory, it’s not like you’re sleeping in the same room with the man. You have a door between the two of you.”
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He set her down on the edge of the bed. “Aye, there is, but the mon wil ken when I’m comin’ and goin’.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
He shook his head, careful y removing the boots from her feet. “Think on it, Aileanna. He’l ken when I creep back to my bed after bein’ with you.”
“He’l just think you had business to take care of.”
He snorted. “The mon’s no fool.”
“Funny, you keep saying he is.”
Rory sat back on his haunches and looked into her beau
tiful face. “Are you tryin’ to make me daft, mo chridhe?”
he asked, stroking her smooth, bare legs beneath the plaid.
“No.” She gave him a slow, sensual smile before she ran the tip of her pale pink tongue along her ful lower lip.
“I ken what I wear under my plaid, but what do you wear?” His voice was low and gruff as he smoothed his palms along the warm, satiny skin of her inner thighs.
“Nothing,” she whispered. Her eyelids fluttered closed, her legs parting ever so slightly. He bunched the fabric to her thighs and tangled his finger in her silky curls, stroking her slick, wet folds. She leaned back on her hands, her hips arched, and he knew he wanted her naked and on the bed beneath him—now. Kissing her knee, he rose to his feet. “I think I’l have you dress in a plaid more often, mo chridhe, but it wil be MacLeod plaid, no’ MacDonald. But right now, I need you out of this so I can show you just how much I missed you.”
He tugged the swath of fabric from her shoulder. She slapped his hands away. “You’re too rough. You’l rip it.”
He shrugged, watching as she careful y unraveled the plaid. “I doona’ care—you’l no’ be wearin’ it again.”
“Yes, I wil . I like the colors. They’re pretty.”
“They may be pretty, but they’re the MacDonalds’ colors no’ the MacLeods’.”
LORD OF THE ISLES
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She laid the plaid on the end of her bed, standing before him in only a sheer linen tunic. Her nipples puckered be neath the fabric, ripe for his attention. “I’m not a MacLeod, Rory, and I can wear whatever I want,” she countered with a stubborn jut to her chin.
“Yer mine, and you
weight fabric he suckled her taut nipple.
“Yes . . . yes, I know I’m yours,” she groaned, wrapping her legs around his waist. He could feel her warm, wet core through the fabric of his tunic and his cock throbbed. She pressed her breasts tight to his mouth. He fought with his trews while he held her with one hand, needing to be inside her. A sharp rap on the door stayed his hand, and he cursed when he recognized the deep voice cal ing through her door. “Lass, can I have a moment of yer time?”
A look of panic came upon Aileanna’s face and she struggled to get out of his arms. “Put me down . . . put me down,”
she whispered fervently.
“Mayhap I would if you’d unwind yer legs from my waist,” he whispered back, his voice laden with sarcasm. She glared at him, then cleared her throat. “Give me a minute, Alasdair. I’m not quite decent.”
“That’s the truth,” Rory muttered.
She grabbed the plaid from the end of her bed and hastily tried to wrap herself in it. “Hide,” she hissed at him.
