Instead of jerking her chemise up as she expected, he drew her hair to the side and started kissing her neck. His lips were so soft, she sighed without meaning to. Then he kissed her bare shoulder. Straddling her on all fours, he slowly worked his way down, rubbing firm hands over her and kissing her through the cloth of her chemise.
She had been touched so little in her life. The intimacy of the contact caused little flutters in her stomach. She started at the unexpected sensation when he nipped at her bottom through the chemise, with what felt very much like his teeth. When she rose up on her elbows to look over her shoulder, he gave her a devilish grin.
She let her head sink back to the bed. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on his hands as they slid over her hips and up and down her thighs. When he picked up her foot and kissed the bottom, it tickled and felt good at the same time. Her foot! Surely, he must care a little to do that.
He started back up her legs, but this time he was touching bare skin. She clenched her fists in her chemise again, but her fingers loosened as he kneaded the muscles of her legs.
“Your legs are tight,” he said. “Ye work too hard.”
“Mmmph.”
His strong hands felt wonderful on her sore muscles—though she tensed every time his hand strayed to the inside of her thigh.
When he nipped at her bottom again, there was no cloth between it and his teeth. But it felt so good to be touched all over, she didn’t object.
She was drifting in a liquid pool of warmth, when Ian leaned over her and said in her ear, “I have to do this.”
She felt a gush of cold air on her back. Then she heard Ian suck in his breath and felt him go still above her.
“No!” She tried to get up, but Ian held her down by her shoulders.
He was quiet for a long time. Then he said in a strained voice, “Truly, I can hardly see the scars, they are so faint.”
“You’re lying to me. Ye can’t bear to look at me.”
“No, no, it’s not that at all,” he said.
She drew in a shaky breath and rested her head on the bed again.
“It’s just that I can tell what they once looked like, what he did to ye,” he said. “And it makes me so angry, I want to kill the bastard with my bare hands.”
When she felt his lips touch her back with feather-light kisses, tears filled her eyes at his tenderness.
“I’ve been afraid Murdoc would come take me ever since your da came home injured.” She glanced at Ian over her shoulder and saw him wince as if her words cut him.
“He will no get ye now,” he said. “I won’t let him.”
“I know,” she said against the pillow.
“Thank ye for that, Sil,” he said in a soft voice.
She hadn’t felt comfortable in her own skin since the beating. After hiding her scars for so many years, she began to feel at ease in her nakedness as Ian moved over her back with his soft, warm kisses. While he kissed her, his hands moved in circles—up and down her sides, brushing the sides of her breasts and following the lines of her waist and hips.
“Ah, Sileas,” he said. “Ye are so beautiful. I want to touch every inch of ye.”
Gordan and other men had told her she was beautiful, but she had never felt it. Ian’s hands made her almost believe it. His touch was reverential and soothed her.
More, his acceptance began to heal the scar on her heart.
Five years ago, Ian’s harsh words on the day of their wedding had been like the sting of alcohol on her fresh wounds. They had deepened the scar inside her. Perhaps that was the reason only he could heal her.
Ian moved off her to lie beside her, turning her with him so that she felt the comforting heat of his body down her back and all around her. She closed her eyes, following the movement of his hand up her thigh and over the swell of her hip to her waist.
Then she felt something hard and urgent pressing against her backside—and her sense of peacefulness vanished. Her heart was beating twice as fast as before. Despite Ian’s statement that he did not intend to take her virginity—
She licked her lips. “While this has all been verra pleasant, I should get up now.”
She managed to sit up, but Ian sat up with her.
“Not yet,” Ian said with a firm hand on her hip. “Trust me.”
“I can guess what comes next,” she said and tried to wriggle away from him.
“I don’t think ye can,” he said, pulling her closer. “But I’m looking forward to showing ye.”
She turned to face him. “I know ye feel guilty for things that aren’t your fault—like your father’s lost leg and the scars on my back—and for a few things that may be your fault. But ye can’t fix them by tying yourself to me now.”
“I told ye, I won’t take it that far,” he said, cupping her face with his hand. “I know you’re not ready. Ye can trust me.”
Trust him or no, she let him coax her back down on the bed. She lay on her side again, with him behind
