Page 33 of The Chief's Wild Promise
“We all wear masks,” he admitted with a wry smile. “It’s how we survive.”
Their stare drew out—the air between them heavy with tension now. Once again, a sense of kinship flooded over Makenna. Despite the fiery start to their relationship, there was something about this man that made her want to trust him.
She exhaled sharply. “So … what happens now?”
His gaze met hers, challenge flickering in his eyes. “Now … we go to bed.”
15: I SHALL BE GENTLE
DON’T PANIC. BREATHE.
Makenna MacGregor was a brave woman. No shrinking violet. She’d faced men in combat—and had killed. But the thought of disrobing before her husband, lying upon the bed with him, and rutting with him, made her heart race like a bolting hind.
The unknown loomed before her, but she forced herself to stand up and face it. Face him.
Likewise, Mackinnon rose from his chair and stepped toward Makenna. He towered over her, and his nearness made her pulse flutter.
Dragging in another deep breath, she closed her eyes.
“I shall be gentle.”
Her eyes snapped open, and she raised her chin to meet her husband’s smoky gaze.
She nodded, relief suffusing her. He was paying attention—and had marked her anxiety.
Wiping her damp palms upon the skirt of her surcote, she wet her suddenly parched lips with the tip of her tongue. That was a mistake, for his gaze slid down to her mouth.
Suddenly, she remembered the sensual kiss he’d given her after the wedding ceremony. At the time, she’d wanted to lash out at him for taking liberties. Even so, the feel of his mouth on hers had been a brand and had sent her senses reeling.
“Ye might as well kiss me again then … Bran,” she murmured, her voice wobbling slightly. It was time for her to stop thinking of him as ‘Mackinnon’ now though. He was her husband, and they were about to be intimate. She couldn’t keep treating him like a stranger.
“Very well,” he replied. And with that, he stepped closer and lifted a hand. His fingers brushed her jaw before he took hold of her chin. An instant later, he leaned in, brushing her lips with his.
It wasn’t like the kiss after the wedding ceremony. No, this was softer, almost as if he was making sure he was welcome. This time, there was no audience. Nothing to prove. He wasn’t trying to even the score. Now there was just the two of them locked in an intimate moment.
And she answered by brushing her mouth against his in return. The scent of him—oak, leather, and male—filled her nostrils then, and when his mouth found hers once more, she closed her eyes.
His tongue traced the seam between her closed lips, and with a sigh, she opened for him.
He kissed her deliberately, thoroughly, with a tenderness she hadn’t expected—and after a moment or two, she responded by stroking her tongue against his.Bran made a sound low in his throat. His hand slid along her jaw to her neck, before he cradled her nape as he deepened the kiss.
And Makenna couldn’t help it. She melted into him.
Her hand rose then, her palm resting on his chest. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin material of his lèine. Unbidden, her fingers curled, digging in as their tongues tangled, as they tasted each other deeply.
And she liked how he tasted. She liked the rasp of his chin against her softer skin, the swell of his lower lip, and the sensual curve of the upper one. And when he caught her lower lip between his teeth and gave it a gentle nip, Makenna’s belly clenched, neediness sweeping over her.
Neediness?
Oh, aye, just one kiss had her dissolving in his arms like spring snow. She couldn’t believe the mouth that she’d bloodied two days earlier made her ache so. But it did. Fortunately, to her relief, his split lip was healing well; although she was still careful with it as their embrace continued.
When they eventually drew apart from the long, languorous kiss, they were both out of breath.
“Turn around,” Bran ordered huskily. “I shall unlace yer surcote.”
Wordlessly, meekly, she obeyed. There was nothing submissive about Makenna usually, but tonight, she didn’t feel herself. Not at all. Standing in the midst of her bedchamber, she closed her eyes once more, waiting as he undid the back of her surcote. Usually, Fiona would help her undress. It felt scandalous that a man should do so.
But it is his right.