Page 72 of The Chief's Wild Promise
However, his decision to mend things with his sister impressed her.
They’d avoided speaking about Tara over the past two months.Aye, there had been many times when Makenna wanted to bring the subject up, to gently press him into confronting the past, but she’d choked the words down every time.
Bran knew how she felt—and she’d decided to let it lie. For the time being, at least.
But unbeknown to her, hehadbeen thinking over things. And better yet, he’d made up his own mind.
Farther down the table, Kylie also observed brother and sister catching up on the years lost. A soft smile curved her lips, and her oak-colored eyes were luminous. Like Makenna, she understood what this meant to Tara. To them both.
“Uncle Bran,” a sweet voice trilled then. “Can I sit on yer lap?”
Wee Grace, who was currently sitting with her father, flashed Bran a shy smile.
The lass, who was around three summers old, had been watching her uncle with wide, fascinated eyes.
“Aye,” Bran replied, answering her smile with one of his own. “If yer Da permits it.”
Jack gave a grunt before nodding. Throughout the meal, he’d watched his brother-by-marriage warily. He was slower to forgive and forget than his wife, yet there was warmth in his green eyes now as he let his daughter slide to the floor and clamber under the table.
A moment later, Bran picked her up and let her perch on his knee.
The lass turned to look at him. “Ye are bonnie.”
Bran huffed a laugh, his smoky eyes twinkling now. “Bonnie, eh?”
She reached up then, her small fingers brushing his wavy hair. “It’s the same color as Ma’s.”
“That’s because she’s my sister.”
“Like me and Arabella?”
“Aye.”
The lassie continued to look at him, in that unabashed way that bairns possessed. “Arabella is annoying.”
Bran’s mouth twitched at this, while Tara made a disapproving sound. Ignoring her mother, Grace went on. “She cries too much … and pulls my hair.”
“She doesn’t do that on purpose, love,” Jack answered with a wry shake of his head. “Yewillinsist on treating her like one of yer poppets.”
Meanwhile, the bairn in question made a gurgling sound as she chewed a piece of bread. She’d heard her name uttered and was delighted.
Grace pouted at her father’s gentle reprimand.
Something tugged at Makenna as she watched softness settle over her husband’s face. He’d make a wonderful father one day. Despite that they coupled regularly, her womb hadn’t yet quickened. They still had plenty of time though.
“Sisters can be annoying sometimes,” Bran said, pushing one of Grace’s auburn curls off her forehead. He then flicked Tara a cheeky smile before focusing on his niece once more. “But life is so much sadder without them.”
Bran’s eyes fluttered shut as his climax barreled into him. Heat exploded in his lower back, pleasure pulsing through his loins and belly. Gasping, he arched into Makenna, spilling deep inside her.
She cried out—a sound halfway between a sob and a squeal, and one that never ceased to thrill him—her fingernails raking down his back.
They clung together in the aftermath, the rasp of their ragged breathing filling the bedchamber.
“Woman,” Bran panted against her neck as he propped himself up on his elbows. “I swear, one of these days, ye shall stop my heart.”
She giggled, wrapping her strong legs around his hips and pulling him close. He was still buried within her, and neither of them wanted to separate. Her mouth then found his, and she kissed him. They clung like that for a while, savoring slow, tender kisses while their pulses slowed and the sweat cooled on their bodies.
Tumbling Makenna was like riding a storm. Each time they came together, she gave herself passionately, wildly—and he answered her with equal hunger.