Page 55 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin

He didn’t answer right away, but the way he wrapped his arms around her said everything.

The fire still glowed behind them, but the real heat lay in the quiet space between their hearts—bare, spent, and holding nothing back.

It was torment and paradise combined; this dance they were learning together. She'd begun to trust him with her body's responses, had started to believe that pleasure didn't have to come with pain or fear.

For the first time since inheriting his title, Lachlan found himself reluctant to move. The clan could wait another hour. His duties could wait.

Right now, the most important thing in his world was the woman in his arms, and the growing certainty that what had started as a necessity was becoming something far more dangerous.

Something that felt remarkably like bliss.

The next morning, golden sunlight streamed through their chamber windows as Lachlan prepared for the day's duties.

"Ye're perfect," Erica murmured from the bed, watching as Lachlan pulled his shirt over his head, the fabric settling across his broad shoulders.

"Nay, lass," he said, turning to catch her admiring gaze. "Ye're the one who's perfect."

She blushed prettily at his words, pulling the sheet higher around herself. "I'm serious. Look at ye—like some Highland god come to life."

"Flatterer," he accused, but his eyes were warm as he adjusted his belt and reached for his sword.

"It's nae flattery if it's true."

Already mentally preparing for the day's meetings, he leaned down to press a quick farewell kiss to her lips. But her arms came up around his neck, pulling him back down onto the bed.

"One more," she whispered against his mouth, her eyes dancing with mischief.

He couldn't resist her. Not when she lay naked like this. His mouth claimed hers with thoroughness that left them both breathless, then he trailed kisses down her throat, across the silk of her chemise to the valley between her breasts, then lower to press his lips to her belly.

"Lachlan," she gasped, half-laughing, half-breathless.

But he continued his playful assault, moving down to capture one of her feet, pressing kisses to her ankle before tickling the sensitive arch with his fingers.

"I've never seen cleaner feet in me life," he declared with mock solemnity, which sent her into peals of laughter.

"Stop!" she giggled, trying to pull her foot away. "That tickles!"

He grinned, pressing one last kiss to her toes before releasing her. "I'll be back soon, wife."

"Ye better be," she called after him, her voice still bright with laughter.

Lachlan was still smiling as he opened the chamber door and stepped into the corridor—only to find himself face to face with Duncan.

His cousin stood frozen in the hallway, one hand raised to the door, staring at him with unconcealed shock. Duncan's mouth had actually fallen open slightly, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

Lachlan didn't break stride, continuing down the corridor toward the stairs. "Duncan. Ye're back."

"I..." Duncan scrambled to follow, his boots loud on the stone floor. "Aye, the negotiations concluded faster than expected."

Duncan kept glancing back at the closed chamber door, then at Lachlan, as if trying to reconcile what he'd just witnessed with his image of his usually stern cousin.

"Good," Lachlan said, descending the stairs with his usual measured pace. "I trust they went well?"

"They did, but..." Duncan seemed to struggle with words. "Were ye just... laughin’?"

"Was I?" Lachlan's tone gave nothing away, though inwardly he was amused by his cousin's obvious bewilderment.

"Aye, ye were. And there was... gigglin’. From yer chambers."