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To Weave a Highland Tapestry
Gwen blinked and returned her attention to the man. “Excuse me?”
Patrick pointed to the spot in front of her on the table.
Glancing down, she was horrified to find she’d shredded the bread into tiny bits. “The bread is good. I have too much on my mind.” She scooped up the remnants of the bread and tossed them on the trencher.
He leaned his forearms onto the table. “We can have our conversation now, if ye wish.”
Gwen stood. “No. We made a bargain for after your fever lessens. To bed, MacFhearguis.”
A mischievous look came into his eyes as he stood. “I like how ye order me to my bed, lass.”
Chuckling softly, she folded her arms over her chest. I’m not going to continue with this flirtatious bantering. “I’m waiting.”
He approached her. “For what, pray tell.”
“I’m not playing this game.” She tried to hide the mirth from her features. Instead, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bed.
“I do love a good game,” he declared in a husky voice.
Releasing her hold, she pointed once again to the bed. When Patrick lowered his head toward her face, Gwen shoved against his chest, causing him to tumble back onto the furs. “Rest.”
“Ye could have injured my arm,” he protested.
She fisted her hands on her hips. “A brawn warrior like yourself? Nah. If you can endure the harsh outdoors, climbing the stairs, and attempts at stealing kisses from me, then a tumble on the furs would not do you any harm.”
Patrick’s expression went from humor to compelling and magnetic. He swept a glance down over her body as if he had removed her clothing. Gwen’s breathing hitched, and heat blossomed in places she’d never thought to experience again.
His hand stroked the furs in invitation. “One kiss for healing?”
Her mind screamed to leave and deny Patrick his wish. Her body hastily overrode the demand.
With slow steps, Gwen approached the bed. Leaning forward, she cupped his face. “I shall give the warrior one kiss.”
When the first brush of his mouth touched hers, a prickling of pleasure caressed her entire body. She only meant to give him a chaste peck on the lips, but the man placed his hand on the back of her head and deepened the kiss. As his tongue sought entry into her mouth, Gwen let out a groan and dropped her hands onto his massive thighs. She opened herself to the heady sensation. The kiss promised divine ecstasy, and Gwen surrendered to the mastery of his lips.
Never before had she been kissed so seductively. Her body burned from his touch, and she hungered for more.
As he slowly broke free, she tried to bring her breathing back to normal. She stumbled back, brushing a trembling hand over her lips.
Award-winning Celtic paranormal and fantasy romance author, Mary Morgan, resides in Northern California with her own knight in shining armor. However, during her travels to Scotland, England, and Ireland, she left a part of her soul in one of these countries and vows to return.