Chapter Ten

“If you care for a little whisky to help…” Meg paused as she pointed to a jug and cup on a small table near the bathing tub. “Help with anything, I suppose.” She smiled. “Like if you have trouble sleeping. It is smooth,” she said as if she were an expert on the potent brew.

“Thank you,” Lark said. “For everything.” Meg nodded and shut the door behind her.

Lark turned in a tight circle, her gaze stopping on the caldron they had placed over the hot fire in the hearth. Sweet Mother Mary. What the bloody hell do I do? Now that the raging wildfire that had consumed her in the shadows by the chapel had cooled a bit, her sense of integrity was screaming loud and clear.

She dipped her fingers in the cold water already in the tub. “I should have told him,” she whispered to the concentric circles that radiated out from the drips of water hitting the surface. Her secret could not stay secret, even here on the western isles.

I do not believe in curses. Adam had said it more than once. And neither did Lark.

No bastards can be born of the Macquaries descended from Wilyam Macquarie. Ida must know the exact wording of the legend.

But what if Lark said nothing and terrible things happened on Ulva? What if her past became known by his brothers and Rabbie? What would they think? What would Adam think?

And now, Adam was coming up to join her, alone. Her eyes turned to the large bed surrounded by rich curtains. Pillows, fur throws, and soft quilts seemed to beckon. A perfect nest for lovers. “Sweet Mother Mary,” she repeated out loud and took a steadying breath, her gaze moving to the whisky jug. She had tried some at her mother’s wake, and she remembered the heat and how she’d not cared what the villagers thought of her, at least for the night. Had it been courage or drunkenness?

“Just a sip, then,” she whispered. “For courage to tell Adam.” Should she tell him everything? Or just that she’d been born a bastard? Her heart fluttered hard like a bird caught in a snare. Yes, a single mouthful of whisky would loosen her tongue. It certainly loosened Roylin’s tongue.

She poured some into the cup, and before she could rethink, she swallowed the draught. The whisky went down, but she opened her mouth to breathe out the fumes and coughed, her eyes open wide. Fire of a different nature tore down to her stomach, warming her middle. “Bloody hell,” she said, coughing again, the back of her hand against her lips. She rinsed her mouth and chewed some of the mint that Meg had left for her to clean her teeth. How anyone could enjoy the taste of whisky was a mystery. Although the heat in her middle was potent and pleasant.

Not knowing how long Adam would be, Lark found herself looking at the door as she added the heated water to the tub. “God’s teeth,” she swore softly. She did not plan to give up her bath, but it would be best if she were not naked when he arrived. Meg had left a small mound of soap that smelled of summer strawberries, two bathing sheets, a hair comb, and a fresh smock to borrow. Aros Castle was filled with thick area rugs, clean water pitchers, and dust-free surfaces. It was sweet comfort after living in Gylin this past week.

Lark worked the comb through her tangled hair quickly. “Wood smoke and dirt,” she said in the empty room. Before they left the next day, she was going to find another bathing tub to take back with her. That was if she was welcome back. If she told Adam, would he tell Lady Ava and Meg why they annulled their marriage? Maybe they won’t care. But the thought of losing her new friends twisted tightly inside her.

Eyes pinned to the door and ears alert, Lark dropped her unlaced gown, shook it to hang over a chair, and yanked off her stays and smock. It was cold in the room, and she nearly leaped into the bathing tub, her breath catching at the warm water as she sunk in, her skin puckering with sensation. The heat of the water seemed to meet with the heat from the whisky.

“Oh yes.” She sighed. If she bent her knees enough, she could submerge her breasts underwater, her chilled nipples pearling hard with sensation. She took up the strawberry soap, inhaling the summery smell, and ran it over her limbs, scrubbing it in with the small ball of wool Meg had pointed out. Legs, feet, toes, arms, back, neck, face. She dunked herself to rinse, inhaling when she rose. With her eyes closed, she could imagine herself in a sunny meadow surrounded by strawberries. The luxury almost made her forget her troubles. Almost.

Honesty and trust. They built the foundation of a solid marriage. But why bring trouble into it if no one could ever know? Lord! The whisky wasn’t helping her decide anything.

Lark washed her breasts and then down between her thighs, her fingers moving across the ache that had been there since Adam’s kiss. Worry had barely dampened it. Washing and touching herself was nothing new but, with the knowledge that Adam could be stroking her in her most intimate nooks, made her breathing shallow. Only if you keep your words to yourself.

Sliding down in the wooden tub, she dunked her head under to fully wet her hair. She surfaced and scrubbed the strawberry soap through it, working out the remaining tangles. Before, being the last to bathe meant the water was always dirty and cool, so the warm bath in the large tub was truly bliss. She sighed as she sank deeper, her feet perched on the rim at the end. With a full breath, she slid all the way under, her fingers working the suds out of her long strands of hair. If Adam threw her off Wolf Isle, it might be a long time before she had another warm bath. Lark doubted that nuns were afforded such luxury. And certainly, Ida Macquarie did not look like the type to take pleasure in anything.

No. I cannot live with her. Water filled her ears, the warmth cradling her. Was this what peace felt like? She let her lips break the surface to take in another inhale only to submerge once more, her eyes shut, her knees and shins out of the water at the far end. Her hair floated about her like a cloak or a mermaiden’s hair. If only she could stay submerged in warmth where her past could not reach her. No worries. No judgment. No shame.

I do not believe in curses. If she could hold onto Adam’s words, if he truly did not believe, then her past could not hurt her at all. She could almost hear him calling her name.

Splash. Rough hands grabbed her arms, making her gasp, her limbs flailing out before her. She opened her eyes to murky water as she was yanked up out of the wet serenity.

“Lark! Lark, lass!” Adam’s voice bellowed through the room, but Lark was too busy sputtering and coughing out the water she’d sucked in to answer.

His large hand pushed back the hair from her face. Water was everywhere across the floor and Adam as he grabbed her to him, almost shaking her. “Lark, speak,” he demanded.

“Give…me…a bloody chance,” she managed to yell. She rubbed the sting in her eyes and squinted one at him, taking in the wretched concern pinching his face. With his white teeth bared, he looked tormented.

“Ye were under the water, unmoving, even when I called your name.”

“I could not hear you under the water.” Hand fisted before her, she suddenly realized that she was completely naked and dripping. Without any sheet nearby, Lark stepped into Adam as if he could cover her. “And there is now water all over the floor.”

“I do not give a shite about the floor,” he said, but his voice had come down in volume. How the hell had she not heard him even with water in her ears? Everyone in the castle could likely hear him.

He held her close. When she looked up, his hand was rubbing hard at his forehead as if it pained him. “I thought…” He trailed off.

“What?” She frowned at the torture on his face.

Shaking his head, he looked down at her. “Stupid threats from MacLeod smashed my common sense.”

“He threatened me?” Her brow rose. Was the man dead then? Julia would never forgive them.

“Nay…he said the curse would kill Macquarie women, and then I saw ye under the water. Eyes shut, floating there.”

She stared at him, feeling a weight grow along her limbs. “You do believe in the curse,” she whispered. Even if he refuted it, she could see it in the concern lining his features.

“Nay,” he said, his gaze roaming over her face as if checking that she was truly breathing. “Baths…they are dangerous, and ye did not respond.”

She raised one hand to his bristled jawline. “I have been taking baths since I was a wee lass. If I am to drown, it will be in a wild ocean or murky loch.”

“That does not make me feel better.”

She sighed a long release. “Because you believe in the curse.”

His mouth opened and closed before he said anything. “Perhaps a part of me does, but not a large part.”

He was being honest, and so should she. But not while she was naked in his arms. She glanced toward the bathing sheet on the chair, very aware that she was pressed against him. “The back of me is getting cold.”

His eyes slid past her face to the swell of her breasts where huge watermarks darkened his shirt. She felt his gaze like a caress, and warmth from within pushed against the cold penetrating her skin. Cac! She should have been out and dressed before he came.

He began to pull away, but she held herself to him and stepped her bare feet onto his boots so he wouldn’t stomp her toes. “Walk me over.” She wasn’t ready for him to see her completely, head to toe, naked when she was wet and cold, with her hair like dripping seaweed. His tight mouth relaxed into a half smile as he rocked back and forth as they moved forward.

“I was wrong,” he said.

She kept her eyes level with his chest. “We agreed on that a week ago.”

“When I said ye should roll in mud or go around soaking to keep suitors away.” She glanced up to see him shake his head, his gaze dipping along her hair and swell of breasts. A slow grin smoothed the worry from his face. “Mud or dung perhaps, but wet…” He leaned into her hair. “Ye look even more enticing.”

The warmth of his breath strummed through her, making the juncture of her legs clench in anticipation. She squeezed them shut. “I…” she started to say and stuttered. “I need a moment, Adam. We need to talk.” She felt slightly more relaxed than when she’d arrived in the room. Perhaps the whisky was giving her courage.

His face grew serious. “Certainly.”

“Do you want a bath?” she asked as he released her and turned his back so she could dry and throw on the clean smock. “Although most of the water has splashed out.”

“I stopped to wash in the creek that runs next to Aros Castle,” he said. She watched the play of muscles in his back through the thinness of his shirt as he crossed his arms. The bottom edge of his wool wrap allowed her to see the well-turned cut of his calves above his boots, and his biceps bulged where he crossed them in front. Her mouth went dry with want.

“I am sorry for having to leave ye with Meg,” he said, still turned away.

“Is everything all right?”

“The MacLeods were trying to start a fight with Drostan. Keir MacKinnon and Tor came to keep things calm.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Tomorrow will be a test of our patience during the games.”

Tomorrow. Just the thought of what could be happening the next day made her stomach flip. Rabbie could be yelling. Drostan shaking his head. Eagan staring open-mouthed. Callum demanding she be exiled. And Adam…he might be finding a priest to start the annulment so he could send her back to her sisters. And Roylin Montgomerie.

“I know what ye are thinking,” he said, making her breath stop. He glanced over his shoulder to see her dressed and turned around.

“You do?”

“I will speak with my brothers about not fighting.”

“Oh…yes, no fighting,” she said.

They stared at one another for a moment. Where to start? “I spoke with your aunt, Ida,” she said.

“I apologize for whatever she said.”

Lark’s mouth relaxed. “She did frown quite a bit, and I can see why you decided to live in a tree instead of saying your apology for calling her mean.”

A small chuckle escaped him. “It is a wonder she was my mother’s sister. I remember Ma being as sweet as Ida is sour.”

“Ida has the Bible about the curse,” Lark continued.

“Aye.”

“And she reads it more often than you or Grissell.”

“I suppose,” he said, his brows furrowing as if he tried to decipher where she was going.

“She says the curse says no bastards may be born to Macquaries descended from Wilyam, not that no bastards can live on the isle.” He did not say anything, only stared at her. “So what Grissell said about no bastards being allowed on the isle under the curse is not true.”

Adam stepped closer. “We are wed officially by a priest, Lark. Our children will not be born bastards.”

One hand clutching the drying sheet, Lark’s other hand flipped around in the air. “What I mean is you do not need to worry about a bastard moving to Ulva. That is all. I…I would think it would be awkward to ask those coming to live there if their parents were wed.”

He took another step closer until she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. “I do not believe in curses,” he said again, tucking a soaking strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Except when you think I have drowned in my tub,” she whispered. Holy Mary, he was close, close enough for her to smell the soap that he’d used to wash.

His eyes closed momentarily with remorse, and she grimaced. I do not want to bring him pain or worry. Lark just wanted to bring that roughish smile back to his handsome face.

She reached for him. “I bring luck to your isle,” she said, sliding her hands up his chest. The feel of his hard muscles under the thin linen sent a spiral of want through her already warm middle, straight down to the ache starting to grow again between her legs. “For I must be lucky.”

“Oh?” he asked, his hand sliding down her back to rest in the curve above her buttocks.

“I lost a slipper just in time for you to find it to save me at Beltane. Perfect timing. I must be lucky then,” she said.

A hint of surprise showed in his eyes. “I am glad ye see it that way.”

Lark realized that she did, and she smiled. “Yes. Yes, I do.” She stared up into his face. His kind eyes and lush mouth made her reach up on her bare toes to press her mouth to his. His hand came up to capture the back of her head, and she slanted easily against his lips, opening instantly to the slight pressure.

Adam pulled back, and she blinked her eyes open to see a slight furrow along his forehead. She longed to rub it away. “Have ye been drinking whisky?” he asked.

Her hand dropped back to her side. Would he stop kissing her if he thought she’d had more than a sip? The ache in her argued against the truth. “Only a nip,” she said. “To wash my teeth really.” She shook her head. “I do not drink spirits.” It was not a lie. She had a gulp, but to a big man like Adam, that would be a nip. And many people used spirits to wash their teeth. “I decided to use the mint instead.” She made a face. “Whisky tastes terrible. Should I wash my mouth out with water?”

The furrow smoothed. “Nay,” he said. “I like the taste of whisky and mint…” He leaned in closer. “And ye.”

Her breath caught at the intensity in his stare. The heat within her grew, sending tendrils of sensation everywhere. “Then taste me again,” she whispered. “If you wish.” She wet her lips, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Because…I wish it.”

“Ye are sure?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper.

She nodded, feeling the ache coiling in her abdomen. “I have never been surer in my life,” she whispered back, stepping into him.

His muscled arms wrapped around her, and she could feel the hardness beneath his kilt press against her. A thrill vibrated through her. “Lark,” he said, drawing her name out. “I am going to taste every little strawberry-smelling inch of ye that makes ye shiver with pleasure.” His voice was like the rumbling murmur of water over rocks, pushing out any other thoughts that swirled in her mind.

She swallowed at the promise in the depth of it. His words added to the heat of the whisky and her want, and she realized the words were indeed easier to say. “Find every inch,” she whispered and pulled back from him, taking two steps. He let her go, watching her. Gazes locked, Lark lifted the edge of the smock she’d just donned. She felt the fabric slide along her already sensitive skin, tickling the tips of her nipples as she lifted it over her head.

She let it float wherever it fell and lowered her arms to her sides. She was completely naked, the fire at her back to warm her where her wet hair still dripped along the skin of her buttocks.

The sharp heat from the flames burning behind her was nothing compared to the heat in Adam’s gaze as it traveled slowly down the length of her form. As if he were savoring the most delicious treat, anticipation was evident in the tightness of his muscles and the hunger in his look. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as if stopping himself from grabbing her roughly to him. The idea caught her breath and sent another wave of tingles across her skin. Her nipples were pearled, her breasts felt heavy, aching to be touched.

Perhaps whisky did give one courage for she felt none of the silly shyness that she imagined feeling as a virgin. She lifted slowly under her breasts, running her thumbs across their peaks. As if she were a landscape, his gaze traveled down from them to her curved belly and hips to the juncture of her legs where he paused. She clenched inside as if he’d touched her there, and her knees felt wobbly. She pushed them tighter together and let her arms lower. His gaze teased her, sending her blood racing. What would his touch do?

“Och, but ye are absolutely beautiful,” he said, his voice raw with honesty. His hand opened, coming up to slide slowly down her arm from her shoulder. She closed her eyes as the touch sent more sensation coursing just under her skin like a gentle kind of lightning teasing her body. When he let go, she opened her eyes.

Without looking away from her gaze, Adam stripped off his wet shirt. Lord, her husband was magnificent with broad shoulders and muscular biceps. A light sprinkling of hair curled across his tanned chest where little scars, white and crisscrossed, marked his skin. One slash sat on the dip of his waist like an enticing trail to follow below his kilt. They showed evidence of his experience in battle even though he’d not spoken of it. Her gaze slid along his skin, and she wanted to taste every single one of them.

Her damp hair made her shiver. “Wait by the fire,” he said, striding to the large bed. She watched as Adam lifted under the thick feather tick and mass of blankets strewn there. Lark froze at his display of strength as he raised it all in one scoop. Like a mountain moving, he carried the bulk to the fire. Stepping around the tub, he dropped the nest of extravagant comfort several feet back from the flames.

He grinned, melting away the solemnness that usually rested in his features. “Comfortable and warmer to dry your hair.”

Lark walked over to him, lifting her free hand to his chest, her stomach fluttery. “I have a feeling we are about to get warmer even without a fire.” Where were these saucy words coming from?

The gap between them was small. Instead of dragging her into him, his knuckle slid gently along her collarbone. Her lips opened as if she could not draw enough breath, her heart beating a rapid rhythm.

She raised her finger, touching him, running it gently along the puckered skin of the scar on his jaw. “It must have been very painful.”

“More uncomfortable.” He met her gaze, and she watched his lips move over the deep burble of his northern accent.

Her hand slid down his warm skin to stop at the edge of his kilt. “Then we should find pleasure when we can.” Being wed to a man like Adam Macquarie would surely bring her pleasure.

He caught her hand and brought her palm to his lips, kissing it in a gesture that made any other thoughts melt away. Her muscles tightened and relaxed, and the ache below made her legs shift.

Adam caught her face between his hands. His kiss met her inhale, and she slanted immediately against his warm mouth. Eyes closed, she surrendered to the taste of him, the clean smell of him, the feel of his hands as they slid from her face to her shoulders to caress a trail down her spine. The caress came forward to rest on the slope of her naked hips. He kissed from her lips, across her face, to her ear. “Everything about ye is soft and lush with curves,” he whispered.

Lark tipped her head back, clinging to his shoulders, as his lips branded her neck, and more shivers lit through her body. It felt wanton and amazing and perfectly right.

“Your trust honors me,” he whispered, the deep rumble of his voice like another caress.

Trust? It seemed she was supposed to trust him with more than her body, but at the moment, all other thoughts fled her. She swallowed, feeling the tightness in her breasts and below, as if her body anticipated things that she knew little about. Instead of leaping upon her, it was as if he was giving her time to get used to being naked with him. She rested her palms on his chest. His words made her brave, and she took a small step back, raising her arms to thread her fingers through her damp hair. The hair around her face had begun to dry, creating curls that brushed her cheeks.

“See what you have won with this marriage,” she said softly. “A barrel of whisky and…” His gaze left her face, following her hands as they slid from her breasts down her side and over her hips, one hand skimming the skin of her gently rounded abdomen. She shivered at the intensity of his eyes.

An appreciative growl came from low in his throat. “I have no need for whisky, but my thirst for ye is sinful.”

She smiled. “We are wed, Adam. God would not mind if you tupped me in a church, spread upon the altar,” she said, repeating the heated words they had heard from Grace’s husband.

He snorted softly with his grin, his unhurried gaze traveling across her skin, until his grin faded, leaving such primal lust on his face that the crux of her legs clenched with heat. He stepped forward, his lips coming back to hers for a kiss, a kiss that barreled right into ravishment.

Lark lifted onto her toes, and Adam cupped her bare backside for a moment before setting her down. She drew gulps of breath, watching as he pulled his leather belt open. The heaviness of his kilt dropped with a thud to the floor.

Adam Macquarie stood before her, naked and glorious in his masculine beauty. As chiseled as a Greek god, his proud jack long and lifted. He stalked toward her, and they backed up until Lark stepped into the middle of the nest of quilts and furs on the floor.

“A lovelier sight I have never seen,” he said, closing the distance to kiss a path of heat along the side of her jaw and down her neck. She raked the side of his narrow hips gently with her nails, sucking in a gasp as his mouth closed over her nipple, teasing it into an even higher peak. It was as if her breast was tethered to the heat between her legs, an ache that demanded to grow. Like a taut wire, plucking one tightened the other into a coil of desperate need.

“Adam, oh god,” she moaned as he switched to the other breast, his callused hand sending shivers as it slid down the curve of her lower back to cup and squeeze her backside, lifting her against him. His jack was hard and hot against her abdomen.

Lark slid her hand between them, rubbing the thick muscles of his thigh. The more she moved closer to his length, the harder his muscles clenched. Boldly, she closed her hand around him, and he groaned, a growl-like release of breath from deep in his chest. Hard and thick and long. A virgin’s fear tried to break into the passion flooding Lark. But she pressed on with the delicious ache strumming through her, stroking him up and down.

“Aye, Lark,” he groaned against her lips and lowered them to the bedding.

She gripped his broad shoulders, built strong by swordplay, and leaned back. He knelt before her, watching her with hunger to mirror her own. Gaze sliding down to his thick jack, she watched him stroke along it from root to tip and back. The pure male ease in the action made her mouth drop open.

She knelt up before him, sliding her hand down to meet his, and rubbed the juncture of her legs against his thigh, brushing the sensitive nub there. It pulsed with want, and she shifted it against the base of his jack.

“Bloody aye,” he said and lifted her with both hands under her backside to fit her intimately along his length. His mouth descended back to hers, their kisses turning instantly wild and open until Lark swore the taste of Adam was seared into her memory. Honey ale and mint.

To keep her balance, Lark hitched one leg up around his hip, opening herself. His fingers dipped low. Her breathless inhale turned into a low moan as he touched her, the pressure spiraling up through her charged body. Gentle but insistent, he explored every nook, rubbing and grazing. She moaned into his mouth, pressing into his hand, as he slid inside, his fingers finding all her sweet spots while his thumb worked against her. “God, Lark, ye are wet fire,” he murmured. “I want to taste ye.”

“You are,” she said, kissing him. Breathless, she pressed against him as his fingers moved within.

“I would taste your heat.”

Her body clenched at the passion in his words. “Lie back,” he said, moving over her so that she reclined into the pile of quilts and pillows. Propped on her elbows, she watched his gaze slake her bare body, taking in her full breasts perched on her chest. “Good Lord, ye are a goddess,” he rasped and lowered his head to kiss her stomach, making it flutter under the heat of his breath.

“I ache,” she said, her hips rising to brush against his chest. The muscles clenched inside her, and she reached below to touch herself. He lifted his head to watch, and she spread her knees for him to see how much she needed him.

“Mo chridhe, Lark,” he murmured and met her gaze. “Aye, lass, give into the ache,” he said, and Lark watched the dark waves of his hair as he lowered his mouth to cover her, sucking and swirling around her most sensitive nub as his fingers slipped back inside, working her flesh.

She gasped at the wet heat completely engulfing her as he loved her with his mouth, tongue, and fingers. Never could she have imagined such thirst within her. “Yes, yes,” she called, not caring how loud she called out as her body spiraled higher and higher. “Oh god, yes,” she yelled as she shattered quickly, and waves washed through her, making her bones feel soft and muscles contract and release.

Adam slid up her body, his fingers still within her, stroking every last swell of sensation. His arms came on either side of her head, and she felt his thick length seeking her. She pulled her knees up, angling so he could find her.

“Lark?” he said, meeting her gaze. So much shone in the depths of his eyes as he waited for her answer.

“Yes,” she said, and he thrust into her.

Pain tore through her remaining pleasure, making her squeeze her eyes shut. They both breathed fast for several heart beats, and she blinked open. Adam held himself poised above her, everything in his body taut and waiting. She glanced down to see him fully embedded in her body. They were joined, fully husband and wife, fully committed to whatever was to come. She raised her eyes and grabbed hold of his shoulders, pulling him down onto her body. Clasped together, his strength all around her and within her, she’d never felt so safe in her entire life.

“Has the sting ebbed?” he asked behind clenched teeth.

“Yes,” she said at his ear. “But you sound…tortured.”

“Ye have no idea,” he said, making her smile.

Still clinging to him, Lark tipped her hips, pressing into him, and heard his swift intake of breath. She did it again, and he groaned.

“I am giving ye time to adjust,” he said, his breath tantalizingly hot against her neck as she recalled where his mouth had been, bringing her pleasure. The image of his head bent between her legs fanned the spark within her. He pulled back slightly to study her face, his eyes serious and assessing, the line of his brows furrowed.

“You have split me in two,” she said. “Time to set me aflame again.” She tugged his head to her lips. Kissing, he slowly moved within her body.

He palmed her breast, teasing her sensitive nipple as he slid the smallest amount. Heat washed down through Lark again. He was huge, but her body accommodated him, clenching against him. When his fingers wove a path lower to strum against her sensitive spot, she thrust against it as she kissed him, opening her mouth. Back and forth, he teased, blowing upon the coals of fire within her, igniting the sparks back into the inferno she welcomed.

She slanted against his mouth, giving and taking, tasting and reveling in his heat. Her fingers curled into the large muscles of his biceps. He was so hard everywhere, powerful, rugged, and wild yet gentle with her. The feel of his muscles made her shift restlessly under him.

Sliding in and out, the movement was smooth, their bodies fitting perfectly together. Giving and taking, they found a rhythm that fed them both. Adam moaned, and Lark swallowed it with her open-mouthed kiss. Spreading her legs even farther apart, Adam sunk in completely, his growl filling the room as he increased the tempo as they strained against one another. His fingers worked their magic across her, his teeth teasing her bottom lip and nibbling a way to her ear where he breathed wicked words. “Do ye like the feel of me plunging into ye, lass?”

“Oh god, yes.”

“Ye are wet fire, like nothing I have felt before,” he said.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, tipping her pelvis higher until her ankles locked to ride against his perfect arse. Together they thrust over and over, building higher until Lark felt her body start to reach for release again. “Now…it is coming now,” she yelled and heard Adam growl loudly as his body strained against her, exploding and filling her with more heat as they rode out the storm together, holding each other tightly.

Nothing could make me let go. Not curses. Not her past. Adam was where she belonged, whether he was on Wolf Isle or in Aros Castle. As long as she was with him, Lark had found home.

A shiver ran through her as she realized that she was starting to give her heart away. A heart was a fragile thing.

She nuzzled her face against Adam’s chest, breathing in their combined scent. “Hold me,” she murmured.

“Aye, Lark.” He rolled them to the side, their bodies still entwined.

Please do not let go.