Captured by the Pirate Laird by Amy Jarecki Page B

raised them to his mouth. His
tongue slipped through his lips ever so subtly as he kissed those dainty
fingers. The sleeve of her gown slipped to her elbow, revealing the luscious
white of her forearm.
    Hot
yearning swirled beneath his kilt while he languidly smoothed kisses along the
length of that silken arm. Anne’s muffled groan sent him undone. The thickening
beneath his kilt shot to rigid. He stepped in and gazed down upon her lovely
face. “I want to kiss ye.”
    Her
breath quickened, but the desire in her darkened eyes expressed all. Taking her
hands, he placed them on his hips. With one more step, he pressed his body against
hers, molded to it as if God almighty had made them a matched pair. Calum
lowered his head, and Anne’s eyes stared at his mouth, hungry.
    Gently,
he touched his lips to hers. Anne’s fingers dug into his flesh. Her breathing quickened
to shallow gasps, but her lips did not move. The realization that she had never
been kissed shot through the tip of his cock like lightning. Calum stroked the
parting of her lips with his tongue and dove into her mouth. Sweet, feminine,
Anne didn’t resist. Taking her hand, he showed her how to caress his skin, how
to touch him.
    Gradually,
Anne responded. Her hands clamped around his hips and slowly crept lower. The
tops of her breasts pushed into his chest. Calum wanted to feel more of her,
but the stiff stomacher of her gown forced distance. If only he could unlace it
and free her from her bindings—all of her bindings.
    His
heart raced while he fingered an errant lace at the back of her gown. He rubbed
the length of his body side-to-side in harmony with hers. She completely melted
in his arms.
    Heaven
help him, he needed to stop. Now. His breath stuttered as he pulled away. Her
eyes glazed, her cheeks red with lust, she panted. As if shamed, she released
hands and cast her gaze downward. “Please forgive me, my lord.” Her voice
warbled.
    Calum
caressed her cheek. “It is I who must be forgiven. Ye are far too delectable to
resist.”
    “I
must not forget the fact that I am married.”
    Calum’s
gut clenched—must that offensive detail continue to plague him? “Of course.” He
took a step back wiped his palms on his kilt. “I will endeavor to practice
restraint, milady.”
    “Yes,
we must.”
    Anne
stepped into her room. When the door closed, the lock clicked. He ran his
fingers through his hair, trying to block the image of Anne undressing and
releasing those breasts that had toyed with his sensibilities all night. He’d
just kissed her—threw decorum out the window and had given into his lust. He was
no better than Norman who tried to take advantage of every lassie in sight.
    Calum
raced down the stairs and grabbed a bottle of whisky.
    He
passed the friar, slumped in the corner with one eye open. “Where are ye
going?”
    “To
the stables. ’Tis the only place where I can forget a temptress with golden
hair and sapphire eyes.”
    Once
outside, Calum took a long draw of the whisky and coughed. Having Anne in his
chamber for a month would drive him mad. He pictured her sleeping in his bed, lying
under his bedclothes—alone. He took another drink. Och, one bottle wouldn’t be
enough.

Chapter Seven
     
     
    Calum’s
scent lingered on everything. Each time Anne closed her eyes, she felt his lips
caress her hands, travel up her arm and claim her mouth. She’d actually kissed
him, turned to butter in his arms and allowed him to show her how. The worst
thing? She had wanted him to do it, prayed he would—and now she’d had him swirl
his tongue inside her mouth, she craved more. Every inch of her flesh screamed
for Calum MacLeod, the pirate , to put
his hands on her and flutter kisses across her skin.
    Sleep
strayed from her grasp. Anne imagined him touching her with his rough hands,
hands that wielded a sword and worked beside his men, hands that had shown her
tenderness. She closed her eyes and saw John’s hand cup Mara’s breast. She