Into the Dreaming by Karen Marie Moning Page B

gasped, staring up at him. His expression was so fierce that her sleep-fogged brain cleared instantly.
    He stood at the foot of the bed, his dark gaze sweeping every inch of her nude body. He’d braided his hair. His face was dark with the stubble of a black beard, shadowing his jaw. In the past few weeks, he’d lost weight, and although he was still powerfully muscular, there was a leanness to him, a dangerously hungry look, like a wolf too long alone and unfed in the wild.
    He didn’t say a word, just stripped off his shirt and kicked off his boots, then moved toward her.
    She never would have believed it of herself, but he radiated such barely harnessed fury that she scuttled back against the headboard and crossed her arms over her breasts protectively.
    “Och, nay, lass,” he said with silky menace. “Not after all the times you’ve tried to get me to touch you. You willna naysay me now.”
    Jane’s eyes grew huge. “I-I—”
    “Touch me.” He unknotted his plaid and let it fall to the floor.
    Jane’s jaw dropped. “I-I—” she tried again, and failed, again.
    “Is something wrong with me?” he demanded.
    “N-No,” she managed. “Uh-uh. No way.” She swallowed hard.
    “And this?” He palmed his formidable erection. “This is as it should be?”
    “Oh,” Jane breathed reverently. “Absolutely.”
    He eyed her suspiciously. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”
    Jane shook her head, her eyes wide.
    “Then give me those kisses of yours, lass, and be quick about it.” He paused a moment, then added in a low, tense voice, “I’m cold, lass. I’m so cold.”
    Jane’s breath hitched in her throat and her eyes misted. His vulnerability melted her fears. She rose to her knees on the bed and extended her hands to him.
    Never breaking eye contact, staring into her eyes as if the invitation in them was all that was sustaining him, he placed his hands slowly in hers and let her pull him onto the bed, where he knelt facing her.
    She glanced down at their entwined hands, and his gaze followed. Her hands were small and white, nearly swallowed by his work-roughened and tan fingers. She flexed her fingers against his, savoring the first
real
feel of holding Aedan’s hand. Until that moment, she’d only touched him in her dreams. She closed her eyes, savoring every bit of it, drinking the experience dry.
    She opened them to find him regarding her with expectancy and fascination.
    “Sometimes I think I know you, lass.”
    “You do,” she said, with a little catch in her voice. “I’m Jane.”
Your
Jane, she longed to cry.
    He hesitated a long moment. Then, “I’m Aedan. Aedan MacKinnon.”
    Jane stared at him wonderingly. “You’ve remembered?” she exclaimed. “Oh, Aedan—”
    He cut her words off with a gentle finger against her lips. “Does it matter? The villagers think I am. You think I am. Why should I not be?”
    Jane’s heart sank again. He still didn’t recall.
    But … he was here, and he was willing to let her touch him. She would take what she could get.
    “Jane,” he said urgently, “am I truly as a man should be?”
    “
Everything
a man should be,” she assured him.
    “Then teach me what a man does with a woman such as you.”
    Aw
, her heart purred. The look in his eyes was so innocent and hopeful, nearly masking the ever-present despair in his gaze.
    “First,” she said softly, raising his hand to her lips, “hekisses her, like so.” She planted a sweet kiss in his palm and closed his fingers over it. He did the same with both her hands, lingering over the sensitive skin of her palm.
    “Then,” she breathed, “he lets her touch him
all
over. Like this.” She slid her hands up his muscular arms and into his hair. Removing his leather thong, she combed her fingers through the plait until it fell dark and silky around his face. She laid her palms against his face, staring into his eyes. He was still beneath her touch, his eyes unfocused.
    “More,” he