First Kiss Friday – My Fierce Highlander by Vonda Sinclair

Today’s First Kiss Friday featured guest is Vonda Sinclair, author of historical romance My Fierce Highlander.  Welcome Vonda!  Here’s the first kiss between Alasdair and Gwyneth.

“Oh, men!” She thumped her foot against the stone-paved ground and turned away. “I detest every last one of them.”

Alasdair snorted. “’Tis saddened I am to hear that you detest me, as well.”

She halted by the rock wall and sent him a sheepish glance. “I didn’t mean you.”

“And what am I, then? A wee hare?”

In the glow of sunset, her blush deepened. “Hardly.” A stiff, refreshing breeze off the loch pulled strands of hair from the knot at the back of her head.

He rose and limped forward on his cane. His gaze traveled over the tall rock wall, toward the mountains and the setting sun obscured by pink and orange clouds, but his full attention locked on this mesmerizing woman.

Gwyneth.

He passed her name through his thoughts a hundred times a day. He wanted to say her name, whisper it into her ear. But that would imply an intimacy they didn’t share.

In that moment, the sharp urge to kiss her burst through his defenses. Her small yet full lips were dark-pink and moist. Last night he had dreamed of kissing her, and a lot more—removing her clothing, stroking his lips over every inch of her soft skin, sliding fully into her tight, wet depths. He had wakened hot and aroused as he had not been in years.

“What would you do, m’lady, if I kissed you?”

Her wide-eyed gaze flew to his, and she stepped back.

Aye, retreat if you ken what’s good for you.

He was strong enough to resist her allure, but he didn’t want to. Not anymore. Damnation, he’d tried. But each day she stole more and more of his attention, until finally his nights were filled with those heated dreams, and his days with scorching fantasies. He was a chief with no interest in leading at the moment.

Slowly, he moved toward where she stood with her back to the wall. Arms crossed, she watched him warily for a moment as if he were going to attack her. She didn’t know him very well at all, did she?

He propped his cane up, placed his arm on the wall beside her and leaned casually, close to her. Closer than was proper. Her womanly essence sent his thoughts scattering. “Gwyneth, I wonder, have you ever had a kiss that near took your breath away?”

Her cheeks reddened even more.

“I confess, just the thought of kissing you the way I would like does that to me.”

She swallowed hard and stared at the ground, then at the gate as if she might make a mad dash for it. But she didn’t. “Oh, you are…unseemly.” Her whispered chastisement sounded more breathless excitement than offended shock.

“Aye. That I am. I have sinful thoughts about you at night, in my bed,” he whispered.

Her breath came out in a rush against his throat. Heat and chills chased over his skin and his erection tingled and tightened, hard as the stone wall.

He exhaled against her forehead. “God help me, Gwyneth, I want to taste your skin.” Kiss you, lips to ankle and back again, lick you in dark, forbidden places. Get drenched by your desire while you surround me and hold me tightly so deep inside you. Wrap yourself around me and moan my name.

“Good heavens,” she whispered.

“Are you wanting that, too?”

She didn’t answer.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then drew back slightly. “Gwyneth?”

She glanced up, her normally light eyes turned dark, her lips parted. Though it might be sacrilege, he thanked Heaven for female lust. She slipped her hand around his neck. Taking that as the signal he needed, he captured her lips.

She tasted of salvation and damnation at once. No woman had ever lured him to forget who he was…forget his past, his future, and fill him with the need to have her no matter the cost to his soul.

She was more delicious than the sweetest comfit. She was honey and cream he wanted to lap up like a famished cat.