Page 24 of The Laird who Craved her

Finn lost all control .

He crashed his mouth down onto hers with a sudden, explosive force that made Claire let out a soft, muffled gasp against his lips.

The kiss was hard, possessive, and thick with a passion that had been brewing between them since the moment they met in the muddy ditch. Finn’s large hand finally slid from the stone wall, his calloused fingers wrapping firmly around her narrowwaist and lifting her slightly, pulling her flush against the hard, unyielding line of his body.

Claire fit perfectly against him. It was as if her body had been designed specifically to break against his iron frame.

She let out a tiny sob into his mouth, her arms flying up around his neck. Her fingers dug deep into his thick black hair, pulling him down, demanding more. Finn groaned, a low, animalistic sound of pure hunger. He tasted of spiced ale, wild wind, and danger. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her with a savagery that left her head spinning.

The reactions between them were intense. Claire’s heart pounded, her skin hot and slick despite the cold wind. Finn’s grip bruised her waist, his body enclosing her, blurring the line between storm and him. He drank her in like a dying man in the desert, his thumb tilting her into him.

It was explosive. It was a total surrender of two people who had spent days fighting the inevitable, and now that the barrier had shattered, there was no going back.

Suddenly, through the roaring gale and the crashing of the waves, a sharp, clear voice cut through the darkness from the corridor entrance.

"Claire? Claire, lamb, are ye out here? Janet said ye went toward the battlements!"

Molly.

The sound hit them like a bucket of river water.

"Christ," Finn muttered roughly against her mouth, his breath coming in violent gasps.

With a brutal display of willpower, he tore himself away from her. He stepped back two full paces, his hands dropping to his sides, his chest heaving as he stared at her through the darkness.

Claire slumped against the wall, her legs weak. Her hair was wild in the moonlight, her gray eyes wide as she stared at him in utter shock. Her fingers were still trembling, reaching out toward the empty space where his heat had just been.

"Claire?" Molly’s voice called out again, closer now.

Finn didn't say a word. He gave her one final, burning look, promising the arrangement was now permanently broken. He vanished into the shadows of the tower stairway, leaving her alone.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The stone corridor was freezing, yet Claire felt as though she were walking through the center of a blazing hearth.

Claire pressed her back against the rough granite of the passageway, trying to draw a steady breath. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow gasps. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth, her fingers brushing her own swollen lips.

I can still taste him, she realized, her pulse stumbling wildly in her throat.The dark, intoxicating flavor of spiced ale, the wild wind, and the sheer, raw heat of him… it is still on me skin.

She could still taste him. It’s all she could think of.

"Lady Claire? Lamb, where in the heavens have ye been?"

Claire jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. She spun around, her heavy boots skidding against the floorboards.

Molly was hurrying down the opposite end of the corridor, muttering under her breath. She carried a thick linen towel over one arm, her round face pinched with maternal worry. The maid stopped abruptly the moment she saw Claire standing in the shadows.

"There ye are!" Molly exclaimed. "I was beginning to think ye'd gotten lost in these dark passages. The gathering will end soon, and I drew yer bath as ye asked. But the water will grow cold at this rate, and honestly, sweetling... ye look as though someone hit ye over the head with a pan."

Claire blinked. Once. Twice.

"What?" she managed to whisper.

"I said the water is cooling," Molly repeated gently, stepping closer and reaching out to tuck a wild, wind-blown curl behind Claire's ear. Her dark eyes searched Claire's face with tender concern. "And ye look stripped of yer senses. Are ye unwell? Did the noise of the hall become too much?"

His mouth against hers. His massive hand gripping her waist, pulling her flush against the hard, unyielding line of his body.

The dark, feral sound he made deep in his throat right before he tore himself away.