His mouth started its journey down her body again, and Grace could only helplessly, and eagerly, anticipate where he would touch her next.
And then it came—that hot, wet, and most intimate kiss. Grace bucked against him, and he held her hips and used his tongue to send her over the edge.
She tightened, spiraling upward, keening her pleasure aloud. And then Grey was there, kissing her face, her neck, and finally settling back over her mouth. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing across her sensitive nipples. He entered her slowly, pulling back and then pushing just a little bit deeper in an unhurried rhythm that sent her spiraling again.
His tongue made love to her mouth, and Grace could only cling to him as brilliant flashes went off in her head. She reached down and grabbed his hips, pulling him even more deeply inside her.
His hard, overheated body drove against her again and again, and Grace gloried in the strength of his response to her own pleasure. He reared up suddenly, deeply sheathed inside her, threw back his head, and let out a growl that echoed off the high ceiling.
Grace stroked his arms and shoulders and ran her hands over his chest. And when he lowered himself to his elbows and kissed her, she ran her fingers through his damp hair and savored the taste of their lingering passion.
“I’m thinking I can talk Daar into only one day,” he whispered past a lazy smile, moving to lie beside her.
“And if I find ya in my bed tonight, I might even talk him into letting me work out your penance.”
Grace was too spent to rally a response. She was more inclined to cuddle against him and go to sleep.
She yawned, rather loudly, wrapped her arm around his waist, and settled her head on his shoulder.
He shrugged, disturbing her contentment. “Hey. You have a ski lift to save,” he reminded her. “And a boss to get rid of.”
Grace lifted her head and tried to work up enough energy to glare at him. “They’ve both lasted this long, they can last a few more minutes. Or didn’t you know that a woman needs cuddle time after, just as much as she needs foreplay?”
“Cuddle time?” He choked on a chuckle, relaxing back against the bed and gathering her tightly against him.
The sound of a child fussing came from the baby monitor by the side of the bed. Grace let out a groan and tried to sit up.
“I have to go to him,” she said when Grey wouldn’t let her.
He merely cocked his ear to the sounds of Baby demanding attention. “Wait,” he said. “Somebody will get him.”
It was Ian they heard coming into the room, talking to the child in a voice that was barely recognizable.
“Ah, wee one,” Ian said with a sing-song lilt. “Are ya feeling abandoned? Come to your new uncle, little bairn,” he continued.
Grace listened to the rustle of Baby being picked up.
“There now,” Ian said. “You come with me. I’ll fill that tiny belly of yours. And I’ll change that uncomfortable nappy while we’re at it.”
Grace turned a horrified look on Grey as a thought struck her. What would Ian think of Baby if he knew who his father was?
As if he could read her mind, Grey slowly shook his head. “He’ll never know, Grace. Unless you tell him, he will not know.”
“What…what would he do?”
“To the babe?” he asked, leaning back in surprise. “Nothing. Ian’s not a cruel man. But I would just as soon he not have that kind of weapon against MacBain.”
“As you do? It was Ian’s daughter who died, and your…your fiancée,” she said, almost choking on the word. Child-bride would be more appropriate. She met his penetrating stare with a defiant lift of her chin.
“Ah, Grace,” he finally said. “You’re going to make me pay for that supposed sin for a long time, aren’t you?”
She wiggled to see if he would let her up.
Surprisingly, he did. He climbed off the bed, leaving his sword lying beside her. Grace stood up, pulling the sheet with her, wrapping it around her like a cloak. She then took hold of the sword. She couldn’t lift it, so she dragged it across the bed. And as she had guessed, once she stood it on the floor, her hands were even with her chin. It was as tall as she was.
“Well, you don’t ever have to worry I’ll use this on you,” she said, using both hands to try to hold it up like a weapon.
“Wee blessings,” he agreed, taking it from her just as she was about to drop it on her bare toes.
He hefted it with his right hand and held it up without the least bit of effort, saluting her by bringing it to his forehead and bowing.
“Your full accent is back,” she said.
He placed the sword over the arms of the chair. “I’m comfortable with you, I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I need not guard my words.”
Grace went weak in the knees. There wasn’t another thing this man could have said that would have tugged at her heart strings more profoundly.
Grey was comfortable with her, like warm slippers on a cold winter night, like hot cocoa in front of a fire, like loafing in bed all day on Sunday reading the papers. She liked the thought of everyday life with Grey.
If she overlooked the fact that the man had no electricity in his bedroom and that he acted more like a medieval warrior than a ski resort owner, she just might like to spend the rest of her days here at Gu Bràth.
Grace sat at the end of a large table loaded with enough food for ten men. At the moment, there were only five of them eating. Father Daar, bless her good luck, was off someplace, she hoped on only day two of his novena. She was still embarrassed about being discovered in bed with Grey and was in no hurry to face the man of the cloth any time soon.
Jonathan was conspicuously missing as well, and Grace guessed he had finally come to his senses and stopped beating his head against the brick wall the four MacKeages presented. Either that, or he had walked into the mountains on his own to look for her disks.
Baby was present, however. He was on his second trip around the table, being passed from man to man, entertaining them all with his new trick. It was becoming a contest to see who could get him to smile the most.
Ian was winning. The grumpy old sourpuss was making a complete fool of himself, rubbing Baby’s chin with his beard and making funny cooing sounds.
As each man got Baby in turn, he gave his opinion on a name for the child. Each MacKeage had lectured her already, saying it was indecent to let the boy go so long without a proper name.
Callum wanted to call him Duncan, saying it was a noble, strong name for such a hearty lad.
Morgan thought Douglas was a finer name and that they could call him Dougie while he was young.
Ian thought she should call him Malcolm.
And Grey? Well, he had given her a cheeky grin and said he thought Satchel fit the boy pretty well.
Their little game reminded her that it was Mary’s wish that Michael name his son. Yet Grace still did not know if the man was sane or not. And she was sitting at a table with the only people she could ask.
She was loath to bring up the subject, though. Her head ached from too little sleep, and she was in no hurry for the shouting to start again.
But the men all looked tired and weather-worn. It was possible they might not even be up to causing a scene. And their bellies were full. Grace remembered from having six older half brothers that a man with a full belly was usually more mellow. More pliable. And less inclined to argue.
“I was wondering,” she started, reaching out to take Baby and settle him onto her lap, “if you gentlemen would answer a question that’s been bothering me for some time.”
“What would that be, lass?” Callum asked, just before he put a fork full of eggs in his mouth.
“I was wondering if you could set aside your prejudices just for a moment. I need your honest and unbiased,” she emphasized for good measure, “opinion. I have a worry that Michael MacBain isn’t quite…well, that he’s not quite sane.”