Winter frowned up at the dark ceiling. Wearing her old flannel pajamas to bed probably hadn’t been her brightest idea, considering they made her look about as enticing as a bag lady. And she probably should have left her hair loose instead of braiding it like she always did. Matt seemed to like playing with her hair, and she could have subtly draped it over his naked chest.
He’d undressed in the dark once she’d climbed into bed, but there had been enough moonlight coming through the windows for Winter to watch him strip down to his pants. He’d started to take them off, too, but had stopped suddenly, then climbed into bed with them on.
Matt had changed from his ancient clothing sometime while she’d been upstairs with her mama and Megan, apparently thinking it wouldn’t be wise to sit down to dinner in his plaid. Dinner had been interesting, with her mama asking Matt questions about his company and her papa alternating between listening, glaring at Matt when he wasn’t looking, and trying to disguise his discomfort by smiling at Winter. Megan had been unusually quiet, but Winter had caught her eyeing Matt more than once, apparently trying to reconcile Matt Gregor and Cùram de Gairn as one and the same.
The dishes had barely been stacked in the dishwasher before Matt had come into the kitchen and told Winter it was time they went to the hotel. Her mama had hustled Megan out of the room, leaving Winter alone to inform Matt they were spending the night at Gù Brath—in her room, in her childhood bed, not three doors down from her papa.
Winter had then patiently explained to Matt that her sisters didn’t stay in the hotel when they came home with their husbands. She’d explained that he was part of her family now, whether he liked it or not. And then she’d grown impatient and told him she was staying in her own bed tonight, and he could sleep in the barn for all she cared if he wasn’t up to claiming his rightful place as her husband in her papa’s eyes.
Pride was a surprisingly effective tool when dealing with stubborn men, Winter had quickly discovered. Matt hadn’t cared to discover he was married to an equally stubborn woman, but he had gone to his suite, showered and gotten a change of clothes, and returned to her bedroom aftereveryone else had retired for the night.
And now he was lying beside her, pretending to be asleep.
Winter reached down and slowly slid her pajama bottoms off, then used her feet to cram them down between the sheets. Then she unbuttoned her pajama top, sat up, shrugged it off, and dropped it on the floor.
“Why are you tossing about?” Matt asked, turning just his head over his shoulder toward her.
“I’m hot. You’re like a blast furnace.”
He rolled onto his back, took one look at her, and quickly looked up at the ceiling. “Put your clothes back on,” he growled. “If you’re hot, throw off the covers.”
Still sitting up, completely naked, Winter pulled her braid over her shoulder, took off the elastic, and slowly ran her fingers through her hair to unbraid it.
“Now what are ye doing?” he hissed, his brogue growing pronounced. “Winter,” he whispered tightly, “get dressed.”
She lay back on the pillow, fanning her hair toward him, and folded her hands over her bare stomach with a sigh. “If I’d known sleeping naked against flannel sheets felt this wonderful, I’d have done this years ago.” She wiggled deeper into the sheets, accidentally letting her leg brush Matt’s thigh. “I understand if you can’t…ah, if you can’t be husbandly tonight,” she said to the ceiling. “Or if you don’t really want me, now that I married you. Good night, then.”
“Dammit, ye don’t understand,” he snapped in a whisper. “I want ye, just not here.”
She reached over and patted his arm. “I understand. Mama explained how men’s…ah, plumbing works to all us girls growing up.”
Heavens, she was going to fry in Hades, she knew, stifling a laugh when she heard a warning growl beside her. Winter ran her hand down Matt’s tautly muscled forearm and tried to lace her fingers through his. But finding only a fist, she simply patted his hand. “We’ll go to sleep then. Mama also explained how sometimes stress can be…how it can be debilitating.”
He was on her before she could gasp, his hands gripping her hair to hold her face only inches from his. “That is not the problem,” he softly ground out.
“I can feel it’s not the problem,” she breathed as Matt’s anything but debilitated anatomy poked her thigh through his pants. She reached up and ran her own fingers through his hair until she freed it from its tether. “I want to make love to my husband,” she whispered. “But I don’t know how.”
He closed his eyes on a groan and dropped his forehead to hers. “You’re going to drive me mad, lass.”
“That’s my plan, just as soon as you teach me how,” she whispered, tilting her head back until her lips brushed his. “I’m guessing we should start by taking off your pants?”
“Does your door have a lock?”
“N-no,” she said on a shiver when Matt moved his lips down her chin toward her throat.
“W-why?” she breathed, digging her fingers into his shoulders.
He leaned away to look at her, and Winter could just make out the slash of his grin. “Do you really want your papa running in here when I make you scream?”
“I won’t scream. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”
“Just like last time?”
Winter frowned up at him. “I did not scream.”
“Aye, ye did,” he whispered, leaning down and kissing her nose. “Loud enough to wake the entire forest.”
Winter felt herself blush. “I—I screamed?”
He kissed her mortified cheeks. “With abandoned pleasure, wife.” He kissed her chin. “Several times. ’Twas a wonderful sound.”
“Screaming is good, then?” she asked on an indrawn breath when his lips found the pulse on her throat and lingered and suckled gently, causing every nerve in her body to tighten with desire.
She was just sliding her toes up his legs when he was suddenly gone, leaving only the cool air of the room to rush over her heated skin. She scowled, hearing what sounded like Matt hopping from one foot to the other as he moved away. Her bathroom light snapped on, and Winter pulled the blankets to her chin as she watched her husband—utterly, beautifully naked now—walk over to the hall door and shove a chair under the knob. He walked back to her, his form in silhouette but lit just enough for her to see there wasn’t one debilitated inch of skin anywhere on his body. Saints and curses, she needed to be careful what she asked for.
“You forgot to turn out the light,” she whispered as she stared at the beckoning hand he held out to her.
“I didn’t forget.” He wiggled his fingers. “Have you changed your mind, then?”
“No,” she whispered.
Apparently tired of waiting for her to take his hand, he wrestled the blanket from her fists, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her out of bed.
“Where are we going?” she squeaked, scrambling to catch up.
“You said you wanted to learn how to drive me mad, and I’ve promised to teach you anything you want to know,” he said, dragging her into the bright bathroom even as she tried to dig in her heels.
He pulled her up in front of him, standing them both facing the wall-to-wall mirror over the sink.
Winter stared into her own wide eyes, her gaze moving to Matt’s broad, tanned shoulders behind her, then up to the taut planes of his face broken only by his tight smile. She sucked in her breath and looked down when his hands slid around her waist and slowly rose to cup her breasts.
“All ye have to do, wife, is whisper that ye want me,” he said gutturally, his own gaze watching his thumbs trace circles around her aroused nipples. “A woman’s desire is a man’s greatest weakness.
All she has to do is say she wants him, and he’ll move mountains to please her.”
Winter couldn’t speak, couldn’t respond other than to stare in wonder as his hands continued to caress her, lifting the weight of her breasts, covering them with his sensuous heat, rolling her puckered nipples until Winter thought she’d melt with pleasure.