Aiden MacRae was born on May 1, 1699, so that officially makes him 314 years old today! Wowza! I couldn't think of anything better for Aiden's birthday than a little extra Lindsey lovin' so here's a special scene I wrote especially for the occasion. It takes place in the beginning of
Hell Transporter. Enjoy!
***
The
late morning sun streams through the window of the cabin loft. I stretch in the
warmth of the bed and watch tiny particles of dust dance in the yellow rays.
Aiden breathes deep and even at my side and I allow myself a moment to bask in
the rightness that is this moment, this bubble of time we’ve carved out of
reality, where only he and I exist, tucked away in the woods, trying to catch
up on all the time we’ve missed.
One
thing I missed this past year is about to be rectified, if only I can sneak
away quietly enough to keep from waking him. If he wakes up, he’ll want to know
what I’m doing and I want to surprise him.
Sliding
out of the bed, I gingerly place one foot on the bare hardwood floor and then
another, all the while listening to Aiden’s breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
So
far, so good.
Then
I’m free of the bed’s embrace and clothed in nothing more than a sunbeam, still
listening, afraid he’ll sense that I’m missing from the bed. But he doesn’t, so
I quickly slip a satin nightie on and tiptoe down the stairs to grab his
present out of my purse.
Once
I hit the kitchen floor, I am lightning speed, hoping I’ll make it back before
he wakes up. Careful to skip the squeaky step, I dash back up the stairs and
round the corner just as Aiden rolls onto his back and breathes out a deep sigh.
His eyes are closed, but he is starting to stir. The sheet is lightly draped
across his hips and tented in the middle. I can’t help the grin that steals
across my face at the sight.
His
blond hair is mussed and one cheek has a pink crease running down the side from
where he was fast asleep. He blinks twice and turns his head, eyes slightly
unfocused as he takes a second to remember where he is. When I step closer to
the bed, his gaze locks with mine and the sleepy smile of recognition he offers
makes my heart swell.
“Good
morning,” I say, walking to the foot of the bed with his present held in one
hand behind my back.
“And
to you,” he replies, sitting up a little so he can lean back against the
headboard. One eyebrow pops up and he gestures with his chin to my arm. “What
are ye hiding there?”
Dang,
he’s always so perceptive. Oh well, I can work with this.
“Noooothing…”
I’m climbing onto the bed by his feet, placing my knees on either side of him
as I make my way up his body and toward the edge of the sheet where his skin
looks painted by the sun.
“Is
that right? Then what of the mischievous grin?”
“Who,
me? I don’t know what you mean.”
“I
think ye do.”
I
tsk my tongue at him. “So suspicious. Can’t a girl just come give her hubby a
kiss in the morning without ulterior motives?”
He
chuckles, flashing that dimple in his cheek. “Ah, but I know you’re up to no
good.” He watches my progress up his body, coming closer and closer to the
tented sheet, which is now drawn tight across his abdomen.
“Now
why would you say a thing like that? As it turns out, I have a present for you.”
With
a quick glance downward, he gives me a wolfish grin and says, “I have one for
you, too.”
With
my free hand, I tickle him on the ribs and make him squirm. “Mine first.”
“Yes,
ma’am,” he says, pulling a serious face. “But ye don’t need to give me a
present. I have all I need. You, me, this.” He sits halfway up to press a soft
kiss to my lips.
“It’s
for your birthday,” I reply, pressing him back down onto the pillow.
“My
birthday? Today is not my birthday. ‘Tis the first of May and it has to be—what?—June?
July? Lord, I haven’t a clue.”
“It
doesn’t matter. I missed your actual birthday…” My heart pinches at the
not-too-distant memory of the months we spent apart, but I shove the negative
thought aside. “So I’m giving you a belated present now.”
“Thank
ye, mo chridhe.”
“You’re
welcome. And it’s probably a good thing you thanked me now, because you’re not
going to be able to make sensible words for a while.”
“What
do you—”
“Close
your eyes.”
He
does as he is bid, though I can see the confusion in his wrinkled brow. It
makes me feel a teensy bit wicked. I like it.
From
behind my back, I pull out the heated massage oil that I picked up when we went
shopping in Spokane, squirt a dollop onto my palm, and place the bottle aside. Rubbing
my hands together to activate the heat, I let my eyes drink in the sight of his
bare chest, lightly dusted with blond hair, and taut with anticipation. His
thighs clench beneath me as I wiggle back and forth to secure my position.
Fingers
slick and warm, I spread my hands across his chest and slide them down his stomach.
His breath hisses in as his muscles jerk beneath my palms. His skin sucks down
the oil so quickly that I grab the bottle and dribble more over his naked body
before rubbing it in with slow, wide circles.
“Lindsey…”
His groan is a physical force that reaches out and strokes me back.
I
pull the sheet out of the way and liberally apply more of the massage oil,
watching the pulse in his neck.
“Can
I open my eyes? In the name of all that is holy, I want to watch ye, lass.”
“Well,
because you asked so nicely…”
His
lashes sweep up and those blue eyes sear me to the core. Gone is the sleepy
smile and in its place is a lava filled haze of desire that has me rocking in
place. He reaches out and tugs the spaghetti straps of my nightgown down so
they fall over my shoulders.
“So
you like your birthday present?” I ask with a teasing smile.
“Best
birthday ever,” he replies, though his voice sounds hoarse. “And now I’d like to
give ye my present.” Before I can even let out a squeak, he flips me onto my
back and crushes his mouth to mine.
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