Connie Mason

“And what’s a healer’s touch like?” she asked, working quickly to push the needle through and tie off another knot, closing his wound with each stitch.
“Light as a feather. Like this.”
He moved his hand from her arm to her breast. His fingertips brushed the bared skin above her bodice in teasing strokes. She held herself still, beguiled by the sensation. She’d never have guessed her body would react so to a man. She should be afraid, she knew, but her only fear was that he’d stop.
His touch moved down, between the stiff boning of her bodice and the soft, thin chemise, circling her nipple slowly through the cloth of her undergarment.
Oh, how he made her ache. He tormented that needy skin with his nearness. She fought the urge to squirm into his touch. When he finally flicked a nail over it, a jolt of wickedness shot from her breast to her womb.”
― Connie Mason, Sins of the Highlander

“His mouth descended upon hers and swallowed up her cry.
She'd been kissed sweetly before, stylized expressions of courtship during some of the dances favored by Queen Mary's court.
This kiss bore no resemblance to those. This was a ravishment, a demanding plunder of her mouth.
He stole her breath, but she was so surprised by the sudden invasion, she didn't think to pull away. She froze like a coney confronted by a fox.
He filled her with breath from his own body, warming her to her toes.
'I should be revolted. I should be screaming to get away.'
But then his mouth went suddenly soft and beguiling on hers. Elspeth had never imagined the like.
'How strange, this shared breath, this mingling of souls.”
― Connie Mason, Sins of the Highlander