His thumb stroked her cheek, brushed her lower lip with a sensual tug. “Do ye hear me? I want ye more than I’ve ever wanted any bluidy thing in my existence. Ye’re a fire in my blood, mo chridhe. These wee curls along yer cheeks. The way ye shine when ye smile. The sweet scent of ye and the sweeter way ye touch me when ye think I’m asleep.”
