#DailyLines #MOBY #WrittenINMyOWNHeartsBLOOD #Book8 #Outin2013 #heatherhaystackorTempurpedic

Jamie sighed, straightened up and stretched himself gingerly, groaning a little.

“God knows where we’ll sleep tonight, Sassenach,” he remarked, glancing at our rude couch as he sat down for me to finish clubbing his hair. “For the sake of my back, I hope it’s a bit softer than this.” He grinned at me suddenly. “Did ye sleep well?”

“Never better,” I assured him, smoothing out the ribbon. In fact, I ached in almost every place it was possible to ache, save perhaps the top of my head. For that matter, I’d barely slept, and neither had he. I felt simultaneously wonderful and wretched, and didn’t know from moment to moment which feeling was uppermost.

“When will we leave?”

“As soon as ye put your stockings on, Sassenach. And tidy your hair. And do up your buttons,” he added, catching sight of my excessive décolletage. “Here, I’ll do that.”

“I’ll need my medicine chest,” I said, going cross-eyed as I watched his nimble fingers flicking down my chest.

“I brought it,” he assured me, and frowned a bit, eyes intent on a recalcitrant button. “It’s a bonny piece of furniture. I expect his lordship bought it for ye?”

“He did.” I hesitated a moment, rather wishing he had said ‘John,’ rather than ‘his lordship.’ I also wished I knew where John was—and that he was all right. But this didn’t seem the moment to say any of those things.

Jamie leaned forward and kissed the top of my breast, his breath warm on my skin.

“I dinna ken whether I’ll have a bed at all tonight,” he said, straightening up. “But whether it’s feathers or straw, promise ye’ll share it with me?”

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