Page 58 of Kilt Trip

“Surly? I am ever polite and mild-mannered,” Logan said.

A wicked challenge lit her green eyes. “You’re a delight to rile up.” Her fingers trailed up the curve of his neck and slipped into his hair. Heat bloomed in his chest, unfurling in dizzying waves at the clear invitation in her touch.

“If you think I’m delightful when I’m mad, you should see me when I’m not.” He tugged her closer, his fingers slipping below the soft black bow.

Her soft intake of breath sent fire through his veins. She stilled in his arms, wet her lips, and looked up at him through her lashes. “Then, let’s stop fighting.”

Her eyes darkened, and his defenses crumbled like centuries-old castle walls, broken-down and useless. His skin burned with the thought of laying down their weapons. Of giving in to this woman. “Are you suggesting a truce?” he asked, barely holding on to the thread of conversation.

“A compromise.”

The word was loaded, but for now he couldn’t consider the two dozen pages of fine print that surely accompanied this offer. Whatever working together looked like tomorrow, tonight it meant Addie had let her guard down.

She’d seen the land, the traditions, the stories, that made up the very fiber of his being. She saw him, and it was enough to change her mind.

“You were impressed, then?” he asked. Sparring with Addie, the challenges she issued, made him feel out of control and also daring. But the quiet side of her that revealed her heart so carefully called to him in a way he had no choice but to answer.

“Birdie and Gertie sure were.”

He searched her eyes for some assurance she felt the same, but he wanted to hear her say it. “And you?”

She slid her hand down the curve of his neck, past his shoulder, and gripped his bicep. Logan’s heartbeat picked up speed like an accelerating train.

“I didn’t know this about myself, but I’m a big fan of the Scottish accent.” She caught her lip between her teeth.

He wanted his teeth on her lips. His hands in her hair. He was playing with fire but too mesmerized by the shimmering heat to step back.

“And the guide...” Her hand came to Logan’s hip.

He struggled to pull in enough oxygen as Addie’s head shifted closer to his. Blood rushed through his veins as if they’d been empty before. Powerless to stop his movement, he bent toward her.

“Sauntering around in a kilt all day...” Addie said, so close her breath warmed his lips. Her fingers splayed across his thigh, fissures of lightning spreading in five directions.

And then her fist closed, hiking the material of his kilt and shattering his resolve.

20

Addie simply couldn’t summon all the reasons this was a bad idea. The need to know how Logan’s chest would feel and if his mouth would taste like whisky consumed her mind.

His hand settled on her waist, and the other clamped around hers where it twisted in his kilt. But not to stop her—to spin them. He moved her backward, the space between their bodies holding steady like the opposing sides of magnets. She bumped against the cold surface of the old stone wall, and the resistance disintegrated.

In the slowest motion, Logan’s legs pressed against hers, then his hips, then his chest. With one hand braced by her head, he pinned her against the hard wall. Not forcefully, but so every inch of him pressed up against every inch of her.

He threaded his hand into her hair, tipping her face up to him, and closed the gap between them. Soft. Light. Hesitant. His tongue reached out to meet hers. A quiet stroke. An invitation. “Is this alright?” he asked against her lips, the vibration of his words turning her needy, the shadows making it more illicit.

“Yes.” Very much, yes.

Tugging her closer, Logan deepened the kiss, the brush of his stubble a tingly afterthought. Melting into him, Addie gave in to the sensation of his mouth and his hands and his body.

His fingertips slipped from her hair to the curve of her cheek and held her like she was something precious.

Logan’s mouth moved slowly over hers, and she burned where he touched her. No one had ever kissed her like he did. Maybe rushed or sloppy, confident or demanding, but never sweet. Never savoring. Like he could do this for as long as she’d let him.

His lips and the confident hold he had on her were powerful and heady. And it felt like a connection and an understanding and maybe even a promise.

A quiet buzz of alarm mixed with the desire bubbling in Addie’s veins. She was in too deep here. What had started out as an attempt to rile him up—fun and easy—had turned into a jump into the deep end.

Addie bunched up his shirt in her fist, trying to tug some of the intimacy out of the moment. She’d expected their kiss to be sizzling—how could it not be?—but she wasn’t prepared for the heaviness, for the feel of his body sweeping her away.

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