Page 66 of The Devil Wears Tartan

I make a low, guttural sound and squeeze my thighs tight around her, but I don’t give in.

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to dirty talk,” I say as I rock against her.

She groans again. “Oh yeah? You didn’t think I’d be the type to tell you that if I pushed that skirt up right now and slid my hand between your legs, I bet you’d be soaked for me?”

She grabs one of my thighs just under my skirt, like she might do it right here and now.

“Jesus, Moira,” I hiss.

“I don’t think you should underestimate me, Kenzie.”

She goes back to stroking my nipple, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming. I need her mouth.

“You talk a big game, but...” I trail off as a shiver runs through me when she undoes the clasp of my bra. It slips forward, baring me to her, and she tugs the whole thing down my arms with a grumble of impatience.

Once she’s tossed the bra to the side, she reaches up to cup both my breasts, kneading and squeezing until I’m panting for breath and shaking from the effort of not giving in to the burning need to kiss her.

“You were saying?”

Her smug tone cuts through my consciousness enough to let me climb off her lap and put a few inches of space between us.

“If I’m getting naked,” I pant, “you should have to get naked too.”

“That’s getting very close to begging, Kenzie.”

I shrug like I’m not a half-second away from jumping back into her lap. “I just don’t think you deserve an advantage.”

She reaches for the bottom of her shirt. “I don’t need one.”

A few seconds and a couple less articles of clothing later, Moira is completely topless, and I’m completely unable to breathe.

She’s mesmerizing. Every curve of her body looks like it took a master artist hours to carve out of smooth, pink and peach marble. Her nipples are hard peaks just begging me to lean over and trace them with my tongue.

“Goddamn,” I breathe,

When I can finally avert my gaze long enough to glance at her face, I find her blushing. She sits up straighter and crosses her arms, hiding herself from me.

“I know I’m not—” she starts to say, her eyes fixed on the blanket until they flick up when I interrupt her.

“I’m not interested in what you’re not, Moira.” I can’t listen to her say anything cruel about herself, not when she’s sitting there looking good enough to deserve every word of praise in the world. “I promise you, no one in their right mind could think about anything you’re not when what you are is so...so fucking beautiful.”

We stare at each other as the intimacy of the word washes over us both.

I could have called her hot or sexy. Even gorgeous or stunning would have been casual enough, but beautiful—

That’s not something you say when all you’re focused on is winning a bet.

“You think so?” she whispers.

I could deflect or laugh it off, but instead I swallow and nod.

“I do.”

She smiles, her grin full and uninhibited, and I feel like I’m soaking up the sun itself as I watch her. After a moment of me staring like an idiot, she chuckles and shakes her head. “You know, that still doesn’t mean you’re winning.”

Another jolt of electricity hits as I watch her gaze rake down my body.

The game is on again.

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