Page 142 of The Duke's Daring Bride

Since Alistair was smiling, her protest died weakly. Instead, she leaned closer. “You love me?”

Her leg was thrown over one of his, skirts most definitely wrinkled, and he dropped his hand to her hip, pulling her closer until she was straddling his lap. The movement shoved the wool of his kilt away, bunching it beneath her.

“I do,” he rasped, a wicked look in his eyes which made her breathless.

“But—I know this isn’t what you had in mind, Alistair, when you suggested we marry…”

“Better.” He shifted her closer. “Much better.”

Oh. Her hands rose from his shirt to cup the sides of his neck. His skin was so warm, so enticing…what had they been discussing? Oh yes.

“I told you I wasn’t duchess material.”

“Better,” he repeated, grinning. “I chose ye…”

“Because I was below you in social standing, I know.” It was difficult to concentrate in this position. Goodness, he was—“Because it gave you the upper hand in our marriage, and you didn’t want to open yourself up to mockery.”

He grunted in agreement, even as his hand slid around to her backside and the other dropped to the front of her robe.

“But Alistair…”

His fingers skimmed along the top of her breast, causing her to gasp and arch into his touch, thrusting her core forward against the intriguingly hard length beneath his kilt.

Oh, hello.

“Love ye, Liv.” Alistair bent forward, his breath tickling her throat. “I was wrong. Ye…are what I need.”

“Yes, I can feel that,” she agreed wryly, rocking forward against his cockstand. “But I’m talking about the marriage, not the marriage bed.”

His head lifted and he met her eyes. “I am too.”

“You need me?” she whispered.

“Always.”

Well, honestly, how could she do anything besides melt? “Oh, Alistair,” Olivia murmured, leaning close enough to brush a kiss across his lips. “Goodness, I love you.”

He hummed against her mouth, even as his hand reached into her robe and cupped her breast. His other hand kneaded her arse, and both motions sent the most delicious currents through her body.

“Have I mentioned tonight how fine you looked in your kilt, husband?”

“Thrice. I could…hear it again.”

Grinning, she nipped at his jaw. “You look verra handsome, Alistair.” She rolled her Rs, the way Hamish did, and Alistair’s shoulders jerked in a chuckle.

“Want…see best part?”

She was nearly breathless. “Of wearing a kilt?”

Alistair grunted as he tugged her even closer. “Easy access,” he rasped.

Beginning to giggle, Olivia reached between them, pulling and tugging, until the wool popped free of her hips. “Husband! It’s true, then?” She wrapped her hands around his erect cock. “Scotsmen don’t wear anything beneath their kilts?”

“Always…with the questions,” he rasped.

When his fingers found her nipple and pinched, she moaned, then rocked forward. “I—I am a reporter, you know. Must investigate.”

“Good lass.”

---