Page 109 of Scotch on the Rocks

My pulse pounded in my ears, the moment sliding from sweet to sensual in a single heartbeat. “Prove it.”

His nostrils flared but he offered no complaint as he held his ribs and slowly lowered to his knees, eyes on mine. I got off on every moment of it, the knowledge no other woman had ever had him this way.

“Did you hurt yourself?” I nodded to his hand.

“I took a tumble during the game.” He lifted my foot to his chest and unbuckled the strap. One then the other. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep up just fine.” My shoes hit the floor with a clack and he drew back, awaiting my next move.

Fighting to keep my breathing even, I brushed his thick hair back from his forehead, marvelling at the carnal grunt that punched from him at the slight touch.

He wanted me.

He’d been telling me so for weeks, but the truth of it was finally sinking in: this kind, generous man wanted only me.

“I wreck everything,” I whispered, uncertain if it was honesty or a final effort to scare him away. “It was partly my fault things broke down with Alistair … After my dad died, I shut down. Stopped communicating. He got tired of caring. I might wreck this too.”

His hands dragged up the backs of my legs and squeezed, steady and sure. “Then wreck me. Just don’t leave me.”

“Take off your shirt,” I said roughly.

He heard the promise in the statement because he tore off his jacket before I even got the words out. His shirt and tie came off next, releasing it from the waist of his kilt, he wadded the fabric and tossed it aside. I almost swore at the sight of his bare chest. He was a work of art, hard lines and roped muscle. I let myself stare, leaving no patch of skin untouched. I’d accused him not too long ago of being a pretty boy. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. The tapered V at his hips pointing to the trail of hair below his belly button was pure male. There was no other word to describe him. Especially with the dark bruise spreading across his rib cage, matching the cut on his lip.

“That looks painful,” I noted, tracing my nails across the edge of it. “I can’t believe Alistair hit you.”

“Worth it.” He voice was thick as he nodded to me with eager eyes. “Take off your underwear.”

Fisting his hair, just as he’d asked me to, I dragged his head closer. He grinned up at me and, for once, it was a little savage. Both sexy and feral.

“You seem to be mistaken, Macabe. I’m in charge, remember?”

“You’re in charge,” he agreed. Yet his hands roughly palmed the backs of my thighs, creeping up to cup the globes of my arse.

“Good, up on the bed.” I stepped out of his reach and he stood, not taking his eyes off me for a second as he backed up, palmed his bruised ribs and lowered himself to the end of the mattress.

“You might need to go on top.”

“I promise to be gentle with you,” I cooed, grazing mynails across his nipple, just hard enough to make him wince and then shudder.

“Or don’t.” His teeth gritted, gaze dragging down my body. “Dress. Take it off.” When I made no move to comply, he fingered the hem, pulling the fabric taut. “I’m all about give and take and, so far, wee harpy, I’ve done a fuckload of giving. It’s my turn and I can’t stand to see you in another man’s dress for another damn second.” Another tug, this one rough. “Take it off or I tear it, your choice.”

I considered this just long enough to torture him, then retreated out of his reach. Taking my sweet time as I found the zip along the side and languidly inched it down. He didn’t breathe. Watching with enough heat in his eyes to set the dress aflame as he waited for what came next.

“Red,” he groaned, as the dress dropped below my bra, scrubbing a distracted hand over his mouth. The fabric pooled at my waist, then hit the floor with a soft sigh. “Fuck … you look so fucking pretty like this. Spin for me.”

I didn’t, biting my lip instead.

His fists clenched and I knew it was with the effort of staying seated. “Are you going to be trouble, Juniper? Please say yes.” We shared a charged look, remembering that night in Glasgow.

“Undoubtedly.” Giving in to the urge to touch him, I crept close enough to grasp his shoulders. His thighs split automatically and I climbed over him, settling against his cock that pressed through his kilt. “No touching … not yet.”

Like snapped rubber bands, his hands pinged around my hips. I laughed, pushing them back to the mattress. “You don’t follow instructions very well for an army man.”

“Harpy, I’m close to blowing just looking at you, I can’t even remember my name right now, let alone followinstructions.” His assessment sent a delicious curl through my lower stomach. I was going to devour this amazing man, but I wasn’t through playing quite yet. Sliding from his lap, I returned to his pile of clothes and collected his tie. Lowering to my knees between his muscled thighs, I gathered his hands behind his back, looped the material around them once and paused, waiting for his reaction.

His startled eyes shot to mine at the same moment his nostrils flared in such obvious arousal, I had to squeeze my legs together.

“Problem?”

He shook his head, seemingly incapable of words. That wouldn’t do. I traced a finger around his wrist.

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