Page 30 of Sinful Scottish Laird
Daisy didn’t allow him to finish. She caught his lapels and jerked him forward at the same moment she rose up on her toes and kissed him. She planted her lips on his, and she felt the shock of her behavior and the softness of his lips reverberate down to her toes.Soft.In spite of his strength, his lips weresoft.
Arrandale did not resist her, oh no—his hand was on her breast, his arm around her waist, pulling her into his body, pressing her backward as he kissed her. Whatever Daisy’s intention had been, it was swallowed and forgotten in the wake of his ferocious response. She opened her mouth to his, felt his tongue slide in between her teeth. He cupped her face, his thumb at the corner of her mouth as his tongue tangled with hers.
Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm as he pressed a length of hardness against her. A delicious and salacious image of her legs open as he slid that hardness into her, her breasts exposed and straining for him, filled her mind’s eye. She moved against him, arching into him, sliding her pelvis against his hip. It was a wild kiss, full of unacceptable pleasure, full of craving and anticipation, full of the sort of thirst that could not be slaked.
And then, just as suddenly as Daisy had begun it, Arrandale ended it. He let go her waist and drew back from her. He picked up the box of cheroots from the shelf where he’d dropped it when Daisy kissed him, and ran his hand over the top of his head as his gaze skated over her, from the top of her head to the tips of her jeweled slippers. He studied her as he swiped his forefinger across his bottom lip. “Was it worth the risk, then?” he asked, his voice deep and rough. He pointed to the open door, to the people, she presumed, that could have found them there in the midst of that torrid kiss.
Daisy couldn’t think about that—she was still trying to find her breath. Still feeling his lips on hers. She shakily pushed away from the shelving and ran her hands down the sides of her waist. “You tell me.”
In the dim golden light of a single candle, she saw a glittering in his eyes that she felt very much in herself. Lust and pleasure. Surprise. Fascination.
“As I said, you play with fire,” he said softly. “You are to be married soon—you risk too much.”
“I know,” she said simply. There was no argument for her behavior. There was only need. Raw, monstrous need.
Arrandale moved toward the steps leading up to the hallway. He paused there and glanced back at her. His eyes still gleamed with the spark of that kiss...or rather, Daisy imagined that they did. “If you do that again, I’ll no’ be responsible for my response, aye?”
He meant that to shock her, to shake some sense into her. But it thrilled her. She looked at this man, this bewitching man, and thought she could very well take flight with all the desire she was feeling for him at the moment. “I understand.”
He disappeared up the stairs.
When he’d gone, Daisy leaned back against the shelving and closed her eyes, releasing the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.That man, that man...he stoked such a fire in her! No man had ever affected her so, not even Clive. She luxuriated in the tingling in her body, the memory of his mouth and hands on hers, the feel of his body pressed against her. She ran her hands up her arms trying to re-create that feeling, but it was no use.
Daisy sighed and opened her eyes. Good God, she had just kissed the Scotsman. Uninvited, she had kissed him like a woman with few morals and a complete disregard for her reputation. She had lost her fool mind. But to answer his question, it had been well worth the risk.
* * *
CAILEANWASAman of experience, and yet he feared the pleasure of that surprising, stunning kiss was evident in his expression somehow, if not in his trews. For that reason, he delivered the cheroots to the butler, then made his way to the room he’d been given for the night.
He was lost in thought and sensations he’d not felt in months. Women were such strange creatures, always fluffing their wings and smiling as if they knew a secret.
He was unsettled by that kiss. It had moved him, had made him want...something.Was that boldly flirtatious, devil-may-care widow likewise unsettled? Was it possible that she wasn’t as dauntless as she fancied herself to be? Could she really be contemplating marriage with one man and kiss him like she just had?
Cailean was annoyed with her for having kissed him and kicking up the storm that was raging in him. He was annoyed with himself for having succumbed to it so quickly and so completely.
And yet he knew it was absurd to be vexed. What did any of it matter to him? He was not her keeper. He was not in the hunt. He was not the judge of her character. The woman had a peculiar dilemma and perhaps she was addressing it as well as anyone could in her circumstance. What did he care, then?
He didn’t care. Hewouldn’tcare.
He readied for bed in that meager room with a single, narrow window overlooking the loch, and a brazier for warmth. The bed was too short, and his feet hung off the end of it. The pillow was little more than a square of cloth stuffed with a few goose feathers. Cailean punched it several times, but it was useless.
He lay on his back, his hands pillowing his head now, staring up in the dark at the bare ceiling. Aye, he was vexed.Nettled.This wasn’t like him—he never felt so out of sorts. It was this blasted bed and pillow, that was what...
Or perhaps it was simpler than that. Perhaps, having discovered that he was now unpolished in the art of flirting, he realized he’d spent too much time with no other company than a dog and a horse. Cailean had been well-occupied building Arrandale and working with his father. He’d had no time for unpredictable women. And he’d been perfectly content, too, by God.
Or, had he convinced himself of that? Because it had taken nothing more than a kiss to untether that unfed, untrained beast of desire in him.
Damn her, but this washerfault. He’d not asked to be kissed, especially not in a way that suggested the lady wanted more,muchmore from him, and goddammit, he’d wanted to give her more, there in the larder.
His ill humor, this feeling at sixes and sevens, was her fault.
But what, exactly, he intended to do about it, Cailean had no idea.
CHAPTER NINE
“IDON’TAPPROVEof Mr. Fergus MacDonald swearing before Ellis,” Belinda said to Daisy the next morning as she helped her dress. “That sort of talk will unduly influence a child and may very well lead to risqué behavior.”
“Risqué behavior? What sort of swearing?” Daisy asked as Belinda finished lacing her gown.
