Page 45 of A Plaid Case of Loving Ye
He had to laugh at her assessment, because the placewasbeautiful. “Dinnae fash.” He moved up beside her and spread out the spare, clean kilt he’d brought. “The water moves fast—and verra cold. But I’ll no’ force ye to bathe if ye dinnae—”
“Too late!”
She was already pulling the pins from her hair, and Ramsay jumped to help her. God’s wounds, itdidfeel like silk, spilling through his fingers as he released the fiery tresses from their braids.
Then she stepped forward, away from him, toward the water. And turned to him.
She held his gaze, mischief and excitement sparkling in her eyes as she reached for the ties holding her bodice closed.
Ramsay’s tongue darted over his lips, his gaze devouring her the way a starving man would eye a delicacy and vowed not to blink. Because Nicola Oliphant was stripping out of her clothingin front of him, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so beautiful.
Soon she was down to just her chemise, and when she bent to untie her stocking, the sunlight filtered through the lightweight linen, outlining her sweet arse and gentle curves. He’d touched her, there and there, and the memory made his mouth dry.
He curled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her—to keep from reaching forhimself. God’s blood, his cock was rock-hard under his kilt, but he didn’t want to sully the moment by focusing on that. Nay, this wasn’t just about desire and the urge to claim her; this moment was about beauty and strength and her realizing her desirability.
But, you know…alsothe other stuff.
As she straightened, she pulled her chemise over her head, and his knees went weak. She stood proudly, surrounded by beautiful nature, that red hair flowing down around her shoulders, looking like a nymph.
“Are ye ready Ramsay?” she asked teasingly.
“Mwrampf.”
‘Twas all he could manage, but he did nod eagerly and stumble toward her.
She laughed and backed up a space. “Ye dinnaelookready.”
He was fully dressed. And fully erect.Ready.
“Tell ye what,” she offered, turned back to the water and calling over her shoulder. “I’ll go ahead and get started. Ye grab the soap and join me.”
His sword belt hit the ground.
By the time she’d reached the water’s edge, he was kicking out of his boots. By the time she was calf-deep in the water, her hands on her hips, Ramsay was unbuckling his belt.
And when she ducked her head under the waterfall and screamed, he was nude.
He lunged toward the water, thinking only to save her, when she emerged, laughing. “’Tis cold!”
His heart slowed, as he splashed toward her, his cock jutting proud and eager between them. “I told ye!”
“Nay, ye said ‘twascold.” Still laughing, she tilted her head back. “This isfookingcold.”
Had he thought her beautiful before, standing on the bank? Here, the water falling around her, she looked like some sort of goddess. Her nipples were tight buds from the cold, the thatch of curls between her legs a mere shadow, droplets of water sparkling on her skin like diamonds.
And her smile…there was suchjoyin her smile.
‘Twas as if she was a flame, and he a moth—Nay, no’ a moth, something manly and romantic!—so surely did he approach her. He wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the spray of water in his face, and lowered his lips to her skin.
“I’ll keep ye warm, love.”
Chapter 9
He’d remembered the soap.
Ramsay had told her he’d keep her warm, and St. Crystal’s blessed elbow, did he! His hands were everywhere—cupping, stroking, firing her blood—as he washed her. The pair of them were sometimes under the falling water, and sometimes they stood away from it, the water lapping at their thighs.
His fingers dug into her scalp, massaging the soap into her curls, then combing through them to release the suds. She returned the favor, her palms gliding across his muscles and scars as she soaped him.
