Page 84 of The Scot Who Loved Me
His answer was a pleased grunt, and appreciative eyes.
A fuse crackled in their stillness. Hot and weighty. She scratched her fingernails on the linen between them. Will took note, watching her over his shoulder’s brawny summit. The move was hers. The conversation was hers. Yet, by the sheer force expanding inside her, she was incapable of talking. Her mouth was dry, her tongue heavy, and her hand slid closer to Will’s body.
Will shifted his hips, the intimate whisper of sheets following. “I spent all night with the lads. No harlots, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Her relief was like the sun. HisNo harlotsheralded a new and welcome turn. Will sensed it too, his big smile half-buried again in the pillow.
“We were out all night. Then I spent my morning asking about Rory MacLeod and men withT-branded thumbs who might’ve been at Gun Wharf the night you were attacked.”
“And? What did you find?” she asked, though Will stretching his arm across the sheet toward her was more compelling.
“Rory MacLeod is new to the City, a bare-knuckle fighter with a middling reputation.”
She swallowed dryness building in her throat. “And the men withT-branded thumbs?”
“Too many to count,” he sighed. “London’s infested with rats and criminals. It’s a race between the two, and I’m no’ sure who’s winning.”
Her heart swelled. She couldn’t stop herself from gushing, “You’re winning, Will MacDonald, with your better nature and your sense of honor.”
She brushed the side of his thigh. The unseen fuse hit a powder spot. Sparks danced hot and fast. Will was statue still.
Her hand ventured higher. “You have certain power over the gentler sex, you know.”
“I flashed my thighs and bits at Marshalsea. You couldna help it, lass. You were overcome.”
Her smile felt grand. “Your secret weapon, these caber-tossing thighs.”
She rubbed crinkly hairs on his leg and touched his flesh. Will’s ribcage expanded from a fast inhale.
He wassohard.
“What else can your thighs do?”
She exulted in the feel of him. Strong. Vibrant. Gooseflesh prickling where she touched. This was a different world, a cocoon, this bed withhim and her in it. Clothed or unclothed didn’t matter. This belonged to them.
The more she caressed, the more Will melted. Boneless, jointless, slayed by simple pleasure. Long, tanned fingers splayed in white sheets, the fingertips digging into the bed.
She bent over his hand and kissed each knuckle. Light, soft kisses. Seeds of affection. Sweet and worthy of a young girl kissing a young man for the first time in a summer glen.
Will slowly turned his hand, palm up. Her lips hovered above his wrist.
Their first kiss.
Amber eyes watched her. Will offered connection, to their past, to what they once had.
Could they try again?
Carnal tenderness was her answer. A gentle kiss on his wrist, to the fragile sinew and veins that made this not-so-fragile man.
His audible inhale was a gift. Her smile grew against his flesh. Her mouth wasn’t ready to leave this warm, poignant skin.
Will grinned in return, though it was half-buried in his pillow.
This was fair. He deserved to be the center of pleasure.
She sat up, her limbs languid, her soul light. The sheets were cozy and they smelled of Will. Even touching his sheets gave her pleasure. She skimmed his thigh and her fingertips discovered the crease where thigh and bottom met. A barely there line. Skin soft, flesh firm. From the white of the pillow, Will’s eyes pooled black.
Hades was pleased.
