Page 83 of A Scot Is Not Enough
She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears wanted out. Why torment herself with what she couldn’t have? The crown gave letters patent to men of the highest moral fiber. Alexander would have to marry an upstanding woman, not a tainted daughter of a Jacobite rebel.
“Alexander...”
Air cooled behind her.
“You could call me Alex... if you prefer.” He stood up and swept her hair over her shoulder.
“Alexander.”
She cleared her throat, trying to sound like a woman with her wits about her, but his mouth was hot and insistent. His kisses would leave scorch marks on her shift.
“I like hearing you say all the syllables of my name,” he whispered between kisses.
Warm hands held her captive, rubbing and sliding over her ribs. She writhed against the wall, her hips knowing what she wanted. The world could disappear. The French could invade. She didn’t care. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Until a cold damp cloth touched her nape.
Air hissed between her lips. Water dribbled down her back. The chill shocked, erotically so, the teasing wet trails slipping down her torso. Practiced fingers dragged her shift down to her waist.
“You mean to bathe me,” she said huskily.
“I mean to take care of you.”
His words tugged at her heart. Hadn’t he already twined a rope around the organ? Her heart leapt at the sound of his voice and throbbed at the feel of his touch. And he was just as thorough, shattering her defenses with each swipe of the cloth.
“Turn around.”
His voice beguiled her to unpeel herself from the wall. She turned and faced him, her narrow chest expanding and contracting as if her lungs could barely keep up. His eyes seared a leisurely path from her eyes to her mouth to her breasts. A masculine brow arced as if querying,Aren’t you going to cover them?
Her chin tilted a mutinous denial.
A gruff laugh and his mouth dented sideways. “You are one pleasant surprise after another.”
“No need for false modesty. There is a reason why I’m half-naked,” she said with equal smokiness.
His eyes smoldered darkly.
“Then I should do something about that.”
He dipped the cloth in water, wrung it out, anddragged it from her neck to her right nipple. Exquisite icy heat sparked that nib of flesh. She melted against the wall as he stroked the damp cloth in sluggish swirls over her breastbone, the furrows of her ribs, and around her navel. She did a fine job maintaining her composure. She couldn’t be with Alexander, but nothing would stop this dalliance. She’d seize the luxury of being with him—until she couldn’t.
Goose bumps flared across cool, damp skin. The tingle was a reminder that she was alive. So was the joy in watching him, brows slashed in concentration, a lock of hair brushing his whiskers, and his mouth sensual and studied. Only Alexander could manage that heart-bending combination. She tucked the lock behind his ear, but his focus burned intensely on her body like a master of music cultivating his next sonata.
How perfect to be his chosen instrument.
He drenched the cloth again. Soap might’ve been involved. It was slippery and fine on her arms and torso. Her maestro seemed especially fond of worshipping her breasts, eliciting sweet cries from her. Careful fingers spun erotic circles on the tips of her nipples.
Her blood ran thick as honey.
“You are, if anything, attentive.” Her voice was pleasure-drenched.
“To your breasts, yes.”
Her husky laugh followed. “My biscuits.”
“Crumpets,” he corrected, his eyes pinning her. “My favorite.” Artful fingers traced barely-there curves. “You are the pinnacle of loveliness. Not all men crave bountiful bosoms.”
Well!
