Page 36 of A Scot Is Not Enough
“You’ll have to do better than that,” she said.
Eyes on the floor, he scrambled to appease his inquisitor and found nothing. Floor planks were dark, his mind empty at how to explain a lifetime struggle—not life-ending woe, but the skirmish which had threaded his life for as long as he could remember.
“Have you a brother or a sister, Miss MacDonald?”
“None.”
“Then, when I say you wouldn’t understand, please know that I am saying that with as much forthrightness as I can muster. My brother is my closest friend and ally, but it was for the best that I take up residence here,” he said in clipped tones.
He turned to the dying fireworks. Words couldn’t cleanse him. Miss MacDonald must’ve grasped this and wisely held her tongue. Her velvet petticoats whispered against his calves, the tenderest part of their bridge.
Of all the directions this night could’ve gone...
He’d expected a self-serving turn—the Scotswoman advancing her purpose. Instead, Miss MacDonald wanted his hair unmoored and the reason behind his transitory state. Hardly the queries of a Jacobite rebel bent on destruction.
What was he to make of her?
“Look,” she said softly, her elegant fingers touching the glass. “The fireworks are still burning, which means you have the final question.”
Smoke clung to the sky above Vauxhall. Within the fading cloud, embers sparked, little stars flickering their last. Her offer was an act of kindness so their meeting wouldn’t end on rocky notes. Her gaze sought his. She was a true artisan in the craft ofhumanity. Her flirtations, her laugh, her smiles were all part of a woman of incredible depth.
“You tempt me in the best and worst of ways, Miss MacDonald.”
Of all the women to crave, he’d chosen her—a seductive Jacobite with a worthy heart.
“The fireworks,” she whispered. “Their light is fading.”
He consumed the shadow between her small breasts. Asking to see them wouldn’t do, not with the considerable respect his soul was building for this woman. But he wanted—needed—something to sate his carnal nature.
His gaze ascended to her silken collarbone and the pale skin covering it.
“Your shoulder,” he demanded gruffly. “I want to see it.”
Knowing glittered in hazel eyes.
“Ask for it.”
Jagged air left his lungs. Power was hers and he ceded all of it.
“Would you... please... uncover your shoulder?”
The corners of her mouth curled up.
“Uncover it yourself.”
What a seductive taunt.She could drive a man to his knees.
His laugh was rough and primitive. “You multiply my pleasure.”
Casual onlookers on the other side of King Street might see a man and a woman framed by a window. Sharper eyes would say seduction was afoot, but the keen observer would see the truth—a man surrendering to a woman.
He touched the tiny well at the bottom of her neck. So light, so bare, two reverent fingers, exploring.
Miss MacDonald inhaled fast.
The wispy sound struck sparks inside him. At least he wasn’t alone in his arousal.
Moonlight splashed her breastbone, a fascinating stretch between neck and bodice. Potent. Enamoring. He dragged his fingers down her chest, and she kindly let him have his misdirection.
