Page 104 of For a Scot's Heart Only
He yanked the neckerchief out of her bodice. Mary’s stunned inhale was satisfying and erotic.
“She was ruining his life. The shipmaster had no satisfaction,” he said.
“None at all?” she asked far too innocently.
His eyes narrowed. She was playing this to the hilt. He leaned in close, his arm braced to the wall.
“None. Or any other adjectives a man can think of when a woman drives him to distraction.” He smiled tightly at her. This game was far from over. “The sea god owed this shipmaster a great debt.”
“The siren was his recompense.”
“Paid in full.”
He lifted the sheer cloth to his face and breathed her scent. He was close to combusting. The smell of her breasts was on this cloth. He’d go mad trying to parse her essence.
“Even being with you smells good.” He jammed her neckerchief into his coat pocket, the one that rested over his heart. It was sentimental; he didn’t care.
Mary traced his ear, his scar, before her hands drifted to his chest. “I’m not getting my neckerchief back, am I?”
“Not until I need you to wear it again.” His mouth slanted sideways. “Your skin has a certain fragrance which drives me to distraction.”
She laughed softly. “You mentioned that. But we’re not making progress, not with my promised story or our negotiations.”
He brushed untidy wisps off her forehead. Her skin was warm silk to his touch.
“Let’s agree those are bedtime stories.”
She tipped her face to his. “And the other part? Your request for daytime arrangements?”
He kissed her lightly on the forehead before forcing some distance between them. She huffed and tried reaching for his coat, but he stayed a wise arm’s length from her.
“If I don’t put some distance between us,” he said, “I’ll put your petticoats under your chin and swive the daylights out of you, and this would be bad for business at Fletcher’s House of Corsets and Stays.”
She was coy, petting her thigh where her hem was above her garter. He gritted his teeth, madness bearing down on him.
“Mary...” He growled his warning. “You’re loud when you reach satisfaction.”
“Am I?”
Her startled look was priceless.
He nodded emphatically. “Very loud.”
She shook her petticoats until her hems dropped. She smoothed her stomacher, collecting herself before brushing past him to her workroom. He followed, of course, which was becoming a bad habit. Mary went to a small mirror on the wall. She was pretty, arms raised, fixing pins and tucking curls.
“What makes you think we can carry on politely today?”
A fair question.
He adjusted rioting flesh in his breeches, grumbling. “I don’t know.”
It was an honest answer. Her wary gaze met his in the mirror. They were in uncharted waters. Her with her vow of no serious entanglements and him bothered in more ways than he could count. If he cared to look deeper than his own base needs, he might find what made Mary Fletcher tick. Her league, her kin, were inviolable, but he couldn’t say what drove her. Duty? Responsibility? A need to protect? He dragged both hands over his head.
She turned from the mirror. “You’re frustrated, and I don’t mean”—she pointed to his placket—“that.It’s something else.”
His ballocks pained him but he managed to tuck his erection upward in his placket. It would do, but she’d touched a poignant nerve.
“We should not refuse ourselves this small pleasure,” he said.
