Page 39 of A Hot Scot for Christmas
Fingers loosely twined, the two of them climbed the stairs. His gift was in her clutch.
Hewas in her clutch.
They entered her bed chamber and there on her bed was, in fact, a similar flat box, this one tied with a blue ribbon. She went to it. Sheepishly, Sabrina handed it over to him.
“The blue ribbon reminds me of your eyes.”
Her voice was a husky grate of sound.
He began to untie the box. “When you said you have a gift, I thought you meant…”
It’d be ungentlemanly of him to finish. Sabrina, however, was unbothered.
“That I meant to give you myself?”
She was ethereal and teeth achingly pure in her plain gown. She wore her hair in a braid, little sprigs of curls breaking free here and there. This was probably how she looked as a hack driver’s daughter living in the bowels of London. He wished he’d seen her then.
He wished he could see her for all the days of her life.
His fingers dug into the box.Dangerous times, dangerous wishes.
The box fell onto her bed. Tissue parted and inside were three crisp white cravats. He touched them, amused. Until she said…
“I thought you could wear them…and nothing else.”
His eyes bored into her. If he were a dragon, no doubt he’d breathe fire on her now.
“Be careful what you wish for, lass.”
They stared, suspended in a half world of desire about to happen. Outside snow was beginning to fall, each snowflake floated like bits of cotton. Framed in that window was the River Eden. A healthy walk from her window, but its life-giving flow was visible.
“Aren’t you going to open your gift?” he prompted.
Her cheeks plumped from her sweet smile. Sabrina tore into the box like a seasoned gift opener until she found the prize.
“Yellow silk stockings…” she traced their green silk embroidery where her ankle would be once she wore them.
“Put them on.” He was abrupt and desperate, saying it. “I want to see them on you.”
Her emerald eyes pinned him. “Youput them on me.”
She set them on the bed and planted her bottom beside them. Sabrina held his gaze and slowly, slowly she raised her hems. Daggers of lust speared him. He was losing a battle of control. Sabrina seemed to know just how to tempt a man.
Her neck exposed, her legs stretched languorous and pretty. She kicked off her shoes. Black wool stockings covered her legs and he knew without a doubt, he’d soon position himself between them.
She teased him, pulling her bodice inches lower. He decided right then to give a shout of joy for older gowns. Their looseness was his boon. Still, it was hard, the tremble in his hands when he untied the garter on her thigh, the weakness for her flooding his limbs. He disliked weakness. In himself, it was worst of all.
But he was falling, falling, falling.
Sabrina touched his growing placket and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
He clutched her knee, squeezing. “Sabrina…”
Her name was a plea and a prayer. He wanted her forever, but he could barely get hold of himself today. She scratched his placket with knowing fingernails.
Buttons slipped on his placket. One after another. He swooped in and claimed her mouth. A take no prisoners kind of kiss. Unpracticed, unyielding. He’d not stop until the fire Sabrina lit in him was quenched.
Faster and faster her fingers worked. His placket flopped open.
