Page 102 of What a Scot Wants
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In the carriage heading back to Dunrannoch House at a much slower pace than he’d taken to get there, Ronan’s hands pressed over Imogen’s limp body for the third time, searching for injuries, despite Niall’s repeated insistence that not one hair on her head had been harmed.
Her eyes fluttered open, a smile curving her perfect lips. “I’m not hurt, Ronan.”
“Are ye certain?”
She drew his fingertips to her lips and kissed them. “Yes.”
When he’d first arrived, hearing the sound of gunshots, he had feared the worst. Then he’d seen Imogen standing and he’d gathered her into his arms, only able to cast his brother a look of fulminating fury. He’d deal with him later, but at the moment, he’d been too overcome with gratitude that Imogen was alive. His eyes had taken in the scene, including Calder’s dead body, though all he had wanted was to get her safely out of there.
Ronan couldn’t bring himself to be angry with her, despite the ire and dread still simmering within him. He wanted to ensure she was safe and well…at least before he gave her ears the blistering they deserved.
“You must be livid with me,” she whispered. He didn’t answer, only brushed her slender throat with his fingers, afraid that if he opened his mouth, he wouldn’t be able to stop. “It’s over now,” she went on. “I simply couldn’t allow you to fight my battles for me, and I’m sorry for what I did to you. I knew you wouldn’t let me go, and I didn’t…didn’t want you to be hurt. Even though it appears you are anyway.” Her eyes slid to his wrists beneath his shirt cuffs, the marks raw where he’d pulled on his bindings before Vickers had freed him.
“Ye tie a good knot,” he said, his lips twitching. “We’ll have to try it again sometime.”
Her beautiful green eyes snapped to his, a lovely blush coloring her cheeks, and she bit her lip. “I must admit, when I saw you like that, I had similar thoughts.”
“Ye like having me at yer mercy?”
She blushed again. “Yes.”
Ronan couldn’t help himself after her shy admission. He kissed her and felt like he’d come home. She tasted like love, and hope, and life. And he wanted more. Cupping her neck, he nipped at her mouth, nibbling her lips, his tongue sweeping deep. She kissed him back just as hungrily…just as desperately. The coach pulled to a stop in front of Dunrannoch House, but neither of them moved.
Imogen pulled away long enough to whisper, “Take me upstairs, please.”
“You’ve had an ordeal.”
“I need you.”
Ronan didn’t argue. What needed to be said between them would come later. Right now, he needed her, too. More than breath. He leaped from the coach and took the stairs three at a time to his chamber, his future duchess clasped in his arms.
Vickers—who had returned faster on Zeus—had ordered the maids to replace the bedclothes and refresh the fire in the grate. A tray of food was on the bedside table, and, to Ronan’s surprise, a hot bath had been filled in the adjacent bathing chamber.
Bless the man. He deserved an increase in his wages, and Ronan might even forgive him for his mockery earlier.
Putting aside his desire, Ronan set Imogen to her feet and proceeded to strip her of her clothing. He went to his knees to remove her shoes and then her undergarments. His throat went dry. God, she was beautiful. All sinful curves and smooth, satiny skin. He’d felt her body the previous evening, but, seeing her in the daylight from the windows and silhouetted by the flickering firelight, he was speechless. Unable to resist, he pressed a kiss to the soft silk of her belly. When he rose and took her hand and turned away from his bed to walk to the bath, she protested, but he shook his head.
“Bath first, then food, and then ye can decide what else ye desire.”
“You,” she said simply.
“Imogen,” he began but was distracted when her fingers went to the belt at his kilt. He was embarrassingly hard beneath it, but her needs came first. Still, at her touch, he could only manage single words. “Bath.”
“Only if you’re in it with me.”
Ronan closed his eyes. The bath was large enough for two. After a moment, she made the decision for him as deft fingers released his tartan and tugged his shirt over his head. Her giggle made him open his eyes. He stood nude but for his stockings and boots, looking like a complete barbarian, his cock thrusting out and at full attention, but, judging from the way that she was looking at him as though devouring him with her eyes, she approved wholeheartedly.
Imogen crouched down to return the favor and help remove his boots. When she was done, he expected her to rise, but instead she gripped his hips. Ronan’s breath fizzled. Molten eyes lifted to his just before she made a hungry sound in her throat and closed her lips over the broad crown of him.
“Christ, Imogen!”
Ronan reached a hand out to steady himself as her tongue seared his skin, the feel of her hot mouth making his eyes roll back in his head. When she took him deep and sucked gently, he let out a ragged growl. He wouldn’t last much longer if she continued. After a few seconds of delicious torture, he tugged her up and then lifted her into the bath before joining her.
Her moan of satisfaction was worth cutting his own pleasure short. He positioned her with her back against him and started rubbing her shoulders with a cloth dipped into a nearby jar of soap.
“That feels wonderful,” she murmured.
