Page 38 of Sinful Scot
Her lips were warm and welcoming, and the moan that escaped her undid him. It was as if a chain had been wound around him, and link by link, it was unfastening and dropping silently into the snow to free him from who he had been in his time. He reached for her and gathered her in his arms. He brought them both to their feet and turned her toward the shelter of the side of the inn. He pressed her back against the stone, skimming his hands over her chest to her neck and face, his body aching with awareness of her.
His need for her coursed through him like a drug.Shewas his drug. A dangerously addictive one. The moment he’d met her, he had suspected he’d been hooked. Now he kissed the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat, relishing in the knowledge that she was as affected as he was. He slid his hands into her silky hair and tilted her head back to trail a path of kisses up her creamy neck and back to her mouth.
God, that mouth. It was flame and would surely burn him to his soul. But in this moment, the danger of what she could do to him paled under the blinding light of what he wanted to do to her—possess her, protect her, discover all the hidden secrets of her body and her mind. He traced the delicate creases of her mouth as she moaned again and pressed her body, so soft and womanly, against his hard one.
Flesh to flesh they stood, him ravaging her mouth and her sliding her hands over his back to delve her fingers into his hair and grip his head. And then she pressed his head closer to hers, a silent signal, a plea that he was only too happy to answer.
With a slide of his tongue, he was inside her mouth tasting her. She was sweet like honey with a trace of spicy ginger and a bit of cinnamon. He kissed her deeply, a feeling of urgency driving him as if he’d waited a lifetime for her. It struck him then that he had. The truth of it filled him, and he slowed the kiss, determined to sear the moment in his mind forever. She quivered beneath his touch, and he gathered her closer, breaking the kiss and burying his head in her neck. He wanted to stay here forever—and not just in this moment. That truth scared him. Because he had to go back. Didn’t he?
A door slammed in the distance, breaking the spell she’d cast on him, and loud, raucous singing filled the night. He stepped away from her quickly but captured her fingers, unwilling—no, incapable—of not touching her. He needed to ensure she was okay. In his time, a kiss against a building in public would not be remarked on much, especially in the town he was from where sin was the preferred drink of choice. But in her time, it would draw attention he was sure they did not want. When she opened her mouth to say something, he set a gentle finger to it and shook his head, motioning toward the men in the distance passing by the narrow path to the entrance.
Her eyes widened with fear, and he cursed himself that he’d let his desire for her carry him away and put her in danger, not just from men who might be hunting her for the baron but from himself. What was he doing? Frustrated, he jerked a hand through his hair. What was his plan? He always had one. His brothers teasingly called him the man with the plan.
His brothers…
Images of Reikart, Greyson, and Ian filled his head. And his dad. Jesus, what was he thinking? He couldn’t stay in this time permanently. He had to find his mom and get back to his family, to the company.
No.Truth sucker punched him, and he flinched. He didn’t give a damn about going back to the company. His family was what mattered.
“Rhys?” Maggie’s voice was like a bullet to his heart, and his chest tightened.
And Maggie… Maggie matters.
He hadn’t welcomed her in; she’d stormed in. It was crazy. This was crazy. They hadn’t known each other long. Not long enough for him to care, but he did. She mattered to him a great damn deal. He couldn’t leave her. But how could he stay? He didn’t have the answers, and he didn’t know how to get them.
“Rhys,” she snapped, and he shook off his daze and looked at her.
Two realizations struck: she was mad, and she was stunning in her anger. Her blue eyes blazed, and her eyebrows were arched high to show her irritation. Her lovely lips were pressed together in hard line. She poked him in the chest as she tried to tug her hand away from him, but he wasn’t about to let her go. “If ye think I’m a poor kisser, you do nae need to ignore me. Ye can just be truthful. I’ll nae fall to pieces with yer rebuff of me. I—”
He kissed her hard on the mouth to silence her doubts but then forced himself to pull away, not wanting them to be seen like this. “You’re an excellent kisser, Maggie.” He wasn’t ready to talk about his confusion with her yet, though so he asked, “I assume you’re feeling better?”
She bit her lip, and it made him want to nip at it. “Aye, but I do feel numb.”
“I know what you mean,” he replied. “It’s called shock.”
“I think it’s called snow,” she said, grinning.
“Come on,” he said, giving her hand a tug as the wind whistled around them and the heavy snow fell. “Let’s get some food and a room. We won’t be making our way to Perthshire tonight.”
“Nay,” she agreed. “The storm is here.”
It certainly was. And in more ways than one. The question was how he would survive it.
They made their way back into the inn. Rhys found them a table, and once Maggie was settled, he left her with a plea not to move while he went to secure their lodgings. She ordered them two mugs of mead and trenchers of food because Rhys had assured her he would obtain coin for food and a room. The inn was warm, but a chill gripped her when she thought of Rhys being from the future. It was still hard to comprehend, but what she could not ignore was that he’d want to go home to his family. Wouldn’t he? Was it even possible?
She was lost in these thoughts, questions of what his life might be like in the future, when he was suddenly before her, wearing a fresh tunic, braies, and the plaid he’d had on under Father George’s robes, and he was holding a fur-lined cloak in his hands. Her eyes widened in astonishment. He smiled but then something behind her caught his gaze, and his smile made way for a fierce frown.
“What is it?” she asked as he came beside her and settled the cloak on her shoulders. The coziness of it made her sigh with pleasure, and the realization that he’d been concerned about her made her heart skip several beats.
“That man Dermot is standing behind you, to the right, staring at us,” he replied, taking his seat.
She shrugged. “He likely is just curious.”
“I don’t like the way he’s staring,” Rhys replied, his gaze capturing hers.
Heaven above, he was handsome, but when irritated, he was positively captivating. He had a menacing look on his face, but it only served to highlight his raw beauty.
“I heard him say to the man he was sitting with earlier that they’d stay the night here because of the weather and leave in the morning after Bruce left.”
