Page 37 of Irresistible
This entire exchange—sitting together, drinking brandy, conversing—felt incredibly normal, as if they did it every night. As if it were perfectly fine that he anticipated taking her to bed.
For the first time in his life, he could imagine a domestic tranquility such as this. That didn’t mean he wanted it, just that he could envision it. He could also see how it would appeal to some, provided they had the right mate. His aunt and uncle came to mind. They worked together, raised their children together, and provided warmth and love to the entire extended family, including Dougal. On the contrary, his parents had never been like this, and Dougal now wondered if his father had missed it. He’d never seemed unhappy, but Dougal knew how much joy his children gave him. Perhaps it had been enough to fill the romantic void of his loveless marriage.
Dougal shook the thoughts away. If he allowed himself to think of home and family, the grief over Alistair would come at him along with anguish over what was to come with his father, and Dougal had no time for that. He’d have to face it all soon enough when he left this life behind to settle into familial duty and—probably—domestic tranquility. No, not tranquility, but chaos. As Earl of Stirling, there were too many responsibilities and too many people. He took a long pull of brandy.
“I’m looking forward to tomorrow,” Jess said, interrupting his thoughts, for which he was grateful.
“The picnic or the shooting?”
“The shooting, but both, really.” She finished her brandy.
As she set the glass down, he reached for it, saying, “I’ll take that.”
Their fingers collided around the vessel. Her gaze lifted to his. She didn’t withdraw her hand. Neither did he. A long moment stretched in which time seemed to float between them and stand still.
Finally taking her hand from the glass, she said, “I’m going to bed.”
Dougal blinked, feeling, ludicrously, as if he’d tumbled back to earth. “Good night.”
He busied himself with putting the glasses on the tray with the brandy bottle, which he’d moved to the table earlier. He didn’t want to return it to the cabinet near the fireplace from whence he’d fetched it. That would take him closer to her side of the bed, and he would be too tempted to look at her as she removed her dressing gown.
This was a bloody mess. He couldn’t spend the entirety of their partnership lusting after her. It was not only unprofessional, it was distracting. This was not how he wanted his last mission to be.
Did he really think this was the last one? Probably. That filled him with disappointment, which coupled with the grief he was holding at bay, threatened to send him into a state of anguish. He refused to let that happen. He did not allow emotion to rule him. Ever.
And he wouldn’t let his sexual urges do it either. He could stop fantasticating about Jess, and he bloody well would. Immediately.
She’d already extinguished her candle and was curled on her side beneath the coverlet. After seeing her barely disturbed bedclothes this morning, he now understood what her sisters had meant by a tidy sleeper. He had a sudden desire to show her how best to thrash the covers.
So much for ceasing his lustful imaginings.
He quickly put his candle out and shrugged out of his dressing gown, laying it on the foot of the bed. He slid into the bedclothes, steadfastly ignoring the awareness that Jess was within reach. In a bed. Wearing very little.
He was fast becoming a beast.
Rolling to his side so that his back would be to her, he closed his eyes. He needed to sleep. He ought to be tired. There was much to do tomorrow. He was supposed to be conducting this investigation with haste so that he could return to London to get back to his other investigation.
Yes, think of that instead of Jess. He needed to look through reports at the Foreign Office, preferably without anyone realizing what he was doing. Luck, as he’d mentioned to Jess, would be required.
Oliver Kent had been dismayed at the failures of those two assignments, but he hadn’t blamed Dougal—not for the worthless message he’d delivered or the death of Giraud. Dougal hadn’t talked to Kent about his suspicions regarding someone working against the Foreign Office. There hadn’t been time before he’d had to go to Scotland because of Alistair.
When he returned to London, he should speak to Kent as well as enlist Lucien’s help. He’d wanted to do that before this mission but had decided to wait. He’d needed to put his focus on this assignment, particularly since he had a partner for the first time. A partner who was new to espionage.
Turning to his side so that he faced Jess, he made out her form on the other edge of the bed. She might as well have been across the channel. He stuck his leg out as he’d done the night before, as if he could possibly come into contact with her. By mistake, of course.
But she was too far away. As she should be. With each passing day, she became more of a temptation. He had to do everything in his power to resist.
Jess clutched the thick thatch of his hair as he put his mouth on her breast, his lips and tongue teasing her flesh with a relentless hunger. She writhed beneath him, desperate for more. Opening her legs, she wrapped them around him and lifted her hips. He pressed down, his rigid cock gliding against her sex. “Yes, more,” she moaned.
His hand slipped between her thighs and stroked her folds. She thrust up again and again, her release coiling within her. She could see the light, and beyond that, the stygian darkness that would envelop her in sensation.
She needed him now. Reaching between them, she found his shaft and guided it to her sheath, eager to join their bodies. He lifted his head and looked down at her, the gold flecks in his eyes shimmering with desire.
“Please, Dougal.”
His hand covered hers, and together they slid him into her. The simple act of him moving inside her was enough to propel her to the light. It was right there—she need only step into it fully.
Suddenly, everything went dark.
