Page 43 of Return of the Scot
Lorne’s gaze swept over her, taking her in. And the way his lids lowered to half-mast, eliciting that heady, sensual look he’d given her in the gymnasium before he kissed her, was answer enough. He reached forward, his fingertips grazing her—thankfully woolen-sleeved—elbow. Jaime closed her eyes for a fraction longer than a blink, savoring the carress and wishing it away all at once.
In that split-second, Lorne closed the distance between them, the heat of his large body enveloping her. He touched her chin, lifting her face toward his. Gray eyes peered into her own, gauging her interest and seemingly finding it, for he leaned down and joined his mouth to hers.
With his lips fastened on hers, he removed her coffee cup, settling it somewhere, and then his hand pressed to the small of her back, urging her closer until their bodies were flush. The hardness and strength of him lined up to her softer curves. Everything with the duke was exaggerated. His size, his presence, his intensity. And his kiss.
She was melting into him. Losing the resolve she’d set for herself last night, and again this morning. Wanting him to kiss her, to fall into his enchanting, passionate embrace. There was no one here to see—no one to know, except for herself and him, she’d let her guard down. Allowed herself tumbled once more under the luscious spell of a man she’d been captivated by for years. Worshiped him, adored him, hated him…everything him.
Lorne captured her hands in his and placed them on his shoulders. And oh…the breadth of them. Corded muscles bunched beneath the fabric of his doublet. She flattened her palms against him, her fingers spread, and she felt him, studied the swells of hardness that made up his body. Ran her hands down his arms, stopping at his elbows and coursing back up again. As she touched, the feelings inside of her whirled and bucked. Fighting against one another.
Touch him more. Nay, run away. Oh, bother, touch him, kiss him more…
This was a bad idea, and she knew it. Had decided while rushing away from his house less than twelve hours ago that she would not, under any circumstances, allow him to kiss her again. Yet here she was. Thoroughly enjoying it. Life wasn’t fair, she decided. If she’d been a man, she could have enjoyed his kiss for hours, days, again and again, and no one would be the wiser or care. But nay, she was a lass, and lassies weren’t allowed to kiss whoever they wanted when they wanted.
And oh, how she wanted…
His tongue danced provocatively over hers, and she twirled her own inside his mouth, engaging in every bit of teasing and toying and tasting he provided. This naughty duke, full of vigor and deep wounds… His hand slipped down to her rear, tugging her tighter against him, and she gasped at the feel of him touching her in so intimate a place.
What could it hurt to allow herself a few more moments of wicked bliss? Perhaps that was the exhaustion talking. At any rate, it was what she’d blame her deranged thoughts and actions on.
Jaime leaned into him, her fingers threading in his hair.
And he groaned deep in his throat and whispered, “Marry me, please.”
That woke Jaime up. She pulled away from him, her lips tingling, her body on fire. At least this time, he’d added “please.” But no amount of manners—or fiery kisses—were going to change her mind. She was either incredibly intelligent or a great fool, and she didn’t have the mental capacity at the moment to debate herself on that, only to set her foot down.
“I must decline, Your Grace. Ye know a union between us is out of the question. And this,” she pointed between herself and him, “can no’ happen again.” She regretted it even as she declared it. Decided to back up a step for good measure and picked up her coffee as though it were a shield. She took a large gulp, nearly sputtering on the bitterness without cream and sugar.
“That bad, aye?” He chuckled. “Or was that from our kiss?”
Jaime rolled her eyes. “We will no’ be talking about kissing. No’ ever. Why did ye come here, Duke? Let’s no’ pretend it was simply to bring me breakfast.”
“What if it was for the thing we’re no’ talking about?”
The kissing… Oh, to think he’d come all this way to lay his lips on hers. Nay! She couldn’t romanticize this or him.
“Then, ye really ought to go now.” She took another step away, hoping that it wasn’t so obvious how thoroughly he’d kissed her. Her lips felt swollen from his kisses; her cheeks still flushed.
He set down his cup and stared at her seriously. “In truth, I came to repeat my offer.”
“Which ye did. And I declined.” She straightened, realizing too late that doing so pushed out her breasts, and his eyes fell to gaze at the swells. Thank goodness for her sturdy wool gown, practically buttoned up to the neck. Alas, he didn’t seem to notice her sensible dress and instead appeared to be undressing her with his eyes. Curling her back now would only show she’d noticed the swift flit of his gaze, and she refused to give him that much, so she remained as she was, hating that her breath quickened.
“May I ask why?” he mused.
“We are no’ suited. I’m a busy woman, and I’ve no’ the time to think about romance.”
His brow raised on that last word, and she was hasty to correct herself.
“And by romance, I mean courtship. Besides, many other things are plaguing me—one major obstacle that would bar me from ever standing at the altar with ye.”
“Ah, are ye referring to your sister?”
Jaime licked her lips and nodded, trying to decipher how much to tell him about what she’d thought as she tossed and turned all night. He deserved to know that Gordie was his spitting image. That if Lorne wasn’t the child’s father, Gille might be. Unless Lorne had gotten blistering drunk one night and forgotten himself or what he’d done. But from what she understood of him, before and after the war, he was a man who rarely lost control, if ever. Even in kissing her, she felt the lion being held back by a chain, waiting to be unleashed.
He stepped closer to her, and she surprised herself by not retreating—at least not yet. The nearer he came, the more her body pulsed with a throttled craving. But thankfully, he stopped, leaving some space between them for her to breathe. “Do ye still believe me?”
Head titled up toward him, Jaime took him in. Lorne was so very tall and breathtaking. A gorgeous man, with a hint of something feral. She imagined when he did finally relinquish some of the control that he kept so wound up within himself, he’d be like a storm unleashing, destroying everything in its path. That made him a risk, didn’t it? Or extremely desirable and exciting. To be on the end of that unrestrained passion. Her pulse skipped a beat. For a woman with a life was as rigid as hers, as regimented, as stalwart, he gave off the barest suggestion of unbridled enterprises that she would never dare to cross alone.
Jaime licked her lips, contemplating how she would answer. Because she did still believe him, and he deserved the truth. But he also deserved to know what troubled her mind. “Aye, but there is something ye should know.”
