Page 75 of Return of the Scot
She laughed. “Now that is the first time I’ve ever heard someone say that.” And with that, she bent over him, her hair cocooning their kiss.
The only problem was they could not be cocooned forever, nor could they remain in the woods. Soon their traitorous siblings would descend upon Dunrobin, and Lorne was certain the bliss they’d found would be shattered. He hoped not forever.
* * *
Jaime hadlain awake for what felt like hours before she finally climbed out of bed and headed down to the kitchens. Those in the village had been so excited to have their chief return and been nothing but kind to her. They seemed genuinely excited to have a mistress back at the castle and for Dunrobin to once again be in Sutherland hands. But there had still not been any word of Shanna or Gordie, and Jaime was growing more concerned by the day for her nephew’s welfare. She and Lorne had put plans in place, had a man following them, but still, she worried it wasn’t enough.
And so, rather than toss around in bed, she did what she often did when she couldn’t sleep. Jaime made a habit of baking. At midnight. Not only did it help to alleviate some of the nerves that barred her from sleeping, but it was often a surprise treat for the household to learn that she’d made them scones or biscuits, and they had one less chore to do in the morning.
A lady shouldn’t bake—at least that was what her mother told her. After all, a lady had servants to do such mundane tasks. But what if a lady enjoyed baking? Her mother had always waved off her words as if that were the silliest thing she’d ever heard. Fortunately, the staff had often indulged Jaime when her mother wasn’t around, and so at an early age, she’d gotten used to commandeering the kitchen in the middle of the night.
It took her some time to acquaint herself with the Dunrobin kitchens, which were much larger than any she’d ever been in before. The cook ran the kitchen in quite an orderly fashion, but eventually, she located the butter, flour, sugar and salt. The bowls and spoons. The rollers, the baking pans.
Jaime had dropped the last dollop of butter into a mixing bowl when she heard a noise outside the kitchen. She paused. As it was the middle of the night, she was in her nightgown and wrapper. She’d not expected any of the servants to wake, not at this hour. Nor to find her basically undressed.
But there it was again, the sound. And then the door to the kitchen whooshed open, and Lorne stood on the threshold, taking her in. She sighed in relief and then in delight. He looked wickedly disheveled in the soft candlelight, hair tousled, no shirt, and his breeches barely done up. Jaime couldn’t help licking her lips as she took him in. A slow grin curled one side of his mouth as he watched her.
“Found ye. What are ye doing?” he asked.
Jaime cocked a nonchalant shoulder as if this were totally normal. “Making shortbread.”
“An interesting hour for such a task.” He stepped into the kitchen, letting the door shut behind him.
“Ye’ll get used to it.”
He grinned. “I wonder, do ye ever sleep?”
“Sometimes.” She laughed and then poured in the sugar and salt. “Want to stir?”
“Aye.”
He came around the wide preparation table and pressed a kiss on her mouth. His fingers spread over hers as he took the large wooden spoon and then effortlessly mixed the sugar and butter—a task that required a lot more exertion and time for her.
“You make a verra good scullion,” Jaime teased, poking him in the ribs and then thinking better of that gesture in favor of running her hands over his naked skin.
“I never knew baking was done in so…sensual a way,” he teased as she trailed her fingers down his ribs, sliding over to his hip.
“Aye.” Baking, she was certain, was never going to be the same again. Jaime circled to her husband’s back and pressed her lips to his spine. A little shiver made his body tremble beneath her touch. She wrapped her arms around his middle and splayed on his taut abdomen. “And even better when ye are making sweets.”
“Och, lass, if ye keep this up, I’ll no’ finish the task. Tell me what is next, I beg of ye.”
“Now the flour.” She reluctantly moved away from him to measure the exact amounts and then poured them into the sweetened butter mixture. “And stir again, duke, while I continue my exploration.”
Suddenly, Jaime felt extremely adventurous—not to mention wicked. She sank to her knees and nudged Lorne back from the table enough that she could edge in front of him, her mouth level with his quickly expanding breeches. She glanced up at him, finding his gaze hungry for what she wanted.
“Och, lass, this is no’ how Cook does it.” He was trying to jest, but his voice was heavy with desire.
“Thank God,” she teased, then tugged open the front of his breeches. She took his rigid shaft in hand, and kissed the very tip, lapping at him the way he liked, a trick she’d learned on their wedding night when he’d taught her how to pleasure him with her mouth.
She tormented him, growing bolder, swirling her tongue around the salty crown. Licking him from base to tip, and she then took him into her mouth, sliding her lips down. Lorne groaned, stiffening in pleasure.
Jaime stopped. “Do no’ halt your stirring, duke, else I can no’ continue.”
“Och, nay, do no’ stop.” He stirred with renewed vigor.
She smiled around his eager erection and then took him deeper into her mouth. There was no way she was going to stop now. Not when the fun was just beginning. Up and down, slowly, she worked him into a frenzy until pieces of dough flicked onto her head as he stirred faster, in rhythm with the way his hips rocked into her mouth.
But before he found release, Lorne leapt backward and hauled her to her feet, then higher still as he sat her in a pile of flour on the preparation table, spread her thighs wide and thrust home.
