Page 61 of The Scot is Hers
“Ye will no’ feel the difference with your clothes on,” she pointed out, realizing too late what she’d just said.
“Are ye saying that I should remove my clothes?” He winked at her, and her face felt afire from having insinuated that—but also because now she was thinking about him removing his jacket, unraveling his cravat, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing inch after inch of male skin.
Giselle swallowed hard, unable to form a coherent thought.
“Well, lass, I would have expected ye to saynay,but if ye wish.” He reached for his cravat, linking a finger in the space between his neck and the fabric.
“Nay,” she said, thrusting her hands out and laughing. “No’ yet…”
“Ah, leaving it open for possibility then.”
“I meant for...”Och! She picked up her cup and took another small sip. But the whisky only seemed to heighten her sensations, making her skin tingle.
Alec reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. His breath fanned over her skin, and heat seared her where his lips seized ownership of her hand. A shiver skated from her knuckles, over her arms, and to the rest of her body. Her nipples grew hard, and the way he stared up at her through heavily lidded eyes was enough to make her gulp.
Suddenly, she didn’t want to play the game anymore. She wanted to sit in his lap, loop her arms around his neck, and press her lips firmly to his. Her breasts to his chest. Legs to his legs.
“What are ye thinking about?” he asked, his voice bearing a huskier, more sensual tone.
Had he been able to read her thoughts? “Ye.”
“What about me?”
“Kissing ye.”
“Do ye want to kiss me?” Alec leaned back in his chair, casually watching her with intoxicating eyes that made things inside her stir, things she’d not felt before.
Giselle nodded, moving around the back of his chair, sliding her bare fingers over the soft wool of his frockcoat and kneading the muscles beneath. Alec’s head fell back, barely touching her breasts, and she sucked in a heady breath. He looked up at her, green eyes flashing desire, and it felt as if her mind went blank.
He reached up, fingers gently nudging behind her neck for her to come forward. Following his direction, she bent low and kissed him. The hair of his head tickled her neck in this position, but she relished it. He flicked his tongue out to tease her lips, slipping between and toying with her tongue. The potent flavor of the whisky mixed with something spicier and exotic on his tongue.Cinnamon. All of those frissons of need, of desire, pulsed in a storm through her.
Forget propriety. With her mouth still on his, Giselle stepped to the side until she stood between his spread-out legs. Alec’s hands skimmed down her spine to her derriere the way he had before, massaging and pulling her closer until her belly flattened to his chest, her breasts hovering beneath his chin.
She was never going to get used to kissing him, the way it made her skin sing with pleasure, and her insides heat as though being held to a delicious flame. The desire for more made her squirm in his embrace.
“Are ye all right?” he asked. “Is this too much?”
“Nay. I am perfect...I—” But how could she put to voice her desires? “I want—” She swallowed, uncertain what to even ask of him.
“Tell me. Or show me.”
Giselle lifted one of his hands from her behind and placed it on her breast, giving a little shudder of desire when she did. The heavy weight of his palm made her nipple tighten more than it already was. A delicious torment that only seemed to increase rather than ease.
Unexpectedly, he bowed forward, hot breath fanning over the exposed skin of her décolletage, and then lower until his mouth touched the fabric of her taupe day dress, the heat singeing right through to her skin. Giselle’s knees buckled at the sensation, and she let out a little whimper.
“I want to kiss ye here,” he said, “without the barrier.”
She wanted that too and nodded, watching wide-eyed with wonder as his fingers skimmed the neckline of her dress and gave a little tug until her turgid nipple popped free. Pink and hard and an inch from his mouth. Alec grazed his tongue over the peak, and she gasped as liquid heat melted her insides.
My, but that was delicious. And then he did it again, and again. Wrapped his lips around her nipple, sucking gently.
“Oh,” she moaned, knees truly buckling this time, but he caught her, holding her up by her arse.
She had that same mad urge to wrap her leg up around him, to feel the hardness of his body between her thighs as she had in the abbey. The whisky made her worries about her mother run away. The door was locked. No one was coming in.
And if they tried, she’d simply escape the way he’d told her to.
Knowing all of that made it a lot easier to lift her leg until her shin rested on his thigh, to slide it to the side as he elevated her the remainder of the way, until both of her legs straddled his in the chair, and the hardness of something else pressed wickedly to the pulsing heat between her thighs.
