Page 49 of A Scot's Pride
“I admire ye greatly,” he said. “I have no idea why. But when I’m with ye, I feel…as if life has meaning, and when I’m away from ye, I feel as if all I want to do is mount my horse and come find ye. Ye’re everything I thought I didna want in a wife, and somehow, I canna seem to remind myself of that.”
Freya’s mouth fell open. This was perhaps the most appalling compliment she’d ever received. I have no idea why… Ye’re everything I thought I didna want in a wife… Those two statements practically negated him saying she gave his life meaning and that he wanted to be with her. She was confused as to why he would have said any of that. And it almost sounded as if he were trying to convince himself otherwise.
“There are some things, my lord, that you should probably keep to yourself,” she said tartly, deciding that she was offended by what he’d said. “Like how much you don’t like me.” Freya laughed sharply, the humor not present in the sound. “If this is how you intend to woo a woman, you’re really bad at it. The only positive note in this entire dialogue has been your body language, which contradicts a lot of your words. It is only because I’m intrigued and curious at the idea of you attempting to do better that I haven’t walked away.”
“I’m making a muddle of this, I know.” He scrubbed a hand over his face as he let out an exaggerated sigh. “I am a cad.”
“Your Aunt Bertie would be mortified. Though I suspect your Aunt Simone would be pleased.”
Bryson chuckled. “Let’s no’ talk about them while I’m trying to figure out a way to kiss ye again.”
“You want to kiss me? Well, that does seem a little better than having no idea why you like me. Perhaps it is my lips that draw you? But only when I’m silent?”
Bryson groaned. “I like your lips when they are moving and when they are no’. And I never want ye silent, lass, even when I’m kissing ye. And I have no’ stopped wanting to kiss ye since the first time.”
Freya could hardly breathe. His words had so much passion, and desire pooled in her center. She desperately wanted to kiss him again too. “I confess I haven’t stopped thinking about it either.”
“Why did ye run away from me?” His fingers brushed her cheek.
Freya reached up and touched his hand where it rested on her face. “I was afraid of going too far with a man who was too afraid to make a commitment and wouldn’t be a good match.”
“Fear, again. It will be the ruin of us.”
“Yes,” she said, a little breathless now.
“I’m no’ afraid, lass.” He stepped closer, still cupping her cheek. The heat of his body warmed the front of her.
“Of what?” she managed to say around a throat that felt too tight.
“Kissing. Going too far. Commitment.”
She sucked in a breath. Was he going to…
“I want to marry ye if ye’ll have me.”
Marry him. Become Lady Lovat. Bryson’s wife. Was that what she wanted? Freya reached out, holding his arms near his elbows, mostly so she didn’t fall down.
“What if you grow tired of me? I am, after all, everything you never wanted in a wife.” There, she’d said it, voiced the concerns of his muddled confession, the fear of being discarded when he got bored or woke up from whatever daze he was in currently.
“I’m an idiot, Freya.”
She laughed and grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands as she leaned on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. This time when they kissed, it was anything but clumsy. It was delicious and smooth. Lips locked, Bryson tilted her chin and slanted his mouth over hers again and again. He deepened the kiss with a subtle swipe of his tongue between her lips.
Freya gasped in surprise. Heat built between her thighs, and all she could think of was the delectable pleasure his kiss brought. Heady and potent desires stacked on top of one other as that wicked caress had parts of her she hadn’t realized she possessed lighting a fire inside her. Her lips parted so she could do the same, wanting to taste his lips, and when she did so, her tongue met his and brought about a whole new torrent of hot, sinful sensations.
Kissing Bryson was world-changing for her. And she couldn’t imagine not being able to live this life without kissing him every day.
As she clung to him, Bryson touched the small of her back, his firm hands running up her spine. She bowed into him, pressing her breasts against his chest, her hips to his. Desire pulsed, and her nipples hardened as her breasts rubbed the solid muscles of his chest. Her breaths came in pants as her body stirred to life. Bryson’s caress moved from her back to her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, tugging her closer.
At this moment, as her body was flush to his, and her insides were doing something magical and insane all at once, she was certain Bryson had ruined her for any future with another.
All she wanted was him. Needed him. Yearned for him.
He should stop kissing her. Touching her. But she felt so good in his arms; it had been seven days and nights of torture without her. This felt like a victory, and one he knew he would get to experience over and over again now that he’d professed his desire for her to be his wife, and she hadn’t denied him.
First thing tomorrow morning, Bryson would ride out to the Grysham manor and ask her father for permission to marry her. To hell with the banns. They could ride over the border to Scotland and get married in his native country at Gretna Green. By tomorrow night, she’d be his, and he could take her to bed. Make love to her again and again until both their bodies were limp and spent, and then do it some more.
Freya was an adventurer, and he’d bet eloping was something she would agree to, with her family’s permission, of course. Och, but he wished he could lift her now and take her home. Show her there was more pleasure to kissing, so much more.
