Page 2 of A Dash of Scot
Across the hedges, all she saw were rows and twists and turns of more hedges. “Not a single marble head,” she said.
“That’s disappointing. We’ll have to continue our search.”
“I suppose we will.” She looked one more time to be sure, but there wasn’t anything that resembled a statue, only foliage and air.
Poppy started to step down but wobbled and then lost her balance. Dougal’s reflexes saved her from a hard landing in the gravel, his arms catching her around her back, her bottom landing on his still-propped thigh, and she grasped hold of him around his shoulders.
Their faces were close. The moon reflected in his eyes the color of the night sky.
“I’m so clumsy. Thank you for catching me,” she managed to say.
“It wouldna do for a lady to land on the ground. Ye might ruin your dress.” His brogue was raspier than usual, and his eyes skimmed down to her mouth.
Neither of them made a move to let the other go. Poppy licked her lower lip, hoping for the kiss she’d thought she was going to get on the balcony. She and Dougal had a real connection, one she thought might very well lead to a proposal. It wasn’t as if men were lining up to propose, and daring the think that Dougal might—perhaps that was the most unsensible thing she’d ever done in her life. And Dougal Mackay ticked off all the boxes on the list she’d made last year.
Charming.
Funny.
Handsome.
Strong.
Scottish.
Not dull.
Kind.
But most importantly, he had lips made for kissing, and after spending much of her adolescence reading romance novels, she was ready to find a man who swept her off her feet.
And then his mouth was on hers. A soft brush of his lips, and she sighed into his kiss. His lips were warm, velvet as they pressed to hers. His breath fanned softly over her cheek. For all she’d imagined a first kiss to be, this was it, the moment she’d been waiting for. And it was heaven.
Dougal lifted his face away for a moment, staring into her eyes, imploring, questioning. And she did the only thing she could think of—where her hands rested at the nape of his neck, she nudged, urging him back to her mouth.
“Ye…” was all he said before he pressed his lips to hers again. Only this time, the softness melted into heat.
His tongue swiped the seam of her lips, and she parted on a gasp. That subtle opening had his tongue slipping inside to slide wickedly and deliciously across her own. My goodness, she didn’t know this was possible in a kiss. Tongues…so decadent. She’d never be able to eat or drink or lick her lips without thinking of this moment, of Dougal Mackay.
And maybe she wouldn’t have to. For if he’d invited her out to this garden, danced with her at ball after ball, and now was kissing her, then certainly this meant he wanted her to be his wife.
Knowing that a proposal was forthcoming only heightened her excitement—her desire—and she leaned into his kiss, boldly copying the swipes and licks and nibbles.
The spicy, earthy scent of him surrounded her, doing something wild to her senses. Everything inside of her seemed to come alive with a tingling heat that increased until her skin felt like it was afire and only his touch could put out the flames. Except they blazed hotter.
This was wicked and oh, so very scandalous. If anyone were to see them... she’d be ruined forever. Oh, who was she trying to fool? The moment his lips had touched hers, she was done for. She was powerless to make herself stop.
And so, she kept on kissing him, finding a home in his arms and the pleasure he wrought on her mouth. If he were to ask her right then and there, she’d let him own her completely. Dougal Mackay was, without a doubt, the most captivating, intoxicating man she’d ever met.
Dougal deepened the kiss, passion and desire fueling them both, but when she whimpered from some place in the back of her throat where inhibition had taken over, Dougal pulled away. He stared into her bemused gaze with hooded eyes that bespoke of desire. His lips were as wet and swollen as hers felt. The two of them were equally ravished by a kiss that had devoured them whole, body and soul.
“My lady,” he murmured.
“Poppy.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, the desire on his face seconds ago evaporating into something akin to…fear?
That couldn’t be right. Why was he afraid? His kiss had been divine…
