Page 56 of The Scot Who Loved Her

Now she found her voice, but it came out softer than she wanted. “Why did you want to talk to me?”

“I do no’ remember.” He touched her hair where it spilled over her shoulders, wrapping a tendril around his finger and drawing it to his face as he inhaled.

“It must not have been that important then,” she managed to say, though her throat had suddenly become dry.

“’Twas important enough that I’d risk coming to your bedroom in the middle of the night when your parents are sleeping only a few doors away. But Olivia,” he drew in a breath, “ye make me forget everything except my need to kiss ye.”

Oh…dear heavens. All the air left her lungs. All thoughts left her mind. “Then what are ye waiting for?”

Who was she to say something like that? She didn’t know. Didn’t care.

Malcolm groaned, then cupped the side of her face as he dipped low, his mouth brushing over hers. She inhaled sharply and then gasped when he pressed harder, wound her arms around his neck when he tucked her closer, his hands at the base of her spine.

Through the thin layers of her nightclothes, she felt all the hard ridges of him. The muscle, the power, the strength. The rigid length of his arousal pressed to her middle, sending a shock through her brain and delicious frissons of heat through her body.

Malcolm deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to dance with hers. His hands roamed her back, and she toyed with the back of his neck. This was heaven, wicked paradise.

All day long, she, too, had been waiting for the moment they could be alone. It was one of the reasons she’d looked forward to this house party. But every second she’d been pushed and prodded by her mother and hovered over by Thirlestane. The few moments of privacy she’d been able to eke out had not been enough to recover. She’d barely even had a chance to talk to her friends without her mother interrupting.

The day had been a disaster in her mind, but now, this made up for it all. She could forget every snide comment from her mother, every interested grin from the man she was certain would try to propose, and sink into the glorious kiss of the man she wanted more than anything.

A man that if he asked her right now to run away with him, she would be the first to open the window and attempt to climb down to find a horse for them to escape with.

With one hand tangled in her hair, his mouth consuming her, his other palm inched over her ribs until he was cupping her breast, his thumb rubbing with tantalizing ease back and forth over her nipple.

Olivia gasped at the touch, at the intensity of sparks that struck her, arrowing straight to her core. Between her thighs, something was happening, brewing deliciously. She pressed closer to him, needing him to finish what he’d started.

Malcolm started to back away, but she pressed forward, not wanting this to end. He didn’t let go. Instead, he lifted her into the air and carried her back to the chair he’d been sitting in. With her on his lap, he continued this exploration of her breasts while his lips slid over hers again and again. She squirmed against him, wanting, needing more.

“I should no’ be here,” he groaned against her mouth.

“I should not have let ye in,” she said, feeling bolder as she nibbled at his lip and stroked her hand over his chest, marveling at the muscles that rippled and coiled there.

“Tell me to leave,” he demanded, pulling away to stare into her eyes.

Olivia shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to.”

Malcolm groaned again and swooped back in to kiss her with a fervent passion that took her breath away.

With one of her hands tangled in his hair and the other squeezing his shoulder, Malcolm slid his mouth along her jawline to her neck.

He whispered, “Ye are the most enchanting creature I’ve ever come across,” as he nibbled at her earlobe.

Olivia shivered. “I’m so sorry I shot you.”

Malcolm chuckled. “I believe ye. But also, I’m glad ye did, for I’d no’ have come looking for ye if we’d never met in the forest.”

She smiled, her eyes closed. And then she gasped as his lips hovered over her breast, and his tongue flicked out over her taut nub. She wanted to tear away her clothes and feel the heat of his velvet tongue on her skin.

As he was stoking a fire at her breast with his tongue, she’d not noticed his hand sliding lower until the press of his palm to the crux of her thighs had her nearly leaping off the chair. The wonderful shock of it. Her hips curled up, and she tugged hard in his hair, laid on his lap now like a lounging nymph, ready for the pleasure he promised.

She yanked at the skirt of her nightgown, wanton now, lifting it up her thighs until the cool air hit her heated skin. “Touch me,” she begged, surprised at herself.

Malcom hissed a breath, his forehead falling against hers. “God, I want to.”

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