Page 39 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
“It can be,” she answered, breathless. “If we let it.”
He said nothing, holding himself still, like a man preparing to leap into an unknown sea. And then he closed the distance between them in one purposeful stride. At the same moment, his hand cupped the back of her neck, placing her head in precisely the right position to take his kiss.
His lips were firm and direct. There was only a slight hesitation, a silent question if he could lead them to where he wanted to go. In response, she opened to him. His growl resonated through her body, all the way along her limbs, centering in her breasts and between her legs.
She’d had her share of tentative kisses, and indifferent ones. But now that she was an adult woman left to pursue her own desires, she would not hesitate to take her pleasure. When she touched her tongue to his, he met her with equal hunger, thrilling her to the deepest part of herself. There was nothing apathetic or distracted in his kiss. He told her with each savoring stroke that she was all that mattered.
He slid his hand from the back of her neck to encircle her throat, directing her to exactly where he wanted her, angling her head for an even better approach. Yet his grip was careful. Respectful—and commanding. As if the warrior he had been was eager to take up control once more.
She sank into his authority, savoring it. She slid her hands up his chest so that she gripped the unyielding mass of his shoulders, and the feel of his taut, strong body made her liquefy into a pool of need. All she could do was pull him closer to meet his command with her own.
God, yes. This and more of this.
Her moan rose up, the sound of her unbridled desire.
Abruptly, he ripped his mouth from hers and released his hold on her throat. He panted as he stared at her, looking torn between ravishing her on the spot and running like hell.
He did neither, but she could see the struggle in his face and read it in the tension in his limbs.
She certainly didn’t want him to beconflictedabout kissing her.
“Regrets?” she breathed.
“None,” he rasped.
She could hear the words he didn’t speak:And yet...
“No denying I want you.” His voice was as rough and deep as she’d ever heard it. “But, hell, my mind’s a fucking mess, and I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“I’ve some suggestions,” she said, her gaze raking him. The sky had grown fully overcast, and there was something about the clouds and him mixed that made her hunger blaze. “We desire each other. There’s no reason not to yield to that desire.”
“I can’t justact,” he snarled, his anger seemingly self-directed. “Not without thinking of the consequences.”
She offered him a comforting smile. “I brought some implements with me that can ensure I don’t get pregnant.”
“Other kinds of consequences.” He raked his hand through his hair. “The kind that involves our minds and our hearts. Emotions become involved, and desires for more than a moment’s intimacy.”
Ah—he worried that she would want more from him than physical pleasure. She knew other widows who had taken lovers, and they’d relayed to her that one thing above all else those men feared was a clinging woman demanding promises of tomorrow.
“Let me set your mind at ease,” she said. “Everything between us is temporary. It’s only sex. I don’t want tomarryyou.”
He sucked in a breath, as if she’d rammed a fist into his chest.
Quietly he said, “No one does.”
What did that mean?
“Duncan...” She’d tried to make him feel more comfortable, but instead she had wounded him. If there was something she could say, some retraction or way to undo the damage she’d caused, she would do it. She didn’t want to hurt him, to have his brilliant blue eyes turn to ice and his jaw to go taut.
“We ought to get back to the carriage.” He squinted up at the sky. “Weather’s coming, and we’re going to get caught in it.”
“I’m sorry.” With a few words, she’d lashed out at him with devastating force.
He gave a brief nod. “I know. But we do need to get off this hill. Now.”
At a loss, she turned to make her way down. He was, as usual, almost completely silent behind her, saying nothing, his feet barely making a sound as they descended. It was like being followed by the ghost of a person she had slain through her own carelessness.
By the time she and Duncan reached the carriage, the weather matched the dark, unsettled mood between them. Wind buffeted the trees and blew against the side of the vehicle, and the overhead clouds wereheavy with imminent rain. Fortunately, Wiggins and Green had put on greatcoats, and they had their tricorns, but those items wouldn’t offer much protection from the elements.
