Page 56 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
To her delight, after everything he’d said and done just moments earlier, he blushed. “Only with you.”
More affection swept through her. She had asked him for something, something deeply intimate that required the height of trust, and he’d done it. For her.
She leaned forward and captured his lips with her own, imbuing the kiss with all the sweetness she could wordlessly express. And he returned the kiss gently, warmly.
“We’ve shocked the inn,” she murmured as she pulled back.
“You sound rather proud of it,” he said with a smile.
She tipped her chin up. “Perhaps I am.”
“Come upstairs with me.” His teeth nipped at the place behind her ear. “And I’ll give you all the scandal you want.”
Chapter 13
Waking with Beatrice in his arms was delightful. Starting the day by fucking her senseless was paradise.
Eventually, they managed to peel themselves off each other to wash and dress before heading for breakfast.
“Breakfast in the private room or the taproom?” he asked her as they descended to the ground floor.
“Taproom. After the thorough swiving you gave me fifteen minutes ago, I find myself quite sated. Temporarily, of course.” She shot him a wink over her shoulder.
“Vixen.” He’d half a mind—and half a cockstand—to take her against the staircase wall. It didn’t make sense. He was a man who could go days, if not weeks, between amorous encounters. He liked sex well enough, and prior lovers had seemed quite satisfied by his performance, yet it was never his consuming purpose.
When it came to her, he just couldn’t seem to getenough. He wanted to be inside her and hungered for her pleasure. Hearing her cry out her release was addicting. It was just like heaven. Despite a whole night of bedsport with her, he needed to take her back upstairs and make her moan.
But he wouldn’t be selfish. She needed food after the rigors he’d subjected her to.
The inn seemed remarkably quiet this morning, but he was in too fine a mood to pay the relative peace any mind. He guided her to a table in the almost empty taproom, and when they sat, the innkeeper approached gingerly.
“Good morning, sir, madam,” he said with a nervous bow.
“We both require a substantial breakfast, whatever you’ve available,” Duncan said. Recalling what Beatrice had ordered for breakfast in the past, he said, “Tea for my wife. Bring a pot of it so she doesn’t run out. Coffee for me.”
“Yes, sir.” The innkeeper hurried away, and if his demeanor seemed odd, Duncan couldn’t find the wherewithal to investigate. Such was the power of energetic, creative sex with a luscious woman.
“My, you’re very stern regarding my breakfast,” she murmured, and smiled. “I like it.”
He shrugged. “Merely making sure you get precisely what you want.”
“You’ve taken care of that quite well, in all regards.”Her smile turned wicked, and she stroked a finger across his wrist.
It was so easy, falling into the desire to give her everything.
A picture flooded his mind of spending countless mornings just like this one. Seeing her sexually satisfied face across from his at the breakfast table after a night of lovemaking. They’d review correspondence and the newspapers and discuss their plans for the day, perhaps making arrangements to meet for luncheon, and he’d spend the intervening hours anticipating seeing her again. He might even bring her a posy purchased from Covent Garden Market.
“It should be a good day for travel,” she said, glancing out the window at a sunlit kitchen garden. “At this rate, I’ll be exactly on time to arrive at Lord Gibb’s.”
He clenched his jaw as he fought a crushing wave of disappointment. Of course. She was set on traveling to her orgiastic house party. It meant so much to her, held enormous importance, and he understood that on an intellectual level, but that didn’t stop his gut’s reaction.
She hadn’t said anything about continuing their liaison once this trip had concluded. Foolishly gulling himself into believing their relationship was anything more than temporary led straight to heartbreak. This was just sex.
Other men might have been delighted by such an arrangement. He ought to be, too. And yet . . . because he was fashioned differently from other men, he craved more.
You can’t have more, he sternly told himself.Be grateful for what you’ve been given.
The innkeeper appeared, bringing dishes laden with eggs, sausages, and buttered toast. A woman set a pot of coffee and another of tea on the table.
