Page 88 of When a Lady Kisses a Scot
She nibbled her lower lip, as she did when she was nervous. Her throat tensed, and she swallowed. When she spoke, her reply was cheeky, not at all what he’d anticipated.
“Do you now?” Her voice had gone softer, its notes velvety, slightly husky.
He dragged in a breath. His hungry cock issued its own demands. Perhaps he should strip her bare and love her right here, on the brink of the hearth’s heat.
“More than you know.”
Damn it, Sophie deserved more than a tussle on a braided rug. She deserved luxury and fine cotton sheets. Someday, he’d pamper her in a suite, bathe her in a tub filled with rose-scented oils, and love her in a plush feather bed. Someday, he’d show her the life he could offer.
But tonight, he could love her in a rugged four-poster bed warmed by a humble stone fireplace.
He’d learn the texture of her skin and stoke the fire of passion in her eyes. He’d give her pleasure. He’d drink in the sight and sound and delicate aroma of her skin.
If she wanted him.
“Come to me tonight, Sophie.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Beneath the soft lamplight glow in her bedchamber, Sophie lay on a feather bed, a quilt loosely strewn over her body. Arms folded behind her head, she peered at the ceiling, her gaze following the mix of shadows and light.
Come to me tonight, Sophie.
The mere thought of his tempting words unleashed a wave of hunger, a decadent ache deep within her. She’d gone utterly wanton. Truly she had. How else could she explain her desire to spend the night with Gavin? The very thought was a sweet madness.
It was bad enough that she’d succumbed to temptation back in London. He’d given such pleasure, taking nothing for himself. He’d seemed to relish her response, the way she’d reacted so passionately to his touch. She’d felt no shame. No apprehension. Only bliss, unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
If only Henry’s brash arrival had not interrupted their interlude…what might have happened? Would Gavin have taken her there and then, a passionate, desperate coupling? Or would he have restrained himself, reining in his ardor before the point of no return?
If she went to him tonight, he would make love to her. He’d left no doubt of that. Stripped of her defenses, both mental and physical, she would surrender to the wanting, to the desire that made her crave him more with every throb of her pulse.
She would share his bed, sleep in his arms, content to lie against him, soothed by the rhythm of his breaths.
He had not demanded a response to his plea. “If you come to me, I’ll know your answer.” He’d tipped up her chin, punctuating his words with a sweep of his lips over hers.
The decision was hers to make.
She wanted Gavin. No,wantedwas far too tame a word. She hungered for his touch and the taste of his kiss, yearned to learn the secrets of his male body.
She would indulge her desire tonight.
She sighed. In the rush to depart London for a safe haven, she’d been forced to leave behind the majority of her clothing. In addition to a few serviceable dresses, she’d packed a cotton nightdress, thin and plain as a chemise, and a light dressing gown. If only she wore a corset. At least that might provide a bit of allure, far more than a gown she’d never imagined wearing for any purpose other than sleeping in her own bed. Alone.
Well, there was nothing to be done about it. She peeled back the quilt, stepped onto the braided wool rug, and pulled on her dressing gown. Tying the pink ribbon around her waist, she gave thanks for at least that small bit of color.
Toying with the ribbon, she nibbled her lip. Would Gavin be surprised by her secret? She conducted herself as a modern woman. He likely believed her to be a woman of some experience, well-versed in lovemaking. Would he be disappointed to learn she was an utter novice in the art? Not quite a virgin. Yet unschooled in the ways of sensuality that heightened a man’s senses, that elevated making love from a simple mating to a heavenly experience.
Pulling in a breath to shore up her courage, she extinguished the lamp and tiptoed from her chamber. She walked silently down the hall. At this hour, it wouldn’t do to be caught sneaking about, much less entering Gavin’s chamber. She’d mentally prepared an explanation should she encounter any of the others, but she’d prefer not to have to use it.
She slowly opened the door to Gavin’s bedchamber and crept inside. A fire licked at the logs in the fireplace. He’d lit an oil lamp with an amber-tinted shade, bathing the room in a gentle light. She’d expected him to be in his bed, propped up against a pillow, waiting for her. Or perhaps, reclining in a relaxed pose, he’d already drifted off to sleep.
The bed was empty, the covers turned neatly back.
“Hello, Sophie.”
He stood at the washstand, bared to the waist, wearing only loose-fitting black pajamas. Turning to her, he toweled dry his freshly shaven face. Firelight cast golden hues over his chiseled abdomen. Her mouth went dry, and for a heartbeat, she wondered if she still possessed the ability to form coherent speech.
“You shaved,” she observed, chiding herself for pointing out the obvious as soon as she uttered the words.
