Page 89 of When a Lady Kisses a Scot
“Yes, I did.” He smiled. “There’s no cause to be nervous. We won’t do anything you don’t wish to do. You have my word as a gentleman.”
“A gentleman? You were quite convincing as a bold scoundrel.”
“I will only be as bold as you’d like.”
She moved closer and reached out, touching him, skimming her fingertips over the strong contours of his chest. His skin was warm, heavenly so, an intriguing blend of satin and a slightly rough texture she couldn’t quite describe.
“I’ll make love to you tonight, Sophie. But only if you want me.”
“I do want you,” she breathed against his mouth. “So very much.”
His hands went to the dressing gown sash. An unspoken question filled his sapphire eyes.
She nodded. He untied the ribbon and slowly slipped the garment over her shoulders. A single fingertip traced the ridge of her collarbone as the robe pooled around her ankles.
Dipping his head, he kissed the column of her throat and nipped at her earlobe, light and teasing. Strong arms held her tight, molding her to his body. His erection pressed to her softness, throbbed against her with a powerful need, and she tilted her hips, seeking the precious contact.
“I’m going to love you tonight, Sophie,” he said. “There’s no need to rush. We have all night. I intend to savor every moment.”
He eased his hold. Taking a step back, he released her.
Against the background of the firelight, her cotton gown clung to her curves. Her nipples grew taut against the soft fabric, rosy against the translucent cloth. His gaze swept over her. His fingers threaded through her hair, and he pulled in a breath.
“I want to see you. All of you.” His voice took on a raw tone.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Easing her arms up, he pulled the gown over her head with an unhurried motion. It drifted to the floor.
She stood before him, bared to his eyes, utterly vulnerable. And yet, she felt no fear, no apprehension. The look in his eyes tore away the last shred of doubt, of restraint. She wanted this. She wanted to learn what it meant to be wicked and free.
And most of all, she wanted him.
“You’re perfect, Sophie.” He skimmed the curve of her hips with his hands. “God above, you’re beautiful.”
And then, her feet no longer touched the floor. She was in his arms. He carried her to the bed, placing her on the sheet before he stripped off the pajamas and tossed them over a chair.
Oh, my! He was gorgeous. Tall and lean-muscled, he bore not an ounce of excess flesh. Dark hair dusted his powerful chest, while a thin line of the same shade etched a path from his navel downward over his taut lower abdomen. That tempting trail had intrigued her earlier, when it led beneath the waist of his trousers. But now, he stood bared to her, and she drank him in.
He came to her. Her heart raced as anticipation surged through her.
Dipping his head, he kissed her, a passionate caress. Sparks deep within her core flared to life. Her body heated. She wanted him—needed him.
His hands were strong and gentle, the skin rougher textured than hers. He caressed her breasts and then ducked his head to kiss them. His tongue circled the bud of one nipple, then the other, stirring her longing.
She arched her back, thirsting for more of his touch, even as her fingers curved around his shoulders. Exploring the steely muscles. Relishing the feel of him. Delighting in the faint aroma of shaving soap and the healthy male musk that filled her senses.
He prowled lower, pressing tender kisses to her belly, to her inner thighs, to the sensitive pulse point behind her knee.
“You’re lovely, Sophie, my sweet. I can’t get enough of you.”
He parted her thighs, the motion slow and easy. He stilled, his breath warm against the sensitive flesh. Oh, how she ached for him.
And he sensed it. He knew what she needed. What she wanted.
His fingers sought and found that most sensitive flesh between her thighs. Teasing. Caressing. Loving. She heard a soft moan, dully realizing it was her own voice.
“I want you, Sophie. I want to love every inch of you.”
