Page 16 of Never Kiss a Scot
My sweet littleSassenachhas surrendered to me.
6
This was madness. Joanna knew she ought to protest, to push Brock away, but all she could hear was her mother and brother’s conversation from the previous night, haunting her. Her melancholy thoughts soon faded beneath the hum of her blood under her skin as she surrendered to Brock’s kiss.
She was not wanted, not desired…yet here was a man whodidwant her. He not only wanted her but he wanted to know her. And she wanted to know him, this quiet, brooding man who showed her a world of passion whenever he touched her. Perhaps lust could turn to love given enough time?
She closed her eyes as their mouths met in a soft, slow kiss. She gripped his massive shoulders, admiring the way he stretched the coat he wore. He towered over her and she couldn’t help but feel small and delicate, in a purely feminine way that she liked immensely.
The gentlemen at the ball last night were nothing compared to him. He moved with a masculine, nonchalant grace that spoke of years of working every part of his body rather than lounging around card tables or billiard rooms. The outlines of his muscles strained against the fabric of his waistcoat, and she wondered if he had outgrown the garment over the last few years, becoming even more muscled. The thought sent a wild racing pulse straight to the core of her womanhood.
Brock moved his mouth expertly over hers, kissing her with great gentleness, which negated any fears she had about him using his strength to overwhelm her. She stroked a hand down the square line of his jaw, feeling the clean-shaven skin. Their mouths broke apart, and she was lost in his gaze, astonished by the inherent strength in his face and that sharp, assessing gaze that softened whenever he was close to her. She wondered if in some way she tempered the wild, feral man before her.
“Lass…what you do to me…” His voice was husky, and her skin broke out in goose bumps.
“What do I do to you?” she asked, her voice breathless as she craved to know his answer. Was he as affected by this wonderful madness as she was?
He stroked the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “You make me…forget,” he said, his warm breath fanning her face. How could this feel so intimate? This closeness, the sharing of breath? He lowered his head again to kiss her.
“Forget what?” she asked between kisses.
“How to behave. I shouldna be doing this here, but I want you so much.”
“I want you too.” She tugged at his shoulders, wanting something more.
Brock’s hand wandered up her leg, pulling her skirt up to her thigh, and she whimpered in delight, and with a little trepidation. His palm was rough and hot as a firebrand against her thigh. She’d never had a man touch her there before
The sound of the library door opening made them both freeze. Voices could be heard. Voices she recognized.
“Ash, what’s wrong?” Charles asked.
Joanna shifted closer in Brock’s arms at the same time he moved to shield her behind him. They were hidden by the fall of the curtain, so surely no one would see them. Especially, she hoped, her brother and his friend.
“Something is bothering me. I can’t say what,” Ashton said. His voice drew closer. Joanna could still feel Brock’s hand on her thigh, his fingers digging into her skin as they both remained still.
“It’s the Scots, isn’t it? Ever since they came to Bath, you’ve been…twitching.” Charles chuckled.
“I haven’t.” Ashton’s voice was full of frustration.
There was another snort of laughter, but it cut off abruptly. “I say…are curtains supposed to have boots beneath them?”
Joanna had but an instant to look down and realize the curtain didn’t cover Brock’s feet and his boots were clearly visible. There was a wrenching of the fabric as it was flung aside.
“God’s blood!” Ashton bellowed as he caught sight of them. A few feet behind him Charles stood, watching them, mouth agape. Joanna rushed to smooth out her mussed hair in panic.
“Ash” Joanna began, but her brother had already thrown a punch, catching Brock squarely on the jaw. He staggered but did not fall.
“No!” Joanna tried to get around Brock so she might step between him and her brother, but she couldn’t. He threw an arm out, keeping her trapped behind him.
“I knew I couldn’t trust you!” Ashton shouted and swung another fist. Brock dodged it. Joanna tried to grasp Brock, but her hands met thin air and she toppled to the ground, wincing as her hip and arms took the brunt of her weight on the hardwood floor. She scrambled to press herself flat against the wall by the window as Ashton dove at Brock, catching him around the waist. The pair stumbled back, knocking into a sturdy bookshelf, but the momentum made the shelf quake, and a number of books toppled to the ground.
Brock struggled to catch one of the books before it landed on the floor, but the effort only opened him up to a sharp jab of Ashton’s fist straight into his stomach. He didn’t drop the book, but he grunted with a look of pain.
Charles knelt beside her, offering her a hand, which she gratefully accepted. She got to her feet and tried to move toward the fighting men, but Charles caught her wrist.
“Wait a moment—you’ll only get hit if you get too close. Let them sort it out themselves.”
“But he’s hurting Brock!” she cried and pulled free of Charles’s hand. It was quite clear Ashton was the aggressor, and Brock was doing his best to fend off blows while not throwing any of his own.
