Page 7 of Never Kiss a Scot
So how then to get his beautiful blonde siren away from her protective guard dog of a brother and his damned band of rogues?
An elopement, perhaps? Yes, that would do nicely. A race to Scotland. He knew the roads better than any Englishman and could travel faster, even with Joanna in tow, assuming he could convince her to marry him.
“Brock,” Joanna whispered against his mouth between kisses. “You are…the most wicked man I’ve ever met.” Her breathless accusation held no real venom, only sensual delight and surprise.
“I’ve not even started to kiss you properly,” he said with a chuckle, brushing the backs of his fingers over her cheek.
She gazed up at him. “You haven’t?” Those blue eyes, deep and mysterious as the loch by his castle back home, were so damned lovely and wide-eyed with innocence.
A bone-deep ache grew inside him whenever he looked at her. This wasn’t simple lust; she filled him with a longing for things he’d dared not to dream of since he was a lad. She was a ray of sunlight, a hearty laugh, a wink and a smile all rolled together. She was everything good and pure in life, and hewantedher—wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything before.
She must be mine, at any cost. It was a greedy thought, he knew, to think he could possess her when he didn’t deserve such a beacon of light in his life, and once she realized she was kissing a damned devil she would hate him. Yet he couldn’t bear to face that truth just yet.
His father’s cruelty had destroyed so much of him that even his heart was made of stone.
“When I kiss you properly, lass, you will know.” He nuzzled her throat before he pressed a slow, languid kiss above her collarbone. She sucked in a breath, struggling against his hold, but it wasn’t an attempt to get free—it was an attempt to get closer.
“Where are we going?” she asked between gasps as he moved his lips back up to her throat.
“To my home, at least for now. My brothers and I are sharing a residence on Finchley Street for the duration of the festivities.”
“Your…home?” Some of the drowsy lust in her voice faded. “No, we mustn’t…”
This time when she fought his hold, he allowed her to pull herself free. She shrank away from him on their shared seat. “You must take me home at once.”
“Joanna,” he whispered. “Surely you know why I have come.”
“For Rosalind’s wedding,” she said coldly.
“That is only one reason. The other isyou.” He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away.
“You left me alone for a month! You kissed me and left me without a word! And now you want me to believe that you’re here for me? I doubt you thought of me at all before you saw me at the assembly.”
The hurt in her eyes wounded him, but there was no way to make her understand. The night they had met had been dangerous, and he couldn’t have done anything more than kiss her. He could not have made it back to Scotland with both Joanna and his sister. And he could not have written to her or sent word, because her brother no doubt had been watching her ever since that night.
Brock had convinced himself—or tried to—that leaving her alone was better, that she belonged with a man who could love her. But he had been a damned fool to think that he could stay away from her, though, not once he saw her again.
“Marry me,” he blurted out.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Let me take you to Scotland, make you a proper bride.”
She gazed at him, mute, trying to process his words. “But…” He could see the indecision in her eyes.
“We still have two days before the wedding. You dinna have to decide now.” He opened the coach window and gave the driver her brother’s address. Once the coach turned around, he sat back on the seat across from her and tried to remind himself that she needed time. Taking her into his arms for another kiss wouldn’t necessarily change her mind. Women needed more than passion in their lives; they needed stability, a common ground. He could offer none of that. His past had been vastly different and far harsher than hers. But it didn’t stop him from wanting her enough that it made him ache inside to think of letting her go.
When he and his brothers had arrived for the wedding, he’d hoped to see her sooner, but her damned brother had kept her safely away each time he’d tried to visit, though always making it seem coincidental. Even with their differences settled there was a cat-and-mouse game of civility between them. It had only been luck that he’d seen Ashton disappearing out of the assembly hall when Joanna had approached him to dance; otherwise, he never would have had the chance to talk to her, let alone share five dances with her. He’d expected her brother to storm in at any moment and drag her away, but he hadn’t. The overprotective fool had slipped up in Brock’s favor, but Brock wasn’t stupid enough to believe that Ashton wouldn’t figure out where his sister had gone and who had chased after her.
He knows I want her, and he’s protecting her, just as I tried to protect my sister from him.Brock was never one to enjoy situations of irony, and this one made him want to punch a stone wall.
“Why do you want to marry me?” she asked after a long silence.
“Why?” he echoed, confused.
“Yes. Why? Do you love me?”
He stumbled in his response. “Well… I mean…”
