Page 74 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Mabel’s eyes glistened with tears, and her own eyes began to water.
“No, no, you must not,” Mabel cried. “Doan’t mind me, girl. I wanted to say, I’ve watched over you since you were tiny, like you were my own little girl, and I’ve worried whether you’d find a man good enough for you. And I think you have. And I think your mother will be pleased, looking down from heaven, and even Jock if he managed to talk his way past St. Peter, and I don’t know about your father because I only met him the once.” She sniffed loudly. “There now. I’ve no need to wish you happiness. I know you’ll have found it. Dry your hair now.”
At Mabel’s signal, Bink downed his last shot of whisky, accepted the back-slapping good wishes of the men, and found his way to the stairs. A warm whisky buzz filled his head and helped keep him at half-staff.
Kincaid would send Johnny and Ewan off to bed and would retire in a bit, he’d promised. His absolute confidence in the inn and the men he’d hired reassured Bink. His knowledge of the district was one of the reasons they’d chosen Gretna over Coldstream.
When he rapped on the door, quick footfalls sounded and the latch turned.
Warm, rose-scented air greeted him, but no woman.
She was hiding behind the door, poor lass. Probably nervous, wearing what, he could not imagine and didn’t care since he intended to take it off her, the quicker the better.
His shaft swelled and he forced in a breath.Slow your bloody self down, Gibson.
“I hear there is food here.” When he crossed the threshold, she stepped up.
And he froze.
A white dressing gown rippled from her shoulders to the floor, sheer silk covering lace that outlined the mounds of her breasts. Under the thin fabric he could see shadowy nipples already taut.
Eating could wait. With tightly coiled muscles, he eased the door shut and turned the key in the lock, his eyes filled with her.
She folded her arms over her breasts, then stretched them out again, curling and uncurling her fingers. His hands prickled and itched, needing to touch her.
Tension rippled from her, reminding him the girl had a case of the virgin nerves.
She scooped two hunks of hair and flipped them over her breasts, sending waves of heady perfume his way. He followed the two lines of dark silk down her shoulders to where the coiled ends reached her tiny cinched waist, and further, over curved hips, down to the bare toes peeking out from the puddled silk of her robe.
Desire swamped him. He wanted her, and he could have her. She was his, his to have and to hold, and forever. He could rip off the white lacy gown and devour every inch of her, right down to those tiny feet. He could hold her naked atop him, the veil of her hair draping them, tickling his chest.
He held out his hand, and when she gave him hers, the madness lifted and the famished need became more bearable.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She frowned and shook her head. “You may eat, but please kiss me first.”
He fixed his eyes on hers to help maintain his control. “Are you sure you would not like to eat first?”
Her bottom lip trembled. “Now you are avoiding looking at the rest of me. Do I shock you?”
He lifted her hand, kissed it, and her face puckered again. “Oh, aye. You look shockingly beautiful.”
“Ah,” she breathed. “Well, if you first wish to eat—”
His kiss stopped her, chaste, and short. Holding only her hand, he took a step back.
Her lips trembled. “You’re teasing.”
“Am I, lass? Well, then…” He pulled the tie of her robe, undoing the bow. She inhaled sharply, sending her breasts higher, unwinding that wild need in him again. He pushed her hair aside, and traced a shaking finger down her neck, over the top of one creamy mound.
Her hand open and flew to his cheek landing softly. “Your jaw feels a bit swollen from Spellen’s fist. And you haven’t yet shaved.”
And surely he stunk of sweat and horses. Hewasa selfish brute.
He lifted her hand from his face and kissed it. “Nor washed. I’d best go take care of that.”
He tried to drop her hand, but she stepped up against him and enfolded him in her arms.
