Page 22 of The Season for Loving
One corner of her mouth pulled into a funny, sideways quirk. She held the glass out to him. “Would you like a sip? I know it’s not whiskey, but it’s an excellent vintage. Bertie discovered it when he was recuperating in France. He brought several casks back with him.”
When he hesitated, one of her eyebrows went up. “Are you afraid your whisky won’t be able to hold up against a fine French brandy?”
He couldn’t hold back a smile.
“Ah, lass,” he said, letting his brogue deepen. “Didn’t ye know that no self-respecting Scotsman could ever say no to a dare, especially one coming from a wee Sassenach?”
She smothered a laugh. “Good Lord. That brogue of yours is a bit much sometimes.” Still, he couldn’t help noticing that she was blushing.
By the time he prowled over to the desk, her cheeks had turned quite rosy and her gaze drifted over him in a way that made the blood rush through his veins.
When he took the glass from her hand, her lips parted and she drew in a deep breath. “I’m so happy you wore your kilt,” she whispered. “You look smashing.”
Holding her admiring gaze, Fergus took a drink. The smooth burn slid down his throat, sending warmth into his stomach and all through his body. A heady sort of anticipation seemed to shimmer in the air between them. God, he wanted to taste the brandy on her lips and in her mouth.
“It’s not whisky, but it’ll do.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded rough.
And hungry.
Georgie gave a little shiver. Through a haze of desire, it occurred to Fergus that she might be cold. After the heated environment of the ballroom, it was no wonder.
“Are you cold?” he asked gruffly.
“Actually, I feel like I’m on fire.”
She plucked the glass from his hand and all but dropped it onto the desk. Then she reached up and wrapped her hands around the back of his neck. Fergus was so surprised that it didn’t even occur to him to resist when she pulled his head down and clamped her sweet mouth on his.
In an instant, Georgie became the world. There was nothing but the feel of her mouth on his, of her hands around his neck, of her slim body arching up to cuddle against him. He wrapped his hands around her shoulders, hanging on as if she was the only steady point in all of creation.
And, God, what a kiss. It was so enthusiastically awkward and heartfelt that it was a wonder he could even keep steady on his feet. Fergus had kissed his share of willing lasses over the years, girls who had more experience than he had. He’d enjoyed all those kisses and the caresses that had followed. But none had prepared him for Georgie.
He slid his arms down to her waist and pulled her against him, bringing her clean off the desk. When she squeaked and her lips parted, Fergus took full advantage. He slipped inside, teasing her with his tongue, enjoying the taste of hot brandy and delicious girl. She quivered in his embrace, but then pressed herself closer as she murmured deep in her throat.
Sensation crashed through the remaining frayed threads of his self-restraint. He’d spent the last two years living like a monk, his penance self-imposed. But with Georgie’s body pressed against him, her lips moving over his in a teasing slide, all those dreary months slipped away. She was everything he wanted—generosity, acceptance, and love. Everything he’d been convinced would be forever denied him.
He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted, setting her gently down on the desk. They broke apart, and their kiss seemed to shimmer and then dissolve into the space between them. It was a bittersweet moment. Their first kiss, and already he mourned its passing.
Georgie stared up at him with eyes glittering with emotion. He felt his throat go tight.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered.
“Are you sure?”
Her smile was as soft as a drift of fallen snow. “It’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Fergus touched the bare skin of her shoulder, soft as the velvet of her dress. He leaned down to nuzzle her lips and gradually deepened the kiss. Georgie squirmed closer and dug her fingers into his hips, silently urging him closer. But when her fingers bunched into the fabric of his kilt and begin to inch it up, he froze in shock. The realization of what he was doing lanced through his brain like a bolt of lightening.
Bloody hell.
Two years ago, Alec had been caught in a similar position with Edie, even though he’d still been officially betrothed to Fergus’ sister. Fergus had almost killed Alec over the betrayal, or what Fergus had seen as the betrayal.
And yet here he was acting in much the same way with his host’s innocent, virginal sister.
It didn’t matter that Georgie seemed as entranced as he was. Fergus was a mature man and he should be looking out for her, not taking advantage of her innocence. He was both a cad and a hypocrite, and if he could horsewhip himself he would do it in an instant.
He pried her hands from his body and stepped away.
“What…what are you doing?” she stuttered. “Why are you stopping?”
