Scotsmen Prefer Blondes (17 page)

She discovered she didn’t want polite. She moaned against his mouth, and when he opened his lips, she was already waiting for his tongue to claim her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He slid a hand under the curve of her buttocks and lifted her, angling her toward him, leaving only her toes to graze the carpet. She felt the length of his erection between them, and maybe it should have frightened her, but she felt a fierce kick of pride. She’d caused that — and with this man, she wanted what it offered.

Her life always came back to words, but for once, she couldn’t track her observations as they happened — her words found it impossible to keep up. Within the swirling heat of their kiss, she registered impressions, like the stubble of his shadowed beard abrading her hand as she caressed his jaw. The wild taste of his mouth, whisky mixed with the barest trace of salt. The low growl in his throat as she nipped his lip — the answering thrust of his tongue as he deepened his claim.

Cool air skimmed her skin as he hiked up her skirts. The little breath she still had rushed out of her lungs as he broke their kiss to scoop her up into his arms, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. The bulge in his breeches jutted dangerously close to her most private place, drawing all her attention to the throbbing between her legs.

“Please, Malcolm,” she whispered into his neck.

He shifted her up, even closer, and kissed her again. He was slower this time, almost gentle — almost polite.

But not quite.

One of his hands cupped her derriere, pushing her hard against him, and the slower pace of their kiss let her feel everything else. His scent worked its way through her, the tang of his sweat, the heady combination of leather and exertion. She should have felt dirty, should have wanted the pale, perfumed skin of a London gentleman instead of Malcolm’s callused hands stroking her waist.

She didn’t want a gentleman. She wanted him.

And she wanted him
now
.

“Please,” she said again, more demanding this time.

He pulled back just enough to see her clearly. His face was almost impassive, a statue carved out of granite, and she might have thought that he was unaffected by her. She’d gotten better at seeing into the depths of his eyes, though. And in the flickering firelight, she saw how much he wanted her, too.

“I didn’t think you would be here,” he said.

She exhaled. “I didn’t think I would either.”

He paused. She saw some battle play out over his face, so quick she might have missed it had she not been dying to understand his thoughts. The consequence wasn’t what she expected.

He set her on her feet.

Her skirts fell around her. The velvet settled in heavy folds, suddenly feeling like a tomb in which her desire would be buried alive. She must have gaped at him, because his hand came up to tap her chin and shut her mouth. His thumb slid across the corner of her lip, and he almost leaned in to kiss her again.

She would have accepted it. But at the last moment he pulled back. “Are you sure you want me?” he asked.

She was dazed by his kisses, too dazed to understand what he was driving at. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I know you want me now. But I don’t want you hot one minute and cold the next. I’d rather have a marriage of convenience than come to your room every night wondering whether I’ll get the whore or the nun.”

“That’s not nice.”

He shrugged. “This could just be another strategy on your part. If it’s not a trick, then tell me what you want — show me what you want. But if you can’t stomach the thought of sharing my bed every night, then get out.”

She was out of her depth. Usually she was the one who saw five steps ahead. But while she was scheming her way out of their engagement, Malcolm had been planning for their inevitable future together. So when he demanded her view of it, she didn’t have any logic ready.

All she had was instinct.

And instinct told her to jump.

She bridged the distance between them and twined her fingers with his. “This isn’t a trick. I want the pleasure you promised me, Malcolm. And I want it tonight.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Amelia held her breath as she waited for Malcolm’s response. She had never done anything so brazen. But knowing that he wanted her — not her dowry, or her bloodlines, but
her
— was enthralling. She would see where that desire led.

And if he hurt her, or broke her trust, she could still find her way back to her original path.

He was tightly wound, a grim warrior surveying his captive. Or maybe he was the captive and she was the warrior queen, able to grant mercy if he pleased her. She glimpsed every story between them in that moment, read the web of tangled roles, felt the shifting balances as he regarded her. He took a step toward her, lifted her again, and she sighed against his ear as he cradled her in his arms.

But when he set her on the edge of the bed, he didn’t join her. “If you claim you want pleasure, I await your command,” he said.

His eyes were hooded and his thoughts were unreadable as he stood before her. She looked away from his eyes, down the slightly crooked nose, the tight lips, the firmly sculpted chin, to the broad shoulders and chest below.

She threw her lot in with the devil. “Take off your jacket,” she ordered.

He raised an eyebrow but complied, shrugging out of the tightly fitted jacket and tossing it on a nearby chair. His shoulders were just as wide in his linen shirt as they were in his jacket — no tailor’s artifice was responsible for the way she swallowed at the sight of him.

Then he waited.

“Do I really need to ask for everything?” she said, her cheeks already flaming as she struggled to articulate her desires.

Malcolm grinned then, and even though his smile disappeared almost as soon as it arrived, it gave her heart. “This is your adventure, darling, not mine.”

“Very well, then,” she said, hoping her blush would die. “Remove your cravat and your waistcoat.”

Malcolm did as he was instructed, slowly, leisurely, with nothing to hide. His long fingers slowly untied the starched linen cravat, slipping it loose from his neck and letting it slide to the floor.

His eyes met hers as he began to unfasten his waistcoat, and her breath caught. He seemed to be daring her to continue — but could she handle what she asked for?

She broke away from his gaze and watched as each button came free. He threw the waistcoat to join the jacket on the nearby chair.

“Your shirt next,” she said, feeling a thread of heat uncurling deep inside her.

He didn’t bother with the ties that held the shirt closed. He tugged violently at the neckline, tearing the cloth as he pulled the shirt over his head. She watched the muscles of his stomach ripple as he lifted his arms to pull the shirt off. She had to clasp her hands to stop herself from reaching out and skimming her fingers across the flat planes of his belly.

Malcolm dropped the shirt to the floor and ran a hand through his tousled hair. The warrior look was back. “Should I guess what you will demand next?”

His breeches couldn’t conceal the bulge of his manhood. He wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended. She heard it in his voice, too — he was dangerously close to taking over, to forgetting his vow to make her say what she wanted.

The devil inside her urged her in a different direction.

She wanted to watch him strip completely, but the need to touch him was too great. “Kiss me,” she demanded, grasping his hand and pulling him toward her. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to meet his.

He grazed the tip of her nose.

“Kiss my mouth,” Amelia clarified, gritting her teeth.

Malcolm chuckled, then cupped her face with his hand. His lips claimed hers, and she felt the shock of connection where her lips were still swollen from their previous kiss. She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, willing him closer. But while the kiss held all the heat and promise of their earlier kisses, he made no move to deepen it. He stayed tightly in control, even when she tentatively ran her tongue across his closed lips in silent invitation.

Finally, she pulled away. “You really won’t make this easy for me, will you?”

He almost looked contrite, but his eyes were smug. “I’m merely giving you what you want.”

There was something undeniably alluring about having him follow her orders. But if she had to stop every minute to issue further instructions, she doubted she would find fulfillment.

She switched tactics. “What would you do if a courtesan asked you to pleasure her? Would you know what to do?”

“Of course,” he snorted. “But...”

She cut him off. “Then that’s what I want. I want you to pleasure me like that.”

“I thought my reference to whores offended you,” he said, his harsh tone warning her to stop.

Amelia pushed ahead. “You piqued my interest. You may begin at your leisure.”

He eyed her darkly. His expression, so controlled a few moments earlier, was suddenly feral, and she shivered as he pulled her against his chest. The bed still supported her, but just barely. He seemed to like having her reliant on him for support.

But she reached that point again where thought was difficult, and then motivation and machinations didn’t matter. Where their last kiss was soft and restrained, this kiss was hot, wet, maddening. He ran his hands over her hair, still pinned tightly to her scalp. His roughness as he loosened hairpins, then braids, only increased her need. Her fingers pressed into his bare shoulders as her golden curls tumbled around them, urging him closer.

He broke away. Her lips parted on a silent question. He shook his head. “I will give you what you asked for,” he said. It sounded like a warning as his fingers deftly unfastened her riding jacket. “And you had best not change your mind, because it is too late for me to stop.”

He flicked open her jacket, pushing both the jacket sleeves and the thin straps of her chemise over her shoulders. Her arms were trapped by the fitted fabric, but he didn’t wait for her to remove them. He untied the neck of her chemise and shoved it down, freeing her breasts and staring at them for one endless moment before kissing her again.

She kissed him back, driven on by the heat building within her. She wanted to touch him, and she struggled against her jacket. He shook her shoulders, just a bit, just until she gave up her efforts and left her arms bound up in velvet.

When she was still, he slowly slid his hands over her tightening nipples. This time, she didn’t protest as his lips moved away from hers, didn’t try to free her arms. She guessed his destination, and she watched his progress through heavy lids as he swept a trail of kisses down to her breasts.

He slid a hand down to her ankle, skimming his fingers up her calf, tickling them across the sensitive flesh behind her knee, and finally caressing the curve of her derriere. Without breaking the kisses he was bestowing on her bosom, he shifted her and eased her skirts past her hips. She drew a shocked breath as her bare bottom met the cool silk coverlet, then moaned as his mouth abandoned her.

He tugged her skirts above her waist, the yards of velvet pooling on her belly and baring her to his hungry gaze. Ignoring her sounds of protest, he pushed her back to rest on her elbows, knelt before her, and draped her legs over his bare shoulders.

“Malcolm, I don’t...” she started to say, but her words fled as his lips found the nub of pleasure hidden beneath her curls.

The arousal caused by watching him undress was nothing compared to the sudden conflagration sparked by this new onslaught. When she cried out, his kisses turned rougher, until every stroke of his tongue was a teasing torment, holding her on the brink of release.

She urged him closer, arching back into the bed, her muscles tensed and trembling with need. But instead of pushing her over the edge, he slowed down, languorously licking and suckling between her soft folds.

He continued this pattern for endless minutes. A few strokes of his tongue on the center of her pleasure would send her to the brink — until he pulled back, kissing her inner thigh or swirling slowly around the outer edges of her opening, leaving her panting with frustration. Then he would start again, stoking the fires within her, until all of her thoughts were consumed with the need to leap over the edge.

Finally, she could take no more. “Malcolm, now,” she demanded, wrapping her legs around him as her desire overcame her.

As though he had been waiting for her command, he intensified his assault, flicking his tongue rapidly across her core, and she screamed as she shuddered in climax. The tide as she came took her somewhere beyond thought, to a moment of perfect, endless silence.

She fell back on the bed, breathless, melting, her legs slipping off of Malcolm’s shoulders as he pulled away. She slowly came back to earth, still trembling with the aftershocks, and opened her eyes to see Malcolm standing above her. He gave her a self-satisfied grin. She’d lost herself for a moment, but he had found her, and she thought the gleam in his eyes looked almost devious.

They regarded each other for long moments. Malcolm watched her with the intensity of a predator readying for the kill. Amelia couldn’t resist him even if she wanted to — and with the memory of his mouth still on her flesh, she thought she might never resist him again.

“Are you satisfied?” she asked.

His laugh was pained. “Hardly. But I trust that you want me.”

Her gaze dropped to his crotch, still rock hard under his breeches. “I’m not convinced you want me, MacCabe.”

She’d never called him that. He arched a brow. “What proof does the lady require?”

Amelia shrugged out of her jacket, leaving her upper body bare as her chemise fell to her waist. Malcolm watched, his eyes narrowing as he sought control, and she pulled him down into another kiss. It was brief, but she found his hunger and the shocking taste of herself on his lips.

She broke it off, then repeated his words. “If you want pleasure, I await your command.”

*    *    *

He wanted her. By God, he wanted her. He wanted to plunge into her, bury himself in her warmth, feel her clench around him as they both came. Or feel her lips wrap around his cock, her tongue a glorious torment. She was on his bed, half dressed, offering it all to him.