Stolen By The Scottish Rogue (Kilts & Kisses 2)

“Lord McAuley…”

“You’re engaged,” I growl. “So I’ve been told.”

I reach up, one hand touching her chin and raising it up. Those green eyes blaze into mine, and I grunt as I move right into her. My other hand moves to her waist, sliding over her bare skin as the beast in me hungers for more.

“And yet?”

I lean close, her breath catches, and my heart stops for one second.

“And yet, I don’t care.”

Kissing her is like the world finally spinning the right way after an eon of going backwards. My lips sear to hers, and all the fire and heat and lust that’s been barely held back comes shattering free like a dam giving way. She trembles, freezing against my touch, but as I hold her close and let my lips crush against hers, slowly, I feel her melt into me. And when she moans—so softly, so quietly but I still hear it—I know.

I know she’s mine.

I kiss her hungrily, tasting her lips as my tongue pushes past them. She whimpers, opening her mouth to me, willingly letting me stroke her tongue with mine as she melts into me. I growl, my hand tightening on her bare skin as the beast in me roars. My cock lurches, throbbing rock hard and tenting my kilt as I pull her against me. Time stops, our breaths mingle, and our tongues tease each other’s, until suddenly, like lighting striking, she’s gasping and jumping away.

She pushes me away from her, her face bright red, and her lips so swollen from my kiss.

“My lord…”

But, those lips, so plump and tempting. Those eyes blazing fire into mine. That flush on her cheeks.

…That glimpse of bare hip, the swell of her breast under the clutched fabric, with the twin points of nipples straining against the thin material.

No, I’m not even close to being done with her.

I growl, walking right into her, and when she gasps and falls into my arms again, her lips open willingly for me. I kiss her deeply, and softly, claiming her mouth for my own as time stops around us.

That is, until she jumps away, again. And this time, there’s no tempting look. There’s no tremblingly lower lip beckoning me for more. There’s just a heated scowl on her face and a finger jabbed right at me.

“You need to leave, Lord McAuley,” she hisses breathlessly, her face bright red.

I stand my ground, eyeing her.

“Please,” she whispers pleadingly.

“And if I say no?”

She trembles.

“If I stayed and took what I wanted?”

I swear, even though she tries to cover it, I hear the whimper in her throat. Her eyes blaze even hotter, and for a moment, I think she’s about to walk right over and kiss me right back. But she doesn’t.

She just shakes her head, stepping back and snatching up the bedcovers from the bed. She hauls them around her shoulders, wrapping them tight and covering her nakedness from me.

“Please leave or I’ll be forced to call the guards,” she says primly.

I stand there another moment, eye to eye, our hearts racing.

“I’m engaged, Lord McAuley,” she breathes.

“And I still don’t care, Lady Pembrose,” I growl, my eyes locking onto hers.

“Until next time, princess.”

“There won’t be a—”

“Yes, there will.”

And then I’m out the door, my pulse racing, my head spinning, and my cock so hard it threatens to tip me over.

Now I very much need that drink.

Chapter 4

Ailith

Our family priest says that lust is a deadly sin. He says that temptations of the flesh lead to Hell. And adultery… well, adultery is a sure-fire way to burn in Hell. I’m not with Lord Carlson, but then, I sort of am. I may not like the idea of an arranged marriage, or that my father is swayed by his private business with Lord Carlson into letting him take me as his fourth wife. But sin is still sin. And I still kissed Lord McAuley two weeks ago, at Una’s wedding.

No, he kissed you.

I set my jaw. That’s a better story. I like that version—the one that leaves me blameless and rests it solely on Lord McAuley taking advantage of me.

…Even though I know that’s a bold lie. Not true in the slightest.

Him taking advantage of me for real would never have happened, because I’d have called for guards. But him moving against me, and touching me, and kissing me?

I let it happen, because I wanted it. Because I’ve never felt anything like that—that sort of heat and total loss of control. That raw need for something—the feeling of desire so deep and so hot inside of me that I can barely think or breathe.

Kissing Malcolm McAuley might have been a sin. And wrong. And scandalous, and wicked. But deep down, I know I wanted it.

Badly.

And what’s even worse?

I shiver, hugging my arms around myself. What’s even worse is that I still want it.