His Rebellious Lass (Scottish Hearts 1)

Bridget ran her hands up and down her arms.

“Are you chilly?”

“A bit.”

Cam shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

…

Bridget inhaled deeply as she was immediately surrounded by warmth and the spicy scent of Cam’s jacket. She tugged the sides together. “Goodness, this feels wonderful.”

“Perhaps we should return inside?”

“No. I find it stifling in ballrooms.” She grinned. “In fact, I find it stifling just about anywhere except outdoors. I do so love the countryside. Once I have my house for women well established, with a competent staff to see to their needs, I hope to purchase a house for myself in the country.” She grinned at him. “In Scotland.”

“Ah, but if you find the man of your dreams, you will be retiring to his estate in the English countryside, with no need to buy your own house.”

She sneered. “There is nothing dream-worthy about a man. Only nightmares.”

Cam laughed. “Surely you don’t believe that to be true?”

“Frankly, I never thought about it one way or another until Minerva’s marriage and subsequent troubles.” She shook her head and lowered her voice as if they could be heard. “You know he even tied her—naked—to the bed one time and left her there for a few days with the bedchamber window open. It was January.”

“Didn’t the staff question her absence?”

“He told them she was ill and only he was to attend her.”

“And they believed that? Even her lady’s maid?”

“When your paycheck depends upon it, you believe anything.”

Cam must have thought he’d mumbled the curse, but she heard it. “What brought on these events, did she ever say?”

“Minerva was unable to bear Davenport an heir. He blamed her for that and even told her if she didn’t produce a son within a year he would kill her and marry another.” Her lips quirked. “That is precisely what he is doing, is it not?”

Wishing to move beyond the sad story of her friend, she held the jacket closed as she pointed at the clear sky. “Look at that star. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yes. Beautiful.”

She turned toward him at the sudden deepness in his voice to find him staring at her. She licked her lips, her heart beginning to pound in her chest. His hand reached up to touch her lightly on the cheek. “So very beautiful.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, the air between them crackling and snapping as if a thunderstorm were imminent. “Kiss me, Cam.” The soft-spoken words barely made it past her lips.

He pulled her closer and, cupping her face in his large hand, he lowered his head, at first only barely touching her lips with his. He brushed his lips back and forth until she was about to scream with the teasing. Just as she prepared to demand he kiss her properly, he covered her mouth with his, no gentleness or holding back. Almost of their own accord, her hands slid up his chest, covered only by his waistcoat, and gripped his strong shoulders. He pulled back a bit, nipping at her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, then with a groan, again covered her entire mouth.

He slid his tongue along her closed lips, and she opened, allowing him entrance. He swept in, touching all the sensitive parts. She tangled with him, enjoying the sparring, relishing the tingling in her breasts and between her legs.

Cam gripped her hips and moved her onto his lap. She shifted so she straddled him, not caring that her gown rose above her knees. Something hard pressed up against her core, similar to the last time they’d kissed. She slowly realized what it was. She’d seen enough of animals to recognize the male part of reproduction. Apparently, she was affecting him as much as he was doing the same to her.

His fingers fisted in her hair, and he tugged her head back, staring into her eyes with so much heat the intensity almost frightened her. Several of her pins popped out, causing her heavy curls to fall and skim her shoulders, bouncing down her back.

He released her mouth and kissed the soft skin beneath her ear, moving his mouth along her jawline, scattering small kisses. “This is wrong in so many ways.” His moaned words only spurred her to take his head into her hands and cover his mouth with hers.

Slowly his hand crept up her back, around to her front, until he was cupping her breast, massaging the softness, flicking his thumb over her nipple. A soft moan escaped her as his thumb kept stroking until she wanted to tear her gown and undergarments off so she could feel his caresses skin to skin.

“Tell me to stop, Bridget.” His voice was hoarse with need.

She shook her head. She didn’t want all these new and wonderful feelings to end. If anything, she wanted more. Much, much more. She must be a wanton; that was the only explanation for her behavior.