The Laird’s Christmas Kiss (The Lairds Most Likely 2)

“Cielo, come upstairs with me now, and if you’re good, I’ll show you just how generous I am, my fine Highland laird.”

He laughed softly. “I’m always good, mo leannan. Haven’t ye worked that out yet?”

“Oh, so arrogant!” Their voices faded as they climbed the steps. “It’s lucky for you that you’re charming along with it.”

Once she was sure Marina and Fergus had gone, Elspeth cautiously opened the door. “I have to go, before the servants start snuffing the candles.”

“I know,” Brody said, the heat of his body burning along her back. He kissed her neck again with predictable results. Dear heaven, how on earth would she sleep after all this excitement?

“Will you stop doing that?” she hissed, shifting against him and making him groan.

“Ye like it.”

“Of course I like it,” she said impatiently. “That’s the problem.”

He laughed.

“Shh!”

He lowered his voice again. “I’ll see ye tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

He still didn’t let go, although his hold loosened. She could get away if she wanted, but right now, she was having too good a time. The prospect of her departure made him miserable. How glorious. After he’d disregarded her for so long, she couldn’t help basking in his sudden interest.

“Alone like this?”

“We’ll see.” In all the years she’d longed for Brod

y Girvan across an unbridgeable distance, she’d never imagined she’d feel brave enough to tease him. Tonight, the distance shrank to nothing at all.

She knew what they did was a game. Neither of them took it seriously. But she’d loved his kisses, and she hoped to heaven he’d kiss her again before Christmas was over.

The wish came true faster than she’d expected. Brody twisted her around and kissed her lips. “You should go.”

“I should.” Really she’d have to do something about reinforcing her legs, if he was going to make a habit of kissing her. Her knees were back to imitating wet string. “Good night, Brody.”

“Good night, mo chridhe.”

She stiffened in his grasp. He called her his heart, and she knew he didn’t mean it the way Fergus did when he used the endearment to Marina. Even an innocent like Elspeth understood that insincere avowals were part of a flirtation, but this one cut a little too close to the bone.

Her voice was shaky when she spoke. “Carry your mistletoe when next we meet.”

“It’s in my pocket, and that’s where it will stay.” His lilting Highland accent warmed and deepened.

“Good. You never know, it may come in handy.” She paused. “Then again, it may not.”

“Elspeth, ye wee besom…”

She disentangled herself, and this time slipped out of the morning room without his interference. Brody didn’t follow, which turned out to be fortunate. The maids, Kirsty and Rowena, emerged from the hall carrying trays of dirty glasses.

Elspeth wished the girls good night and prayed that the frail candlelight was kind enough to hide all the signs that she’d just enjoyed a thorough kissing from a roguish laird.

Or perhaps not quite thorough enough. She shivered again—it had been quite a shivery evening all round—to recall that strange, but wildly thrilling moment when his tongue had dipped into her mouth. She’d never imagined anyone doing such a thing, but tasting him so deeply, however fleeting the incursion, had sparked her carnal interest. What she’d felt in Brody’s arms was a million miles away from her milksop fantasies.

At least tonight had banished those juvenile absurdities forever. Her difficulty now was to avoid becoming addicted to his touch—and to make sure that he didn’t mistake her willingness to swap a few playful kisses for a desire to take things further. If he compromised her here at a family party, a proposal would be the inevitable result.

Pursuing a flirtation and preserving her virtue required a risky balance, for his sake and hers. Elspeth had no intention of accepting a reluctant bridegroom.