To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)
"And you'll let me work in the stables?" "Aye." Another.
"And I may wear my breeches?" He froze at that, lifted his head. "Ah . . ." Her soft giggle nearly brought tears of relief to his eyes. "Maith me duit" she murmured, her hands urging his head closer again.
"What?"
"Maith me duit. I forgive you. Didn't I say it right?"
"Christ help me, I'll never keep a secret now." Her hands pulled him down and he opened his lips to her stroking tongue before he pulled away again. "Mmm. That was easy. I'd no idea you were such a soft heart."
Distracted by the feel of her round bottom in his hand, Collin neglected to block this punch, and her fist, small as it was, turned out to be much sturdier than his left ear. His soft-hearted wife seemed quite satisfied with his howl.
Chapter 22
Alexandra had never felt so buoyant, so happy. Even when she'd handed over Damien's letter to Collin. . . Even as she'd watched him curse and scowl and mutter vile threats of retribution. . . she'd had to work hard at seriousness. His foul mood did not make her cringe or pout. She was happy.
Her heart had flipped quite acrobatically when Collin looked up from his third reading, gentled his features, and apologized for "putting her in a position of believing that little prick's threats." In short, he understood. Truly.
And now even Collin had relaxed, riding abreast of her borrowed nag, though his eyes roamed the trees ahead and his hand stayed close to his pistol. Brinn tagged along quite happily behind them, naked back twitching beneath the midday sun. Collin and Alex did not speak but snuck dozens of smiles at each other, until she was hard-pressed not to giggle at each touch of his eyes.
She felt like a bride, finally. Like an innocent girl just stripped and stroked for the first time. She actually blushed at the thought.
Collin growled from her left. "Are you thinking of last night, wife, or the night to come?"
She let her laughter free. "Both."
"And what about this afternoon?"
"This afternoon?"
His wolf smile was back. Alex squealed like a cornered lamb when his long arm shot out and plucked her from the saddle to ride his lap instead.
Thor danced sideways under the strange weight, and Alex reached in panic for a handhold. She found one—a perfect one—and felt the huge expansion of Collin's chest as her fingers tightened convulsively.
"Shit," he gasped, a croak of pleasure and alarm.
"Sorry!" she squeaked, releasing her grip.
"Just glad you didn't fall off and take it with you." The words were strained, but he composed himself enough to grab her hand and tuck it back into his lap. "Not so tight this time, lassie."
She wiggled her hip against him, easing closer to his growing length. Thor shied again. Collin bit her neck. "Mm."
"I don't think Thor appreciates the weight," he murmured, lips sliding over her skin to her ear. "Mm."
"He's tired, probably. Needs a rest."
"Yes."
"There's a stream just ahead. A clearing. And we must stop for lunch."
"Perfect."
And so their day went.
They were not three miles from Westmore when Alex shook her head to clear away the haze of languid satisfaction. "It was Jeannie in Fergus's bed, I hope."
"And how could you know that?"
"Instinct." Her eyes flew to his and away again. "I did not know she'd been to his bed."