To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)

"What are you doing?" he gasped.

"Trying to help."

"No, not that! The other. . ."

She shrugged and sent him the first shy smile he'd seen cross her lips.

"I couldn't help it."

"Couldn't help what?"

"Touching you."

He drew back from her, took another panicked step away and held up a hand to ward her off, but he only re­ceived a fierce frown in return.

"You needn't look so horrified."

"Lady Alexandra," he started, cringing at the desperate edge of his voice.

"I was under the impression that my interest was returned."

"My God, girl, you're the sister of a duke!"

"Well, what does that have to do with anything?"

He stared at her open-mouthed, incredulous. "I am a Scotsman, a bastard."

"Well, I'm a fallen woman—a whore as far as society is concerned." She shrugged. "The idea is only enhanced by my brother's title."

Unable to think of anything to say to that, he threw his hands in the air, rolling his eyes in disgust.

Her eyes narrowed at him, seemed to threaten some­thing as she took a purposeful step forward. His body tensed to jump away, but he forced himself to be still. She was just a wee girl, after all.

"Collin?" How did she make his name into a caress? She took another step. "I thought. . ." Her hand lifted and inched toward him. He wanted to shy like a wild, wary horse as he followed its inexorable progress toward his neck. "I've seen you watching me," she finally said as her fingers brushed his skin.

He felt his eyes close, felt a groan rumble up his throat and into her hand.

"I thought you wanted me, too," she whispered, the words soft with something close to doubt.

Don't answer her, he told himself. Just walk away. But his lips moved of their own accord. "My God, Alexandra. Don't all men want you?"

"No, of course not. No. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter to me. But you . . . You're so lovely."

His eyes flew open and locked with hers. "That's ridicu­lous," he rasped, but he was reaching for her as he spoke. His hand curled around her nape, the heat of her skin seep­ing into his palm. He watched her pale neck arch into his grip before his gaze slid to her lips.

"This is a mistake." The words fell from his mouth even as he lowered it to hers.

She sighed, a sweet brush of warmth against his mouth, and then a searing whip of fire when she touched the tip of her tongue to his bottom lip. She shuddered—or he did—and he opened his lips to possess her.

Heat, he thought. She tasted like heat and lust and sweetness. Her small hand smoothed from his neck to the' curls of hair just above his collar and clutched him there, and Collin felt his cock swell.

Jesus, he must be mad. He had to let her go, but he couldn't stop his hand from curving over her waist and pulling her hard against his arousal. Wisps of panic iced his veins, but between her fiery mouth and clutching hand all he could think of was having more of her.

The roundness of her backside tempted the edge of his palm. Even as he thought of exploring it, he realized he'd al­ready swept his arm down, and now he found her gorgeous bottom cupped in his hand, the perfect shape to fill it.

A small sound vibrated into his mouth. A tantalizing sound, something between a purr and a moan. Searing lust shot through him like fire, banishing his alarm, and he groaned and pressed his hips against her belly.

The sun shone hot on them, and Collin felt her hand slide up under his coat and then the shock of her fingers pressing into his back. Even through his linen shirt, the feel of her touching him was so unexpected that it gave him the strength to try to pull away, but she pressed small kisses to his jaw and throat and murmured his name. When he felt the sharpness of her teeth against his skin, he jumped and set her apart from him.