To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)
The paper snapped, it unfolded so quickly beneath his fingers. His face blanked, then flushed. Alex turned to her trunk and smoothed the already neat bundles of clothing.
She'd given it to him in anger, and already her hand itched to snatch it back. Damien's note was passionate and flirtatious, and she'd only wanted to show Collin that someone didn't think her too low to desire. Now she felt foolish. Used.
"It came this afternoon," she muttered. The letter was brief. Surely he'd finished it.
"I thank you for the information. And the titillation."
A glance over her shoulder found him holding it out toward her. She sniffed. "Shouldn't you keep it? It's what you wanted, after all."
"Oh, I wouldn't deprive you of such a tender keepsake. Surely you treasure his vivid remembrance of that evening in the rose garden. It is all that keeps him going, after all."
Alex snatched it back from him as she should have done before he'd read it. A hard toss sent it floating into the chest and she slammed the lid against the sight of it.
"Good-bye, Mr. Blackburn. Let me know if I can be of assistance to you in the future." The silence behind her stretched her nerves thin. "What?"
A shush of fabric as he shifted. Then nothing.
"What?"
"I did not kiss you, or . . . I did not make love to you as a means to get information."
"Really?"
He cursed. It sounded like a curse, anyway, though it wasn't English. Gaelic, she guessed. Of course, she didn't really think he'd used her, but better he think that the cause of her anger than injured pride and hurt feelings.
"I realize you do not know me well," he murmured from close behind her. "But I would never do that. I meant to not touch you at all, but I could not help myself."
A shiver of pleasure slid over her spine at the honest heat in his voice.
"I am not a man who often loses control."
"And so you did not."
"I did. If not for that ill-timed cart I would have happily buried myself between your legs and damn the consequences."
The shiver turned to a stroke of hot lust. Oh, God, she could picture him rocking against her, his naked hips pressed against her own.
His hand reached from behind to circle her wrist. He pulled her around to face him. "Is this a habit of yours? Collecting confessions of lust from men who can't have you?"
"I. . ." His nearness, the savage light in his eyes. . . She had to breathe deep to clear her head. "You could have me."
"You are not the type of woman a man simply beds."
That surprised a sharp laugh out of her. "I am exactly that type of woman."
"Don't speak that way of yourself," he growled. "It's not true. I knew the moment I met you it wasn't true."
"But. . ." she choked out, confused and oddly hurt by his words.
"We all do stupid things when we're young, Alex. Do not let past indiscretions dictate the rest of your life. You are a fine woman—smart and kind."
"Oh, Collin," she sighed and pulled her hand from his. "Don't be naive. I'm truly ruined. The Errant Heiress, they call me. The Duke's Despair."
"You are rich and beautiful and the sister of a duke. Don't tell me you haven't had men clamoring to marry you even since the scandal."
She shrugged, sullen in the face of the truth. "Not the kind of men I'd marry."
"One day there will be. And you should not damage yourself further because of past mistakes."