To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)

"So you'll cook for us?"

"Oho, aren't you a funny one? The woman I hired to clean in the mornings will also prepare a full day's worth of food before she leaves. She promised to be gone by nine every day, so we shan't even see her."

"You have a devious mind, young woman."

She shrugged, eyes sparkling with self-satisfaction. "I trained in London."

"Well, hopefully there are still some Scottish skills I can pass on." He watched as she wiggled a little under his gaze.

"My governess was adamant that there is always room to further one's education."

Samson turned to nudge Collin away from the spot he'd been brushing for nigh on two minutes. With a sigh, he set his mind to the task at hand. His chores would be complete within a quarter hour, and they had the whole of a week before them. He tried not to look at her again. Tried and failed.

When he'd finally toted the last bucket of water from the spring, he found he'd misplaced one rosy-cheeked woman. He discovered her inside the house, frowning in puzzle­ment at a large plate of red mush on the kitchen table.

"Making my dinner, dearest?"

Alexandra jumped and looked toward him with alarmed eyes. "She said to leave the pie in the window to cool."

"Well, it looks cool." Collin squinted toward the shad­owed sill of the kitchen window. Red tracks wove over the wood in a serpentine pattern. "Cool enough for a crow anyway."

She stared down at the cherry mess of ruined pie and blinked. "What a terrible kitchen maid I'd make."

"Well, I've worked as a kitchen maid and I'll be happy to serve you."

"Really?" She blinked her shock away and looked him over with a crooked smile. "It must take yards of wool to make a dress your size."

"As luck would have it, my mother did not require me to dress the part."

Her giggle was a little high-pitched. Collin hadn't real­ized she was nervous, and perhaps she hadn't been earlier, but now he saw that her hands plucked at her skirt as she looked over the room, that her teeth worried the full curve of her bottom lip. It was easy to forget, especially in this circumstance, that the girl was only nineteen . . . no, twenty now. Twenty and usually so very sure of herself.

He stepped close to press a kiss to her nose. "I'll light the lamps. It'll be dark soon."

She avoided his eyes, let her gaze touch everything in the kitchen but him. "I should set the table. Get you some dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"No?" Her gaze finally settled on his boots. "Thirsty then?"

"Aye," he conceded, tilting up her chin with one cal-lused finger. "I could do with a touch of wine." She bright­ened with relief and moved quickly to the table, so urgent that her hair trailed out on a breeze behind her.

The cottage was simple and small, and he took in the whole of the first floor with a sweeping glance. Stairs at the back of the kitchen led up to what must be the bed­room. Everything was neat and clean, stone and wood and fine rugs to protect against the hard oak floor.

He wondered who had lived here before. Perhaps no one, perhaps it had always been a trysting place, a hide­away. It was certainly secluded enough. The dimming light of the sun filtered though a canopy of leaves, casting dusk an hour early. Collin moved to light the lamps.

He laid out a small fire for good measure and was trying to decide whether to light it when her shadow fell over his shoulder. Turning from the hearth, he found Alexandra standing a few feet away with a tremulous smile and two glasses of deep red wine.

His mouth watered.

"The wine." Her voice was soft, a little husky, almost a question.

"Yes," he answered, eyes on her mouth. She licked her lips, a gesture he recognized now . . . and appreciated. Smiling, he took the glass she offered and delighted in the blush that stained her cheeks. She didn't seem to know what to do with him now that she had him in her clutches, and Collin was relieved to finally be the seducer.

Sipping his wine, he watched her gulp hers before she turned and retreated to the kitchen to refill her glass. When she wandered back, she did not walk to him, but stopped to stare nonchalantly out the window at the dimness of leaves and shadow.

A wave of heat prickled his nerves and stiffened his cock, an anticipation like the scent of prey. The lust had always been there, always at the surface, but now it was tinged with the chase, the challenge of arousing her beyond her hesitation. He moved toward her with narrow-eyed focus, leaving his wine glass on the table as he passed.

The line of her shoulders was hard beneath the cotton of her gown. She heard him approach, perhaps even saw him reflected in the window, but she pretended not to notice, frozen like a rabbit in the hunt. His smile widened.