To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)

Waiting till the last spasm shook her, Collin laid her back against the burgundy rug and tore at the buttons of his riding breeches. His eyes took in her panting mouth, her tight nipples, before they settled on her center, pink and wet and spread before him.

"I willna last long, mo caitein. No longer than you. I'm sorry." She trembled a little as he finally slipped free of his damned clothes.

Her hand rose, and Collin tried to stop her, tried to stay her movement, but her fingers brushed his erection before he could manage a word. Looking down, unable to help himself, he saw her small hand, her delicate fingers trying to wrap around him, to grasp him. The sight of that hand, nearly too small to circle the whole of his shaft, sent him over the edge. He pulled out of her reach, braced his knees against the ground, and slid the tip of himself inside her.

His body was already straining, already drawing itself up to explode, and he knew he could not hesitate or it would be over before it began.

"I'm sorry," he growled again and thrust deep and hard, sinking himself to the hilt.

His release was upon him even as she screamed, even as he felt the sudden resistance that was even more suddenly gone, even as he realized with a horrible shock that some­thing was very wrong.

His muscles clenched. His seed spilled into her, and her small white hands pushed at his shoulders, trying to free her body from his.

Chapter 10

The room began to right itself, slowly inching back into place. Collin reared back, still tight inside her, and stared into her wide eyes. He felt the beginnings of a thought, felt his brain begin to ease back to reality, and tried to deny what it was telling him.

Absolutely not. He had not taken her maidenhead.

But she was shaking beneath him, trembling, her face tight and pale. "Please," she bleated, hands pressed into her own stomach.

He withdrew with a grimace and stared in disbelief at the bright smear of blood on his flesh. Blinking hard, he shook his head, rose to his feet. His mind stirred anew as he padded into the kitchen and wet a cloth with cold water. He delivered it to Alexandra, tossed her his shirt to cover herself, and turned to find his breeches.

"I'm sorry," she said from behind him.

"Sorry." He fastened his buttons with numb fingers.

"Yes."

He swung about to find her still huddled on the floor, his shirt clutched tight to her body. Her chin inched up, and he was shocked by the urge to slap her. "That's it?"

"What?"

"Is that the whole of your apology?"

"I. . ." She swallowed, glanced around at her scattered clothing. "I would like to explain."

"Oh, explain*. Explain what? That you are a liar and a cheat? That you tricked me into coming here? Explain that I will have to do the honorable thing and marry you be­cause I'm now covered in your virgin's blood? Good God, is there someone hiding in the broom closet, waiting to give witness?"

Her jaw tightened, flexed to rock. "Don't be ridiculous."

Collin choked, coughing on his rage. "What the hell have you done, Alexandra?"

Her eyes jerked around the room again. "Could you please turn around so I can dress?"

"Turn around?" Collin could hear himself shouting and cared not a whit. "Turn around? For God's sake, woman, I just plowed through ye!"

She drew herself up straight, red spots of rage bright on her pale cheeks. "Fine." Standing, she crumpled his shirt and threw it at his face. Collin glimpsed a pink drop of fluid snaking down her thigh before he turned his back to her.

Rustling cloth and soft curses reached his ears as she dressed. Collin's heart began to stutter with panic as the reality of the situation sunk in. She would be his wife now. His wife.

Jeannie Kirkland would be pleased, at least.

"I didn't come here to trick you into marriage," Alex spit at his back when she finally felt covered enough. The words spun him around.

"Well, it's too late to cry off now."

"No, Collin, listen. I don't want to marry you, I just—"