The Highlander's English Bride (The Lairds Most Likely 6)

More poetry. Here in Scotland, he unleashed a strain of Celtic romanticism that he kept under wraps in London. His mother had told her that she’d never understand the man she’d married until she saw him at Glen Lyon.

He brushed away the material covering her neck and began to kiss her there. Volleys of breathtaking thrills sizzled through her, and she released a helpless gasp as her knees buckled.

She grabbed the front of his linen shirt. "Hamish…"

Until now, her neck had seemed a prosaic part of her body, a mere apparatus for holding up her head. Under the depredations of Hamish’s lips, it turned out to be a location ripe for delight.

As he kissed along her shoulder, Emily was vaguely aware of his fingers tugging more buttons loose. When his hand insinuated itself under the shirt to cup her breast through her stays, she cried out in surprise.

Gently he squeezed, and the breath caught in her throat. The pulse between her legs hammered so frantically that it shook her whole body. Her nipples tightened, and her undergarments turned into instruments of torture. She wanted his hands on her bare skin. She wanted her hands on his bare skin.

Emily realized that she needed to decide here and now whether she meant him to continue. The wild woman he’d conjured to life was more than ready to lose her maidenhead on a rugged Scottish hillside. Anything, so long as he didn’t stop touching her. The more cautious creature who had held sway all her life reminded her that this was an experiment. Now she’d satisfied her original question, it was time to stop.

She’d wanted to know what a kiss was like. More, she’d wanted to know if she enjoyed Hamish’s kisses. It turned out that kissing was a splendid pastime, especially when her husband did it. This was the best experiment she’d ever conducted.

"Hamish," she said in a breathy voice that bore no resemblance to her throaty murmur only moments ago.

"Hmm?" He kissed her behind the ear. For a second, she was tempted to consign prudence to perdition. His thumb idly brushed her nipple and even through her shift, the effect was shattering.

"Hamish…" She heard failing will in the quivering sound.

"Yes?" He nipped at her ear lobe. "May I take down your hair? I love your hair."

She knew he did. She knew now how close he’d come to kissing her during those charged moments in the library at Bloomsbury. "That’s not sensible."

"Sensible can go to blazes," he muttered against her neck.

She really shouldn’t, but she tilted her head to give him greater access. "You don’t mean that," she said with no conviction whatsoever.

"By God, I do."

It seemed if she intended to bring this seduction to a halt, the first move was up to her. But, oh, what regret burdened her heart as she strove to bolster legs that had turned to jelly.

"You’re going to let sensible win." He raised his head and stared down at her.

His unconcealed disappointment made her exult. She hadn’t only learned how it felt to kiss a man. She’d discovered how it felt when a man wanted her to the edge of desperation.

Emily had never thought of herself as a girl who could make a man shake with need. Yet Hamish, handsome, clever, worldly Hamish, was completely at her mercy.

How interesting. How astonishing. How…delicious.

"I am." Regret didn’t only weigh down her heart. It weighed down her answer, too. "This was meant to be a kiss, and only a kiss."

In the moonlight, she caught the flash of his straight white teeth as he smiled. As the tension eased, she breathed a sigh of relief. He meant to abide by his word and let her set the pace.

At that moment, Emily realized with harrowing clarity that somewhere in all their topsy-turvy dealings, somewhere since that chaotic night at Pascoe Place, she’d fallen in love with her husband.

Oh, no, this promised to be a disaster. She had absolutely no idea what to do with this irresistible, uninvited, all-encompassing love. Because even if she became Hamish’s wife in every sense – and it was inevitable that she’d end up sharing his bed – love was a step too far. They’d spent most of their time together squabbling. This new concord might not last. In fact, it was likely that it wouldn’t.

"What is it, Emily?" He didn’t sound like the man who’d been lost to pleasure such a short while ago.

Oh, dear, she forgot how perceptive he was. Was she capable of hiding her love from him? Could she bear for him to feel sorry for her? When he said he cared, did that mean he could come to love her?

One thing she did know – tonight’s revelations were so fresh, so powerful, she needed time to consider them before she took any action.

"Nothing." She winced at the faint sharpness. She’d like to think that their old combative relationship was gone forever, but so many years of quarreling couldn’t disappear without a trace.

He frowned, but she couldn’t read his expression. Curse this moonlight. It hid as much as it revealed.