The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress (The Lairds Most Likely 7)

She raised her eyebrows. "Don’t?"

"While we’re together, don’t wear them."

When her eyes met his, he saw that this teasing game lured her to the edge of madness, too. "Very well."

Satisfaction filled him. He gestured toward her gown. "The dress next."

"You’ll have to help me. It does up the back."

"You want me to play your maid?"

"Yes."

He straightened. His cock swelled against his breeches. She already knew that. When she’d completed that slow inspection, her attention had lingered on his arousal. "Come here then. Although I can’t promise I’ll be too deft."

"Shall I call Mary?"

"No, damn you."

She gave a brief laugh and sauntered across with a sway of her hips that heated his blood. "Here, my lord."

She turned and bundled that wealth of hair up in both hands so he could reach her lacing. He leaned in and breathed deep of her jasmine scent, before he worked at the back of the dress. With each inch of flesh he uncovered across her shoulders, need escalated.

He forced himself to concentrate. The task took far too long, but at last the gown gaped open to reveal stays over a sheer white shift.

Brock told himself he wouldn’t touch her while she undressed, but he couldn’t resist placing his mouth on the graceful curve where her neck met her shoulder. She released a long sigh of surrender as he scraped his teeth over the sensitive flesh.

For a luscious moment, she sagged against him. Then she straightened and stepped away.

"What about your corset?" he asked, voice raw with desire.

When she bent her head, he stifled the urge to taste the nape of her neck. "It hooks in the front. I can do it."

Probably better she did. This drawn-out seduction became unmitigated torture. "I want to see your breasts."

Without turning around, she wriggled out of the gown and let it pool at her bare feet. His eyes feasted on the rear view of Selina wearing only her undergarments and that extravagant wealth of hair.

All the moisture dried from his mouth when she untied the tapes holding her petticoats and they slipped down to froth at her feet. The white globes of her buttocks pressed against the frail shift. His hands curled into fists, as another jolt of arousal shook him. His breath emerged in rough gasps.

She stepped away just before the temptation to shape that round softness overcame him. When she turned, the view from the front was even more enticing than the view from the back. The corset pushed up her breasts. Dark pink nipples, hard and needy, were visible under the linen. The loose shift hinted at shadowy secrets between her legs.

The long delay must eat at her, too, because her hands were clumsy with haste as she ripped at the hooks down the front of her plain corset. If she was his and not just a temporary lover, he’d array her in underclothing to make a courtesan blush. That magnificent figure deserved a magnificent setting.

His anticipation rose as she slid the corset off and dropped it on the floor beside the rest of her clothes. Then with a determined air, she grabbed her shift and hauled it over her head. As she tossed this last garment aside, she raised her chin.

"You beggar my dreams," he whispered in awe. He straightened, his gaze fixed on her. "You’re perfect."

"I want to be perfect for you, Brock." Her features were stark with need. "I want t

o cut so deep into your soul that you never forget me as long as you live."

"You have," he muttered, too overcome to hide the truth.

His gaze traveled over her creamy curves, the high breasts with their crests beaded with arousal. The plain of her stomach above the nest of golden brown curls.

Color tinged her cheeks, but she remained unmoving as he stepped closer. He brushed the fall of hair back from her shoulders, until he gained an unhindered view of her body.

His touch was light, even as devils of lust and possessiveness warred inside him. He skimmed his hands down her arms and along her spine and felt the quiver that belied her defiant stance.