Stranded With The Scottish Earl

Charlotte waited for him to say he was pleased, but he still looked as if he poised on the edge of a cliff. A cliff with hungry crocodiles snapping below.

“Soon?” he growled.

“Tomorrow if I could.”

“Good.”

He grabbed her old-fashioned round gown at the hips and crushed the material in his hands. “I want you naked,” he said, voice edged.

She loved his fierceness. It stemmed from need. She wanted him to need her. When she laid her hand on his heaving chest, he was as hot as a furnace. At her touch, he bit back a groan.

Today she’d been impressed with his urbanity under trying circumstances. This lack of control now told her more than anything else could that if she yielded to this passion, he yielded, too. They were equals in desire.

“This dress lifts right off,” she said. It was why she’d worn it. She saw his eyes flare sapphire, then a cloud of cotton blinded her as he whisked the gown over her head.

Under the dress, she was naked. She straightened and stood before him, offering him everything she was. It was frightening to leave herself so open—trust was never easy for her. But as she read the wonder in his expression, she recognized that this time, her allegiance wasn’t misplaced.

“You’re so beautiful.” The awe in his voice brushed across her bare skin like a warm breeze. Emotion thickened his accent. He no longer sounded as if he meant to devour her in two snaps of those straight white teeth.

With a gentleness that made her tremble, he drew her against him until her breasts met his bare chest. Instinctively she moved closer to all that heat and power, making him groan again.

The universe was hot and dark, and brimming with sensual discovery. He held her face in the curve of his shoulder. With sight denied, other senses sharpened. She stood in his arms, as their breath eased into the same rhythm. His musky scent was the air she breathed, and his heart pounded like hammer blows against her. She was overwhelmingly conscious of his potent masculinity.

The communication was too profound for speech. Soon he’d join her in the bed she’d never shared with another person. He’d invade her body, and she’d be a virgin no more. But this serene interval marked the beginning of their true union.

After a universe of time, he began to touch her, hands skimming across her naked skin in glancing exploration. Her heart kicked into a gallop, and she arched closer.

He smoothed her wild mane of hair until she felt like purring. Then his hands slid greedily over shoulders and back and flanks. He dipped to shape the curve of her hips and the swell of her buttocks. Her skin came alive under his exploration. His touch made her head swim, turned her legs weak. The wonder left her clinging to his shoulders.

So close to him, she knew he trembled, too, with long, quaking shivers that combed through him like waves crashing toward the shore. She turned her head and kissed his warm, male flesh. His taste flooded her senses. His busy hands stilled, and she heard his breath catch.

She shook her hair back from her face and stared up at him. This sensual man tugged so powerfully at her desire. His expression was intent, and his lips were full and dark. His eyelids were heavy. He looked like he was lost in a drugged paradise.

“I don’t know how to please you,” she whispered.

For the first time since he’d burst into her room, tenderness softened his smile. Her blood melted to syrup as those strong hands rose to cradle her head.

“You don’t have to do anything, mo chridhe. Your mere presence pleases me more than I can say.” He paused, then spoke with more emphasis, in case she misunderstood. “You please me.”

The mad swoop of her heart left her dizzy. He kissed her again, and she sank into sweetness. When he lowered her to the bed, the sheets were cool under her back.

Ewan stood beside the bed, staring at her. She bit back a whimper and shifted. Lying before him, naked and vulnerable, aroused a needy, heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. A deep pulse pounded between her legs. She shifted again, but the brush of bedding on her skin only heightened the barrage of sensations.

In a leisurely inspection, his gaze drifted down her body, lingering on her breasts, the feathery, dark gold curls that covered her mound, her legs. Although his hands remained loose at his sides, she felt like he touched her.

When she’d decided to give herself to Ewan, she’d resolved to be bold. What point hesitating, when she’d chosen so decisively to fall?

But his detailed scrutiny of her body, a body she’d never revealed to a man, tested her courage. She bore it as long as she could, before she placed a shaking hand over her sex.

“You’re glorious, Charlotte.” That sweet smile still hovered around his lips. “There’s no need to be shy.”

Her cheeks were hot, and that throbbing, insistent demand between her thighs threatened to send her insane. Shamefully, the touch of her hand made her imagine Ewan stroking her.

“I’ve never done this before,” she stammered, struggling to revive the audacious girl who had invited him to come to her.

But that girl hadn’t been spread out on a bed like a sacrifice. Charlotte sucked in a shaky breath and noticed how his eyes fixed on the rise of her breasts. Her nipples pearled in longing, and heat flooded her.

“I know how privileged I am.”