Page 42 of To Wed a Wild Scot
Logan went still, but only for the space of a single heartbeat. Then he buried his hands in her hair and surged between her lips with a groan, his tongue flicking and teasing the tender pink skin. She braced her hands on his chest, her fingers curling around his coat to pull him closer. He shifted until his body was pressed against hers, and he could feel every soft, warm curve of her against him.
A deep growl vibrated in his chest, and his mouth became more desperate. She clung to him, meeting every one of his hungry kisses, every sensuous stroke of his tongue. Logan’s control slipped further with every taste of her sweet, eager mouth. His restless hands moved over her back, then lower, down to her hips.
He’d forgotten where they were—had forgotten everything but her taste, her touch. He was seconds away from dragging her across his lap when footsteps coming down the hallway penetrated the haze of his desire. Just before the door opened, he managed to tear his mouth from hers.
He leapt up from the bed and hurried to the other side of the room just as Widow Macaulay bustled into the bedchamber. She had a tray in her hands and some clothes thrown over her arm. “All right, here we are, then. A wee dram of whisky will warm ye, and here’s a night rail and a dress for tomorrow, and…Logan? What ails ye, lad?”
Logan backed toward the door, his chest still heaving with his ragged breaths. “Nothing at all, just…I’ll leave you alone.”
He fled into the hallway, closing the firmly behind him. He wandered into the kitchen, fell heavily into one of the wooden chairs at the table, and dragged a shaking hand through his hair. He was still struggling to catch his breath, and his heart was pounding.
Christ, he’d kissed her.
He hadn’tplannedto kiss her. He hadn’t thought about it beforehand. They’d been talking about Fiona, and then the next thing he knew he was leaning toward her, his gaze on those parted pink lips, and…
Had he evenwantedto kiss her?
He’d hardly had a chance to think the question before the answer was there, echoing inside his head.
God, yes.
He’d spent the past few hours in a saddle with her, with the sweet curve of her arse pressed between his legs. He’d had to force himself to imagine Brice Robertson’s red nose hair to keep from embarrassing himself.
Damn right, he wanted to kiss her. She was beautiful, and he was a man, wasn’t he? What manwouldn’twant to stroke that soft skin, or tangle his hands in that thick, silky hair? His tastes usually ran toward lush, dark-haired Scottish lasses, but he’d have to be mad not to want to taste that sharp tongue of hers, plunge between those warm, pink lips and—
“Yer English lass wants to see ye.”
Logan leapt to his feet and turned to find Widow Macaulay standing in the kitchen doorway. “She does?”
“Aye.” She crossed the room and shook a warning finger in his face. “She’s half asleep already, and I won’t have ye standing in there all night long gawking at her. Ye make it quick, and ye mind yer manners with that lass, Logan Blair.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Logan couldn’t think of any reason why Juliana would want to see him, but he made his way down the hallway to the back bedchamber and knocked softly. “Lady Juliana?” He pushed the door open and tiptoed to the bed.
She was lying on her back, her eyes half-closed, a mass of loose curls spread out across her pillow. When she saw him standing there, her lips curved in a sleepy smile.
Logan stared down at her, swallowing.
Mind your manners, mind your manners, mind your—
“You’re a heroic sort of man, aren’t you, Mr. Blair?”
Her voice was so soft Logan had to draw closer to hear her. “Heroic? No, I’m not heroic, lass.”
“Yes, you are. You pulled me from the burn, then you carried me here on your horse, and when I nearly fell in the stables, you caught me. Whenever I’m about to take a tumble, you seem to be always there, waiting with open arms.”
Logan wasn’t sure how to reply to that, but Lady Juliana didn’t seem to expect an answer. “I’m not looking for someone to save me, you know. All I need is a husband. I’d hoped for a quiet one, with no heroics or drama about him, but that’s not you, is it?”
Logan’s lips quirked. “If you promise to stop falling down, I promise to stop catching you.”
She raised a hand, but then let it flop back down onto the bed. “It’s not just that. I want a dull husband, but you’re not…you’re all fierce glowers and broad shoulders and dark blue eyes and soft lips…”
Soft lips? She thought he had soft lips? Logan leaned over her, eager to hear what else she thought, but she trailed off, and her eyes drifted closed.
He waited, but she didn’t stir, and after a moment he reached down and drew the coverlet over her.
He was about to turn away when her fingers closed around his wrist to stop him. “It wouldn’t have to be like a real marriage. You wouldn’t need to stay in England for long, just…I only care that Grace is safe. My father is…he’s very ill, you see, and once he…” Her voice hitched, and she drew in a deep breath. “Once my father is gone, you could return to Scotland.”
“Return to Scotland?” Did she mean she and her niece would return to Castle Kinross with him, or—
