Page 50 of The Scot’s Secret

“Clara, I said I’d answer your questions, which I cannot do with that ridiculous disguise in place.”

“But ’tis not safe here to—”

“We are alone and will remain so for the evening. None will be arriving at the inn this late, and I’ve ensured we will not be disturbed.”

“How could you ensure such a thing?”

“I paid for it. Now will you please. . .”

“Hush,” she said impatiently. She was curious. And there was no denying that she did want this.

Clara removed the hat and pins, shook out her hair, and bent down to the satchel Alex had carelessly discarded. She wiped her face as best she could without water and turned toward him once again.

“You’ve got smudges,” he said, taking the cloth from her hand, “here.” He wiped her cheek. “And here.” He did the same to her forehead.

Clara stood still, mesmerized by his gentle yet precise touch. While she watched, Alex finished his ministrations and then tossed the cloth aside.

“You see,” he took a step toward her, his head nearly touching the rafters of the loft that would be their home for the night. “When you look upon someone you desire. . .” He came closer still and lifted her squire’s tunic above her head. “Your body tells you in many ways.”

Tossing it aside, he touched the binding.

“When I first saw this—” he touched the cloth with his hand, “—I could not clearly see what was hidden beneath it. But my body already knew what it took my mind a moment to understand.” His second hand moved to help the first, unwrapping the tightly wound fabric from her body. She could see his expression thanks to a small window opening in the stables beneath them that let in the moonlight. She reached up to hold onto his shoulders, afraid she might fall.

“I desired you immediately, though not as I do now. I did not know you well enough to admire you then. And I was angry at your deception.”

Her breasts were finally fully uncovered. She moved her hands to conceal them, but he wouldn’t allow her to do so.

“But those feelings you mentioned were there, anyway. Just as they are right now.”

He cupped her breasts in both hands, and Clara thought for sure she might die. It was as if he’d branded her. She closed her eyes, luxuriating in his touch.

“Desire,” he said, his voice so low she could hardly hear him. And then his hands moved, his thumbs brushing across the tip of each breast. “’Tis a powerful emotion. One that makes people do unusual things.”

She opened her eyes. “Such as?”

He took a step toward her. “This.”

His mouth came down on hers in a rush of heat and warmth. Of pleasure. His tongue dove into her mouth and he hauled her up against him. This kiss was unlike the others. It was hard and fast, demanding. She gave what he asked for, tentatively touching her own mouth to his and then becoming bolder as the sounds he made encouraged her.

He broke away, moved her hair to one side, and began to kiss her neck. His tongue flicked against her skin, behind her ear and then lower.

“I want you, Clara, as I’ve wanted no other.”

“Want?” she managed to say.

He took her head between his hand and ran his thumb along her lower lip. He looked down, groaned, and took a deep breath.

“I want to make love to you. I want what I can’t have.” He licked his lips and left behind a trail of wetness she longed to trace with her own tongue.

“Give me your hand.”

She didn’t even think twice. Clara raised her hand between them. He took it, turned it over, facing her palm downward, and said, “Do you promise not to be shocked?”

“Aye.”

He guided her hand down their bodies until it rested. . . there! Even beneath the fabric of his tunic and breeks, she could feel it. Quite easily. It was hard, very much so.

“Desire,” he repeated. “The evidence is there.”