The last time he’d said those words they hadn’t been man and wife, but now the expression in his whisky-gold eyes left Kendra in no doubt as to his plans for the evening. Before she could react, the door shut behind him.
How could this be happening to her?
Her fashionable high Louis-heeled shoes made a loud, unnerving sound as she walked around the main room, picking things up and putting them down at random. She tried the bottom drawer of the desk again, but it was still stuck tight.
What had she expected? She’d first tried it only yesterday.
This was incredible.
Too soon, Trick blew through the doorway with a smile of anticipation that made her breath catch in her throat. He strolled straight to the cabinet and poured them each a goblet of wine. Yesterday’s cups were gone, the broken shards of glass picked up, the stain nonexistent, as though the spill had never happened.
But ithadhappened, and because of it, she was married to Trick Caldwell.
“Here,” he said, handing her a goblet. He tapped his against it, the tinkle of expensive crystal sounding pure and loud in the silence that stretched between them. “Slàinte mhór.”
Kendra watched his throat muscles work as he drank deeply. Perhaps he wasn’t as cavalier about this as he made himself out to be. Her head spinning even without the wine, she took a cautious sip. “Sl…what?”
With a gentle smile, he set down his glass and moved to her, slipping his arms about her waist. “Good health—a toast,” he translated quietly. “And don’t be too impressed. It’s all the Gaelic I can remember.”
“I…I’m…” Feeling dizzy, her heart pounding, Kendra placed one hand on his broad chest and leaned into him, knowing she was giving him the wrong idea but unable to help herself. She felt abandoned and confused, and he was her only anchor. “I’m not impressed.”
“Oh, aren’t you now?” he drawled, taking the goblet from her other hand. He bent to set it beside his on the table, and when he came back up, his mouth descended on hers.
Hot. Hot and soft. That was all Kendra could think. Then hard and urgent. His lips opened, coaxing hers to do the same. Then his tongue was in her mouth, slick and tender.
Though the mere thought of such a thing had been foreign until this evening, she wasn’t surprised to find that her instincts had been right. Tentatively she touched her own tongue to that tiny chip on his front tooth, just the way she had imagined.
It was a catalyst. Her body responded with a tingling flush of pleasure, and her arms clenched around him, lest she drop to her knees.
She felt a low, pleased chuckle rumble from his chest into hers—from his mouth into hers, too—vibrating within her. His hands moved to her waist, to keep her from falling. When he broke the kiss, she fought to catch her breath.
“Still not impressed, lassie?”
Her answer was a low moan as she reached to pull his head back down to hers, twining her fingers in his silky hair. She was trembling again, but not with fear; instead with a need she found thrilling. Their tongues fenced, and Kendra tasted wine and Trick, sweet and tart and so exciting, she thought she might die from the pleasure.
Not one to do anything halfway, she reached inside his blue velvet surcoat to pull at his shirt. It seemed impossibly long—to his knees, she’d swear—but it finally came loose, and she slipped her hands up under it, to feel the warm contours of his torso.
He jumped and pulled back, almost as though he hadn’t been aware of what she’d been doing. Kendra’s chest heaved as his eyes, darkened to bronze, burned into her own.
“Sweet Mary. You’re so…” He gave a shaky laugh. “I almost dragged you to the floor.”
Kendra blushed to realize she would have gone right down on the floor with him, no doubt about it. Maybe this wedding night would be easier than she’d thought.
He drew a steadying breath and ran a hand back through his hair, and she watched, transfixed, as the front flopped back down into place. “Why don’t you cut it?” she asked.
“Hmm?” His darkened gaze still held hers.
“Your hair, where it hangs down in your eyes.”
“Maybe I’m just lazy,” he suggested.
“You’re hiding,” she countered.
“Not tonight.” He moved close again and ran his warm hands lightly over her back. “Shall we repair to the bedchamber?”
Kendra didn’t think her face could get any hotter, but it did as he took her by the hand and led her down the corridor. The bedchamber had been cleaned up, too; no trace remained of the broken washbowl or its spilled contents. A new one stood in its place.
And, of course, there was the bed. Her gaze locked on it, anticipation and apprehension warring somewhere in her stomach.
