Her hands rubbed up and down the plaid wool, and she swallowed hard, imagining the bareness beneath. He’d made a start, confiding a little bit about his childhood. If she trusted him with her body, would he perhaps return the favor by trusting her with his heart?
There was only one way to find out.
“Come upstairs,” she whispered.
Forty-Six
“GOOD EVENING,dearies.” When Kendra and Trick stepped into their chamber, Mrs. Ross came forward, two goblets in her hands. “I thought you might be wanting a wee sack posset to help you sleep.”
Kendra knew that sleep was the last thing on Trick’s mind. Or hers, truth be told. Regardless, she took one of the cups and sipped the warm, thick liquid, sweet and fragrant with the scents of cream and wine. Gazing at Trick over the rim, she watched as he removed the roll of papers from the front of his kilt and tucked it into his trunk.
“We thank you.” He nodded and smiled at Mrs. Ross. “And we wish you a good night,” he added pointedly.
Kendra sagged against the door after he closed it. “How strange that she would be waiting here for us.”
“She was my old nurse.” He unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it on the desk. “I reckon she saw us together earlier and figured it wouldn’t be long until we were for bed.” When she blushed, he pulled her close. “I don’t want to be thinking about Mrs. Ross now.”
His eyes burned into hers, making heat pool in her middle. She sipped some more of the posset, hoping the wine would bring her strength. And courage. She still wasn’t sure he would fit.
Her heart skittered at the thought, along with a rush of warmth low in her belly.
Without another word, Trick pried the cup from her fingers and set it down beside his own. He pulled the shawl from her shoulders, balled it up, and tossed it into a corner. Lowering his head, he teased his lips over her cleavage. “I much prefer these delightful English dresses,” he murmured.
The words felt warm against her skin. Until today, she’d never thought twice about the low necklines that had been in fashion since King Charles was restored to the throne. Trends were driven by Charles’s love for everything French, which meant she’d worn gowns like this all her life, even as a young girl exiled on the Continent.
But, thanks to her exasperating, overprotective brothers, never before had anyone taken advantage of all the skin such dresses revealed. A shame, she thought now, enjoying the sensation of Trick’s mouth against her flesh.
“I like this dress, too,” she said breathlessly.
“I’d like it even better on the floor.” He licked a shivery line up her throat, all the way to her lips. Just as she’d fantasized all day, she reached beneath the hem of his kilt, her hand making contact with the warmth of his legs and the springy softness of the hair that covered them. So different from her own, so very, very male. Feeling decidedly daring, she reached up, up, until her fingers wrapped around steel encased in warm velvet.
Heavens, she hoped he would fit.
She moved her hand experimentally. He stiffened, then sighed, and a thrill raced through her, that her simple touch could affect him so much.
“Aye,” he murmured. “I’ll definitely be asking Niall if I can keep this kilt.” Then his hands went to work undressing her while he kissed the very breath out of her body.
She pulled her hand from beneath the kilt and reached for his shoulders, pushing the wool tartan off and behind. Under the draped front, she felt for the buckle on the thick leather belt, working it loose with frantic fingers. At last the kilt fell off, all of it, dropping to the wooden planks at his feet, the heavy buckle landing with a satisfyingthunk.
He spread her bodice and worked the gown down her body to pool on the floor as well. And there was nothing left between them except his thin lawn shirt and her even thinner chemise.
His hands came around her back, and she leaned in, pressing her breasts against his hard chest and her hips against his hardness below. A hot rush of desire weakened her knees, and she wrapped her arms around him to hold herself up, wantonly reaching beneath the tail of his shirt to clutch his buttocks and press herself even closer.
“Sweet Mary,” he breathed, clearly liking it.
But for her, it still wasn’t nearly close enough.
At a noise on the stairs, she stilled, her heart beating double-time. “Do you hear something?”
Trick nuzzled her neck. “Something like what?”
“Like footsteps.” His muscles tightened beneath her fingers, striking a spark of hungry desire. She arched in pleasure, then froze again. “In the stairwell—can’t you hear it?”
“Nay.” He raised his head. “Wait. Maybe I can.” The sound was faint, muffled, so soft the beat of her heart and her heavy, uneven breaths nearly drowned it out.
Nearly.
She bit her lip. “There are people in there, I’m sure.”
