“Gah!” The lass gripped Greyson’s arms, her breasts no longer just brushing him, but squashed against his chest. “Do something,” she pleaded, panic in her voice. “Now.”
“Damnation.” Greyson felt a fierce need to plow his hands through hishair.
Instead, he did the only thing he could and whipped his arms around the lass, yanking her to him – even though he knew he’d regret it all hisdays.
And that wasn’t all, for his foolish ‘gallantry’ caused the gravel-crunches and skirt-rustlings tocease.
The pious biddies froze as one, their scandalized stares almost scorchinghim.
More drastic measures wereneeded.
The lass knew it. “Hurry,” shegasped.
“Indeed,” Greysonagreed.
Lowering his head, he kissedher.
But it wasn’t just any kiss. Rather, he gripped her face with his hands – all the better to shield her from spying eyes – and then he ravished her lips, giving her just the kind of long, deep, and devouring kiss that would shock the spluttering women and send them scurrying on their way down thepath.
Some might say they ran. Greyson didn’t care to lift his head and look. But when at last he did, he had worse matters to worry about than his daring. He was stunned by how boldly he’d thrust his tongue into the beauty’s sweetmouth.
Just as worrisome, she’d softened against him, melting into him and seeming to awaken in his arms. She’d clung to him, even opening her mouth beneath his, then twirling her tongue with his, enticing him so thoroughly he nearly forgot the reason he’d crushed her to him. Why he’d swooped his mouth down onto hers, kissing her sopassionately.
Yet now shock filled her eyes as she stared up at him. She also looked furious, making him doubt her startling reaction to his kiss. Greyson started to apologize, but she leapt away, her hands raised as her gaze flashed to hisloins.
“You, sir, are no gentleman,” she scolded. “I felt you nudging me, your indecency pokingme!”
“Mywhat-” Greyson broke off, horror sluicing him. “You err, sweet,” he tried to explain. “That wasn’t me. It was Wiggle,my-”
“You call it wiggle?” Her eyes rounded as she took backward steps, her arms still outstretched against him. “You’re mad!” she accused, then spun and hitched her skirts to race through the kirkyard, making for the backwall.
If she fell and hurt herself, he’d never forgivehimself.
“Nae, lass!” Greyson sprinted after her, one hand clutched to his ‘indecency’ as he ran past tilting tombstones and jumped over fallen ones. “Wait!”
Of course, shedidn’t.
Fear puts wings on heels and hers were no exception. She reached the wall with amazing speed and scrambled over it before he could evenblink.
He did curse, drawing up before the wall just in time to see her disappear into the deep shadows at the end of the dimly-lit road behind thekirkyard.
Feeling like a greater arse than ever in his life, he bent forward and braced his hands on his thighs. He was panting, his heart racing. Not so much from his sprint through the tombstones, but from the aftereffects of their kiss. Also annoyance because he’d been so taken with her, he’d forgottenWiggle.
He now felt thepokingshimself, so looked down at his sporran and reached to undo its specially-designedfastenings.
At once, his pet squirrel’s little red head popped up through the opening. The beastie knew no shame, his round eyes bright in the moonlight, and perhaps a bitaccusatory.
They should have been home bynow.
It was well past Wiggle’s dinnerhour.
“Ach, laddie, what have you done?” Greyson stroked a finger over the squirrel’s head, rubbed his small shoulders. “Thon lassie thinks I’m ascourge.
“A depraved ravager of innocents,” he finished, drawing a few nuts from a pouch at his belt and giving them to hispet.
That done, he refastened the closing on Wiggle’s travel-sporran and made his way out of the kirkyard, sure he’d never felt moremiserable.
In truth, he shouldn’t care what the lass thought ofhim.
