Culross sucked in a breath through his teeth.
“You are familiar with it,” his greatest temptation said. Her imp’s smile curved in an invitation.
“I am not,” he said thickly.
“Let me tell you about the song, my lord.”
He gripped her harder. “Yes,” he hissed.
Christ.
She was meant to be taken and often. He would rectify the lady’s situation tonight.
Nay, before the ball was through.
Amusement danced in her eyes.
Blast her power over him, and worse, the fact she knew the effect she had on him.
He would punish her insolence, teasing him as though he were a green lad. And hell with his eagerness to get between her legs—she’d turned him into one. Aye, he’d punish the chit, and she’d love every minute of his hard palm landing on her sweet arse. He’d spank her raw until she was caught between that place where pain met pleasure.
To hell with propriety and proper movements, he nestled his hardened length against the curve of her arse, letting her feel the sheer size and power of him.
Her legs wavered.
Culross tightened his hold upon her hands—punishingly so.
With her back to his chest, the masked jewel angled her head. Her breath fanned his skin. “It is a Scottish reel.”
Culross went cold.
Desire died fast.
His erection withered.
As quickly as this imp could rouse a man, she could undo him.
“Indeed?” He infused a warning into his chilled tone—if she did not proceed carefully, she was about to forfeit the best night of her life.
The bloody McQuoids. Any mention of a Scot—or anything Scottish—sent rage rushing through him.
“Lowland and Border piping it may be,” she whispered. “I’ll forgive it, as it is not English.” The chit tilted her head at a fetching angle. His bewitching partner looked up from beneath dense lashes, held Culross’s gaze, and winked long and slow.
A fresh wave of desire stirred in his groin.
He would make an exception on the lady’s account. Scottish mention be damned. Even he could get behind the erotic innuendo of alassready for mounting.
“And you have a particular disdain for the English?” he asked, his voice thick.
Once seated betwixt her sweet thighs, she could sing Scottish ballads the whole night through.
“Not all.”
Some unfamiliar emotion darkened her eyes. She inched closer, defying decorum, and brushed against Culross.
“I can make an exception for you, my lord.”
His nostrils flared as lust roared anew within him.
