All she could think about was the words that had plagued her since she left her study.
‘I wouldn’t marry a lass I didn’t want to get on me knees for…’
Well, he was on his knees, and though she had not been waiting for him, shehadbeen… anticipating his response to the divisions she had put up. And, right now, in a dazing surge of desire, she was certainly eager for whatever that meant.
“I am not one of yer fine English gentlemen, lass,” he growled against her shoulder. “I don’t much care for what’s proper, and nor should ye.”
“We cannot,” she insisted, her voice straining. “You should leave or I shall…”
As his hand curved around the swell of her breast and his mouth grazed a searing line up her neck, she forgot what it was she would do if he didn’t depart at once. There were no words, just wanting, her breath short and sharp, as if blowing on the scorching embers of her desire.
“Scream?” Jeremy purred, close to her ear. “Aye, ye already said that. So, why don’t I see what I can do about it?”
His teeth raked across her earlobe, and her body shivered in response, the hard press of his chest against her shoulders making her want to melt into him. Meanwhile, his hand grippedthe soft flesh of her breast, loosening the feeble wrap of the bath linen.
“Look at me,” he whispered, his lips tracing the edge of her jaw. “Look at yerself.”
Moaning softly as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, her eyelids fluttered, wanting to close so she could lose herself in the fantasy. Instead, she looked at herself, just as he had commanded.
“Aye, like that,” he said, a smirk upon his lips; she could feel it there against her skin.
Her breath caught as she watched him in the mirror’s reflection: watched as his hand glided down her throat and through the valley between her breasts, slowly smoothing his palm over her stomach. Her gaze fluttered to his lips, filled with awe as she watched herself be kissed—his mouth savoring the curve of her neck, the ledge of her shoulder, the line of her jaw, and the slight dip of her temple.
“Jeremy…” she murmured, overcome.
“Aye, lass?” he murmured back, as his hand veered to the right, to the seam of the bath linen.
“I…”
“Tell me to leave,” he growled softly, as he began to unwrap her like a gift. “Tell me to get out of this room, and I will.”
She gasped as his lips touched the nape of her neck, a sensitive spot that sparked a fire, igniting fireworks in her mind. Her thoughts floated and spun until only the sensation of his mouth and the sight of him peeling away the damp bath linen remained, revealing her to both of them in the mirror’s reflection.
With absent surprise, she noticed that he no longer wore a bandage. The skin of his palm was scarred, and she knew by sight that it was a burn. Healed, but permanent.
“What happened?” she whispered, reaching for that wounded hand and bringing it to her lips. An instinct that would not be denied.
She kissed the damaged skin and noticed how he paused, his black eyes blazing with a feeling she could not decipher.
Instead of answering her question, Jeremy pulled the last of the fabric away from her and let the bath linen fall to the floor. When he touched her again, his hand resuming its slow descent, it felt like he was awakening every nerve inside her—her entire body under his spell, summoning pleasure she could not have imagined.
“Oh, Jeremy…” she gasped, her neck arching.
She didn’t need to see herself reflected anymore; she just needed to feel his touch, his kiss.
He smiled against her neck, and as his fingertips slipped between her thighs, brushing over a pulsing, thrumming point of pure bliss, he turned her face with his other hand and kissed her slowly and sensually on the mouth.
She could not even properly kiss him back as a soft cry escaped her lips, her hips bucking as pleasure erupted from that unknown center of ecstasy. Each stroke of his fingertips was like lightning, crackling through the web of nerves he had awakened, causing her to tremble against his strong frame.
“Oh God… Oh…” she panted, as her hand clawed into his hair, pulling his mouth harder against hers, kissing him with all of the passion that pummeled through her veins. As if it were the only thing that could anchor her to the real world.
His kiss might have been hard and fierce, his tongue dancing with hers, but the movement of his fingertips was slow and teasing: skillful circles that made her want to thrash and writhe, teasing strums that left her gasping against his mouth, and firm pressure that threatened to ignite something inside her.
She wanted to turn to kiss him, wanted to twist around on her vanity’s stool and wrap her legs around him, wanted to tear his shirt off and pull him against her so they were skin to skin, nothing between them. But the sensation of his fingertips was too powerful, holding her there as her breath came in shorter, shallower gasps.
“Jeremy…” she moaned as that unfamiliar sensation of something about to explode grew more and more potent, overwhelming her. “Oh, Jeremy… Jeremy…”
He smiled against her mouth as he kissed her more fiercely, her lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss, her head spinning with new sensations. Her grip tightened on the wavy locks of his hair as that powerful feeling continued to grow, while her other hand reached behind her, clutching a fistful of his shirt to steady herself against whatever was coming.
