Page 6 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

He gave a strangled laugh and pulled her back onto her knees. “Take me into your mouth again.”

He tucked his kilt into his belt then, legs spread, held his cock to her face and cupped the wrinkled pouch hanging beneath. Caroline adjusted herself on her knees more comfortably. In the years to come, this night would remind her that she was a woman capable of inciting a man’s passion. Perhaps he, too, would remember the rustle of wind in the trees and the scent of juniper in the air…and the squeals of lovers in the adjacent area. Caroline grimaced. She could do without the woman’s cries.

Steadying her trembling fingers, she worked his shaft between her lips with renewed zest. A hint of saltiness sizzled on her tongue. She swallowed and licked the length, dragging her tongue from base to tip, before sucking him deep into her mouth until the crown touched the back of her throat. Slowly withdrawing, she stroked the taut skin, mouth meeting fist in the center of his shaft.

Warmth infused her. Her masked lover groaned, pumping his hips. He gently cupped the sides of her head, but didn’t interfere with her rhythm. In an effort to discern his likes, she listened for the change in breathing and subtle shifts in his body.

With a low feral growl, he ripped his cock from her mouth, angling to the side. Cream spurted from his shaft. Muscles in his thighs tensed, then relaxed. The heavy musk scent of his essence made her mouth water. Why had he pulled away? Gripping the back of his thigh, she spun him towards her and took his rod into her mouth.

“Wait.” He clutched her shoulder, but she had already begun sucking the head. “By God—fuck.”

She lapped until he glistened. Yes, she could see why a man would be driven crazy by a woman’s mouth. Disappointment unexpectedly surfaced. As a wife, she wouldn’t dare pleasure her husband in this fashion. Lust coiled in her tummy. She wouldn’t have the courage to drop to her knees for the Viscount of Blackhall, nor would she beg for the pleasure of her husband.

Caroline lifted her gaze. This man begged for nothing. Tonight’s memory must last a lifetime, for she would never witness stark lust on her husband’s face like that of her masked lord.

Chapter Three

The woman was a she-devil. Innocent as a girl just out of the schoolroom, she had driven him as wild as any mistress, nonetheless. Innocence and sin. Heaven and sweet hell. What was such a woman doing at a masque—what had she been doing dallying with William Edmonds, Viscount of Thornhaven? What did it matter? She had left the earl in the ballroom. And now, she was here with him, submitting to his needs, offering her treasures to him—if only for the night.

Might he see her again? Tomorrow—curse God—tomorrow he was to wed. Instead of this vixen in his bed, he would plough into the dry channel of a woman who had no more use for him than she’d had his brother.

Guilt stabbed at him. She had been but a child when he’d met her. His brother had died a year ago. Not nearly long enough to prepare a man to bed his brother’s betrothed.

She adjusted his plaid and slowly rose. He pulled her close, sealed their lips with a kiss. The taste of his musk combined with her feminine scent nearly undid him. What would she do if he tossed her over his shoulders and fled with her back to Strathmore? What would his family do if he married a Sassenach other than the one intended for him? What would she do once she found herself abducted to Scotland?

Taran had never kept an unwilling woman. Aphrodite muddled his thinking. A tryst in the gardens wasn’t enough. He wanted her. More than he’d wanted a woman in…in longer than he could remember. But he wasn’t yet at the point of locking his paramours in the dungeons of Strathmore.

Taran pulled back. The blonde wig sat askew on her head. What was her natural color?

He realized they were once again alone.

“I believe it is safe to leave.”

Her full lips lifted in a soft smile. Tonight wasn’t just about sating his needs, but hers as well. He would milk every drop of pleasure from her body.

She shivered.

Taran wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her flush to his side. “The night is young, my lady. I will warm you in my carriage.” Her mouth parted in surprise, and he chuckled. “Did you think my pleasure ended the night?” He brushed her nipple with his thumb. “Rest assured, your pleasure is still to come.”

She gasped and the soft sound filled him with the need to plunge his shaft into her warm heat. He envisioned her riding him—hard, and all night. Passion, unbridled and uninhibited. Nothing less than full consummation would slake his need. Once she laid sprawled across his bed—Christ, he couldn’t take her to his father’s estate. William’s home would have to do. Could he wait that long?

She glanced past him.

Taran tensed. She had dallied with William in the ballroom. “Is someone expecting you?”

“Do not be ridiculous,” she said in an impatient tone.

The milkmaid and bandit were gone. Surely she didn’t fear them.

“Something is amiss,” he said.

She hesitated.

Taran caressed a cheek with the back of a hand. “We are friends, are we not? Secret lovers for this one night? Tell me anything, my lady, and the secret goes with me to the grave.”

“I must—”

“I tell you it is true,” a woman’s voice interrupted her. “I heard it myself, Lord Blackhall is here.”