Page 54 of The Devil Wears Kilts
“That way,” he muttered from directly behind her, indicating the staircase.
She remembered where his master bedchamber lay. He’d shown it off just last evening, after all. “Don’t rush me,” she ordered, pushing a shoulder back against him and stopping on the landing. “I am not a cow being herded to slaughter.”
“My lady?”
Charlotte looked down to see Simms standing at the bottom of the stairs, Owen glaring at her and seeming ready to drag her down to the kitchen by force. “What is it, Simms?”
“I shall be discreet—if this is whatyouwish me to be.”
Clearly Simms didn’t approve of any of this, but it warmed Charlotte’s heart that she’d asked the question despite being outnumbered by large Highland men, and at the way the maid had worded it.
Feeling as though she were about to take a step into purgatory—which she was, according to most proper ladies—she smiled. “Thank you, Simms. Have some luncheon. I’m where I wish to be.”
At the top of the stairs she turned right and stepped into Ranulf’s generous master bedchamber. A moment later the door clicked shut behind her, and she heard the key turn to lock them in.
“A good thing the Simms lass cooperated,” Ranulf drawled, not moving from the door. “I might have had to set her loose in the wilds and hope she couldnae find her way back.”
“Like a dog?” Charlotte turned around to look at him. She’d actually expected he would begin mauling her the moment they crossed the threshold. But there he stood, one shoulder against the door frame and his arms folded across his chest.
“It might’ve worked. It might still, if need be.”
As he spoke she moved to the front window, standing out of sight of the street as she pulled the curtains closed. The other window looked out over the empty space where the stable had been, so she left it alone. This felt clandestine enough without extinguishing all the light in the room.
“Are you just going to stand there?” she finally asked, eyeing him as he watched her wander about the room.
“Ye told me not to rush ye. I’m here where I want to be with ye, so I figured ye can come over here and kiss me in yer own time.”
Taking a deep breath, trying to quell the flutter in her chest, she walked up to him. “I want to be clear about one thing,” she said, putting a gloved forefinger against his chest.
“Ye have my attention.”
“This is because we have a mutual… desire,” she said slowly, curling her finger into his cravat. “I’m not some weak-kneed miss, and you are not a heartless cad. It’s simply a matter of attraction.” There. For her own… pride she needed it made clear that she understood the circumstances, and that she didn’t want what he wasn’t offering.
“A simple matter,” he repeated, reaching up to twirl the blond curl hanging from her temple about his finger. “I think ye should kiss me now, Charlotte.”
Chapter Ten
She fluttered, inches from giving him the moment about which he’d been dreaming for the past week. It would have been such a simple matter, to lean a little forward and touch her sweet mouth with his own.
But Ranulf held himself precisely where he was, every muscle aching with tension. This had been his suggestion, in his house, and according to his timing. He was accustomed to leading, to ordering that something be done and then seeing it accomplished. Allowing Charlotte to decide the next moments was both maddening and supremely arousing.
Gloved fingers toyed with his cravat, the gentle tug and pull quite possibly the most erotic sensation he’d ever experienced. His breath came slow and deep, his heart keeping time as he waited.
Finally she slid her palms up his chest, lifted on her toes, and featherlight pressed her lips against his.Thank God.
Allowing himself to move again, Ranulf cupped her face in his hands, kissing her back until her lips softened and she opened a little to his seeking teeth and tongue. When she moaned the pressure in his groin tripled, and he shifted to grip her hips, pulling her closer against him.
She called it a mutual attraction. He called it an obsession with a stubborn, maddening woman who with a few words had made him reconsider decades of resentment and prejudice. His eyes felt opened. If she had decided she didn’t enjoy his company, or that his views made him unacceptable even as a temporary lover, he remained uncertain what he would have done.
Still kissing her, he shed his English-tailored coat. Next he unbuttoned his waistcoat and dropped it to the floor, as well. “Yer turn, lass,” he murmured, turning his attention to the trio of buttons that held her pretty, dark green pelisse on over her green and yellow sprigged muslin gown.
His hands brushed her breasts as he worked, and she jumped a little. “I feel very wicked,” she breathed unsteadily, breaking from his mouth to watch his hands travel down her front.
He opened the pelisse and pushed it down her shoulders. Ripping every stitch of clothing off her would have been more satisfying, but he’d promised a measure of discretion, and she already thought him a violent devil. Returning her home with all her buttons and seams torn away would be neither discreet nor wise.
Lowering his gaze from her face, he cupped her breasts through the thin muslin. Just the size to fit in his hands, they were, as if she’d been made with him in mind. He firmed his grip and she gasped, pressing against his palms. “Ye’re wearing too many damned clothes,” he noted, trying not to jump as her hip brushed against his cock.
“I think I’d like to sit down,” she commented faintly, leaning up for his mouth again.
