full-body flush annihilated her wits.
“That sounds … fine,” was the best she could do.
“Afterwards, I’m going to walk away, and you’re going back into the inn with your family.”
“How did ye—”
Perfect lips brushed hers. Tingling sparks flickered to life. “After you return to Glenscannadoo, we are going to do more than kiss.”
“W—we—”
“Much more.”
“Y—ye—”
“But for now, I’ll have this, Annie. A taste to tide me over.”
Suddenly, his mouth fused to hers. And his tongue, sleek and hot, slid inside. And Annie’s world turned inside out. Because no man—Englishman or Scot—should be able to steal a woman’s soul the way John Huxley stole hers with a single kiss.
TlU
John used every trick he knew. Nearness. Flattery. Touching. The right sort of honesty at the right time. Then, the promise. And, finally, the kiss.
God, the kiss.
For the first few seconds, he kept his head. A bit of nibbling pressure. A confident slide of tongue.
Then, she moaned. Hummed against his lips. And her honey scent spiraled him into intoxication.
His mouth wanted more of her. His heart hammered against his chest. He tightened his muscles, resisting the urge to drive her higher against the wall.
Shouldn’t.
Needed to keep control. This was about distraction. She was the one who must forget herself. Not him. John Huxley did not lose control. Not with women. Not ever.
Her arms slid around his neck. Her mouth tilted. Opened. Begged him for more.
Better for everyone if he maintained command of himself. How hard could it be? He’d always managed it before. With other women. Other kisses.
She shifted so her thigh moved between his. Brushed and pressed. Shot him into the sky. Her softness against his hardness. Lush, round breasts pressing flat until he could feel her hard nipples. Delicious lips opening like a flower. Need for her spun him in spirals of heat.
He clasped her harder. Gripped her neck and pulled her mouth tighter. Ate at her like a starving animal. And it still wasn’t enough.
Soft, sweet lips. Not merely willing but eager. She whimpered and pulsed her hips against him. Circling. Grinding. Demanding.
Somebody growled, deep and primal. He thought it might be him.
How long had he lived without this? Without her? How hungry had he been? So hungry he hadn’t understood its vastness.
Until now.
Blind and hot and hard enough to take her ten times without stopping, he drove her body upward against the wall. Grasped her skirts. Raised them higher. Gave up her mouth to take her throat. God, her scent drove him mad. He hadn’t lied to her about that. She was sunrise over the loch. She was dew upon heather. She was honey and sugar and hot whisky sliding over his tongue. The wanting was like nothing he’d ever known—an inferno. His lungs couldn’t get enough air.
But he would die happy. Gladly. For one. More. Taste.
“Ah, dear God, English,” came her husky plea. “Ye’re burnin’ me alive.”
Yes. He felt his hat tumble away. Felt her fingers clawing at his hair. Felt her legs parting and his fingers sliding and the sleek, hot wetness of ripe, honeyed folds.
Whimpering as she kissed his jaw, his ear, and his brow, she panted harshly and finally threw her head back with a low moan.
Her skin tasted like her bread, soft and sweet and salty and complex. Like clouds formed of lust. Automatically, his fingers worked on stroking the ripe petals between her thighs. If he could, he would bare her breasts. Suckle them while he drove her to ecstasy. But he was busy. Obsessed. With her skin and her wet, swollen—
“What are ye doin’ to me? I’m going to … ah, English. Please. With yer hand. Faster. Dear God. Aye. That’s it.”
His cock shot so hard and tight, he was sure he would come. Right there in her arms, with his fingers strumming and sliding, with her fingers fisting his hair, with her pleasured cries in his ear.
Tightening every muscle—his buttocks and shoulders and thighs and arms—he willed himself not to release. It took everything he had. To let her come for him. To feel her body dance and writhe against his. To feel her delicate nub swell and throb against his fingertips as she cried her euphoria against his neck.
Heaving gasps undulated her body, arching her against him in rhythmic shudders. His arm swept beneath her backside and