Return of the Scot (Scots of Honor #1) - Eliza Knight Page 0,44
her was intense, stifling. But doing so would irrevocably change everything between them in that reckless moment, wouldn’t it? And as much as he wanted to—as much as his desire for her had propelled them into this current situation—there was a part of him that held back. A part of him that shouted, “Stop this nonsense and leave this room immediately.”
But Lorne ignored that cautious, likely smarter, part of himself. “Ye are lovely,” he murmured.
Jaime’s mouth fell open in surprise. “No. No. No. No. I can no’ accept compliments, and you should no’ be giving them. This is… This is too much.” She pulled her hand from his grip and backed up a step. “We’re supposed to hate each other.”
“That is what everyone would expect.”
“Then why do ye no’?”
Lorne shrugged. “What about ye?”
Jaime bit her lip, then said, “I…can no’ say. I do no’ know.”
“Me either.” Casting aside the warning ripping through him, he embraced that headier need. Lorne closed the distance between them, stroking his fingers over her warm cheek. Her skin was soft, the arch of her cheekbone delicate. Nothing one would expect from a lass with an acid tongue. “I just know right now I want to kiss ye.”
Jaime didn’t retreat when he said it. Didn’t shout no, or for him to go to the devil. Didn’t wish him dead as she had on so many occasions since his return. Instead, she leaned into his fingers where they traced her face. Her eyes blinked up at him, inviting. But that wasn’t enough, not where she was concerned. For over eight years, she’d believed him a scoundrel. A virtue-stealing rogue who’d defiled her sister and left her with a child to bear on her own.
If he were going to kiss Jaime, it would have to be with her explicit agreement. And good God, no one could find out. The papers would lap up every morsel like starved wolves, and all the wagers he’d burned in the hearth in his study would miraculously come back together.
This was a very stupid idea. He needed to leave.
“I want to kiss ye, too.” There was no hesitation in her words this time.
Well, there it was—her permission, her desire. And Lorne found he was unable to fight against the impulse any longer. One taste, then he’d tell her to go back to her aunt before all of Edinburgh realized she’d been in the dark with him long enough to make her virtue a thing of the past.
Lorne came closer to her, his hands cupping her face. She tilted upward, her full lips beckoning. She was beautiful, tempting. A goddess who’d lured him in. Dipping low, he brushed his mouth tenderly over hers, felt her sigh on his skin. She was warm, soft, tasted of punch. Good God…
Jaime’s fingers tentatively touched his chest as she returned his kiss, exploring him the way he wanted to explore her. But he restrained from slipping over her back down to her arse, keeping his hands to her face. But saints, he experienced the flutter of her fingers on his chest to his core, as if she were reaching inside him and grabbing at the vulnerabilities he’d tried to hide.
He slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss with a slide of his tongue between the seam of her lips. Jaime tightened her grip on his doublet, her tongue shyly coming into contact with his and then stroking with boldness. She might have been inexperienced with kissing, but the lass was quickly becoming an expert, taking the reins as she slid her mouth over his. And he let her, gave her this moment to discover, to savor.
The beast inside him wanted to crush his mouth to hers—to claim her, to show her what kissing was all about—but he also feared unleashing his passion would push her away. So, he held back. Gently stroking her tongue with his, discovering her mouth and letting her discover his in turn.
But there was only so much a man could handle, and when he reached the point where he wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and rip out every pin that held it in place, he ended the kiss before he caused her any damage that couldn’t be repaired.
“Ye need to go,” he managed to croak through a tight throat.
Jaime looked up at him, stricken, and he studied the play of emotions skittering across her face. Disappointment, fear, anger, resolve. Lord, but she thought he was being an arse again.