A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,48

for being fanciful. Drew recognized the grain of real longing in her words and told her she wasn’t mad.

This man was dangerous. Because if leaping from the tower wasn’t madness, then surely other things weren’t, either . . .

Not tonight, she bargained with herself; tomorrow, and the next day, she would be sensible. This moment was too beautiful, too rare, to spoil it with any claim of propriety.

Slowly she relaxed into him. Slowly his hands slid around her waist until she was in his arms. She should put a stop to this, but she liked the feel of it too much. She laced her fingers through his and rested against him. When he put his cheek against her temple, she turned into it, letting his lips whisper over her brow. He clasped her to his chest, his arms warm and strong around her. Ilsa soaked up the heat of his body. His heart beat beneath her cheek; it was as fast as her own, which raced recklessly whenever he was near. And when he touched her . . .

Oh, this could get out of hand so easily. He would marry someone else, but that was in the future. Tonight he was here holding her, as unattached as she was . . .

Ilsa let him tilt up her chin. She let him brush his lips against hers. She had told herself not to encourage him, that he was not for her, that she didn’t need a man—but she stayed where she was, shamelessly letting him hold her and touch her until she wanted to cling to him and whisper in his ear, Yes, kiss me . . .

“Ilsa,” he breathed, his hands moving over her back, stroking her hip, cupping her shoulder, winding into her hair. “Ilsa, what does this—?”

She put a finger on his lips. “I don’t know. Don’t ask me.” Not tonight.

“You can’t ignore the question forever,” he murmured. “Not when we’re both so drawn to each other. I can’t help but think about it—about you.”

Words like that made her want so much. He pressed his lips to the side of her throat, and she barely kept back a moan of desire. Friends, her conscience repeated feebly. Not lovers. “What do you think about me?”

His mouth quirked. “A great many things.”

Her hands had fisted in the cloth of his shirt. With an effort she spread her hands flat, which only let her feel the rapid thump of his heart. “Mad, eccentric, impulsive . . .”

He laughed deep in his throat. “Aye, among your finer qualities.” She poked his chest in mock affront, and he caught her hand and kissed that finger. “Not mad. High-spirited.”

“Wild,” she said in a low voice. “Everyone in Edinburgh says so.”

His arms closed around her, pressing her full length against him. “Aye,” he answered in a guttural whisper. “You drive me wild . . .”

Her last thread of restraint began to fray. Who could resist him when he said such things in that dark, seductive voice? Who would be hurt by one kiss? His mouth was already hovering over hers, awaiting the slightest encouragement . . . and Ilsa succumbed. She raised her chin, and finally, finally he kissed her properly, the way she’d dreamt of for weeks.

The kiss in the oyster cellar had been impetuous and brief. This one was not. His mouth claimed hers, hot and tender and demanding all at once. Ilsa rose up onto her toes, clinging to him as his arms went around her and he gave a deep growl of satisfaction.

“St. James? Oh—good Lord.”

Ilsa flinched at Mr. Duncan’s voice, snatching her hands from the captain’s shoulders. His arms tightened around her but he didn’t turn around, only glanced over his shoulder. “Aye?”

“I beg your pardon, I saw the open door,” came Mr. Duncan’s reply. He must have stepped back, for his voice was more distant. Cowardly Ilsa huddled against the captain, grateful that she didn’t have to face the other man.

“Don’t take the book out of the jamb,” was all the captain said. After a moment he lowered his head to hers. “Caught red-handed,” he whispered.

Ilsa sighed. She ought to thank Mr. Duncan for saving her from her own wicked impulses. It was full night out now, too dark to see Captain St. James’s face, but his voice was still warm with invitation. They could pick up where they’d left off, on the brink of something that would forever change them from friends to . . . something more