A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,67

didn’t dare knock. Every squeak and creak of the house sounded loud to her overexcited brain, and she was here because she was being bold and daring anyway. Gently she turned the knob and slipped inside.

It was dark within, though the drapes at one window were open. She stayed still, clutching the door, searching the darkness as her eyes adjusted.

A rustle of cloth. “Is something wrong?” Drew asked, his tone guarded.

“No,” she whispered.

“Ilsa,” he said in surprise, but she could make out the shadowy room now and was on her way to the bed, where he sat up, bare-chested and rumpled.

She touched his face and put her finger to his mouth. “Do you want me to stay?” she breathed, her lips at his ear.

He shuddered. “Yes.”

She smiled. “Good.” And then she bit his earlobe, thrilling to the shudder that went through his broad shoulders.

Without a word he turned his head and kissed her. Ilsa opened her mouth and kissed him back, inviting, tempting, seducing.

All her life she had been told to be sensible, to do what her father, her aunt, her tutors, her husband wanted her to do. It had taken Malcolm’s death for her to realize that no one ever asked if she were pleased with that state of affairs, and that other people acted to please themselves as well as the world around them. No one tried to please her, and Ilsa had finally realized that was up to her. For a year now she’d been trying to learn to do that, allowing herself to do things that weren’t sensible or typical.

She could not think that this was a mistake.

Her heart had tugged her toward Andrew St. James from the moment she saw him, even before he had tempted her to be carefree and bold. She’d never had that—no siblings, few friends, no one to have fun with. She’d never felt so alive as she did with him, whether racing across the hills of Stormont on horseback or rattling an old chain in the attics. He tempted her to think she wasn’t mad to crave some adventure, at the same time he proved it needn’t come at the expense of responsibility and duty.

So here she was in his bedroom, his hands moving over her back, his mouth making love to her skin. This was mad, and it made her so wild she could hardly bear it.

She plowed her fingers into his hair and tugged his lips, which had wandered over her jaw, back to hers. She kissed him hard, deeply, and felt his fingers flex on her hips in surprise. With an impatient yank she pulled up the hem of her nightdress so she could climb onto the bed, straddle his thighs, and press even closer to him.

Gently he set her back on her heels. Ilsa leaned toward him impatiently until he put up one hand in silent admonishment. Much too leisurely for her taste, he untied her dressing gown and slid it from her shoulders.

She arched her back to shed it faster. His breath turned rough. Reverently his palms skimmed up her bare arms to her shoulders, then back down. Even in the dim moonlight she could see his eyes, hot with desire.

She reached up and undid the top button on her nightdress. There was a long row of them down the front. The modiste had smiled knowingly when she made this for Ilsa’s trousseau years ago, and murmured about buttons piquing a man’s curiosity. Malcolm had never once undone the buttons.

But Drew . . . His gaze focused on her fingers and stayed there, even as his hands continued to wander over her back.

She undid another button, and a third.

He smoothed her hair over her shoulders and ran his thumb along her collarbone, nudging aside the strap of her nightdress. Ilsa slipped loose another pair of buttons.

Drew was barely breathing now. His fingertips skated lightly over her skin, leaving scorch marks in their wake. Ilsa shifted restlessly atop him and undid more buttons, less languidly now.

The nightdress gaped open. He inhaled, a needy rasp of breath that acted like oil on the fire smoldering inside her. Good Lord how she wanted him, for his teasing winks and easy laugh and bulging arms and muscled chest. Without thinking, she dragged her fingers through the crisp hair there, shivering at the hard, hot flesh behind it and the way his abdomen flexed under her touch.

He opened his mouth and she quickly touched one finger to his lips. No,