A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,68

no, don’t say a word; let her look, let her marvel at him. His eyes glittered but he lay back, sliding his hands up her thighs, beneath her nightdress.

ʼTwill all be at your desire or not at all . . .

She desired. She wanted him so much. She wasn’t a wicked widow, just one who ached to feel and do and be. She yearned to be wanted for more than her fortune or social standing, to be understood and trusted and allowed to follow her own heart.

And he was the one who made her feel it all. This big, rough, handsome devil of a man, who would be a duke but played pranks like a lad.

She stripped the nightdress over her head and flung it away.

Drew let out his breath with a hiss. His hands went still on her, his fingertips digging into her flesh. His hands were large and warm on her thighs, mere inches from where she wanted him. He was waiting for her to decide things, letting her touch him while holding back himself—

“You’re magnificent,” she said softly. Not just physically, although she was hardly blind to that. She had never guessed a man could be so playful, so leisurely seductive in bed.

She didn’t even realize she’d said it aloud until his hand cupped her cheek. “Ye make my mind go blank when ye say things like that,” he whispered.

She gave a gasping little laugh. “’Tis a pity. I prefer you aware—”

With a growl he lurched upright, bracing himself on one powerful arm. “I’ve never been more aware of a woman in my life,” he murmured, and then he was kissing her, his mouth hot and hungry on hers, and Ilsa forgot how she’d been planning to explore him and tease him. There would be time for that later—not now, when she wanted him so ferociously that she almost passed out when his hand swept up her ribs to cover her breast possessively.

And now . . . she was pressed up against his bare skin, so hot next to her own. His chest expanded on a sharp inhale; his arms closed around her, and then with a sudden twist he flipped them over, so they were face-to-face, the bed linens tangled around them, swamping her in his scent.

“I wanted to have my wicked way with you,” she gasped as he raised her arms overhead, clasping her wrists in one large hand.

“You shall,” he promised. “Just let me . . .” His voice trailed off as he lowered his head to her breast and touched his tongue to her nipple, hard and aching for—for just this. Ilsa sucked in desperate breaths as his fingers ran down the underside of her raised arm, his nails lightly scoring her flesh.

“You like that,” he whispered against her breast. His whole hand curved around it now, reverently lifting and stroking her.

“Aye, sir.”

His shoulders shook on a soundless laugh. “Good. I fair love it . . .” Now both his hand and his mouth were on her breast, and Ilsa forgot all about wanting to have her way with him, because his way was every bit as pleasurable as she could have dreamt of, and more. Now she wanted him to ravish her, fast and hard like a conquering army.

But he seemed bent on taking his time. His tongue did wicked things to her breasts, then wandered to her belly. Ilsa pulled against his hold on her wrists and he let go, allowing her to plow her fingers into his hair and urge him onward. She wrapped her legs around his chest as he tormented her.

Her skin had never seemed so sensitive and delicate. Each stroke of his fingers made her want more, harder, deeper, driving her wild. But when she tried to yank free the linen still twisted around him, he stopped her hand.

“Leave it,” he rasped. “It’s the only thing keeping me sane . . .”

“I don’t want sane!” She pressed against him and dug her nails into his back.

“Oh?” He moved, sliding down her and taking the sheets with him. “You want madness?”

“Yes . . .”

“Desperation?” His head dipped. His tongue circled her navel.

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Passion?” He licked her and she almost jolted off the bed. “You want this?”

“Yes!”

“Shh,” he whispered, nipping her inner thigh. “You’ll wake up everyone . . . again . . .” And then his mouth was on her, his hands spreading her legs, and Ilsa arched upward as if her body would soar right off