The Scot's Secret - Cecelia Mecca Page 0,33
shifted under him, not because she was uncomfortable precisely, but because she wanted him to move closer.
Clara reached her arms up and pulled him down to her.
He made a sound that prompted her to pull away. “Have I hurt you?”
“Not precisely.”
Poised over her, his outline looming above her, Alex stared down at her.
“This is a poor idea, lass.”
“Aye,” she agreed.
“As you say, you’re a virgin still.”
“I am,” she admitted.
“And I don’t even know your surname.”
“That I can’t tell you. But—” she smiled, not ready for him to stop, “—I will share anything else, if it pleases you.”
“You please me,” he said before he lowering his head once again. The touch of his lips on hers, the sensual way his tongue moved. . . This was what all of those ribald jests and crude remarks were about. This feeling, it was. . .
Indescribable.
“Ah, lass, don’t move.”
She hadn’t realized she’d moved at all, but when he rolled onto his side, moving away from her, Clara felt the loss immediately.
“What have I done?”
“Clara. . .”
He pulled her toward his body once again, the warmth immediately welcome.
“You’ve done nothing at all.”
“Then why did you stop?”
He reached around her and lifted her chin to him until she was looking directly into his eyes, the only thing she could see clearly in the dark.
“If I did not stop, the sun may not have risen on a Scots’ second son and an English maid but on a scoundrel and the woman he forced from grace.”
Forced from grace? How could he force something she’d freely give?
Would she? To a man she hardly knew? Over the past several years, Clara had given more thought to safety than she had to pleasure or marriage. Neither had seemed like a possibility for her. Once, the loss of her virginity would have meant something; indeed, when she had stood to inherit Barrington Castle, it would have meant a great deal.
But now?
“Get some rest,” he said.
Was he attempting to convince himself or her? Clara lowered her head back down and tried not to think of the man whose arms were wrapped around her. She closed her eyes and, much later, finally allowed sleep to claim her.
This was perhaps the most foolhardy, misguided thing he’d ever done.
If he found his mother, Alex could add this misadventure to the litany of things she’d done to torment him. Alex lay awake late into the night, contemplating whether or not they could reach The Anvil Inn the following day. He wanted to allow Clara to sleep in a proper bed, and he frankly wasn’t sure of how much more of this sweet torment he could take.
Though clearly untried, her lips, so soft and gentle against his own, called to him, a siren’s song like nothing he’d ever experienced before. No woman had ever made him feel like this. He pictured her body beneath him, completely unclad, the way she’d been at the lake the day he’d discovered her secret. He could clearly see each curve in his mind.
He tried to remind himself of his goals—find his mother. Return to ensure all had gone well with the Day of Truce. And yet, his last thought before sleep finally took him was of Clara and the soft sounds of pleasure she’d made before he pulled away from her.
Alex awoke painfully hard and aware of every movement Clara made against him. Though he tried not to wake her, she stirred the moment he shifted out from under her, sighing softly, sensually. He was not going to make it to Kenshire at this rate.
“’Tis morn already?” she asked.
“Aye,” he said, standing. He had to put some distance between them. Alex stood, wanting to take the covering with him. It was as cold as an autumn morn. He’d just as well lay back down with Clara in his arms. . .
Nay, not that.
“Wait!” She cried out as his hand touched the side of the tent.
He turned. The wide opening of her boy’s shirt had become untied, revealing part of one shoulder. That long stretch of smooth, creamy skin demanded his attention.
Until he saw her expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“I slept!”
She stared at him, her eyebrows lifted and her eyes wide.
“Aye lass, ’tis a common thing for a person to do at night.”
“But my dream. . .”
He shook his head, indicating that he didn’t understand.
“Did I call out while I slept?”
“Nay, you did not.”
She shook her head, as if to dismiss their conversation, so he turned once again to leave. Some instinct stopped him and he