“Then shall we venture into the garden?” He steered her through the doors and out into the night. Voices echoed in the air as some of the guests followed. He led her across the terrace toward a bench concealed in the shadows, and he sat and drew her beside him.
“Your presumption could be deemed impertinent,” she said.
“I like to take what I want,” he said, “and I believe you enjoy being taken.”
She tried to free her hand, but his grip was too strong.
“Unhand me.”
He dipped his head until his mouth was close to her ear, then he spoke in a low growl. “If that’s what you wish, lass,” he said, “but I am giving you what you need.”
“No,” she said. “You’re taking what you want.”
“If I see something I want, Miss Hart, I’ll claim it,” he said, “but only where there is a genuine desire to yield.”
He ran his thumb across her wrist, and her skin tightened. He grinned. She opened her mouth to protest, but a whimper escaped her lips as he brushed his hand across her body, the movement touching her breast, as if by accident.
But his actions were never inadvertent. Her nipple hardened at the touch. His eyes sparkled, and he gave a gentle squeeze, sending a pulse of longing to the secret place between her thighs. She shifted to chase the sensation away.
“So responsive,” he whispered.
“I am my own woman, sir,” she panted.
“Aye, that you are. But deep down, even the feistiest filly yearns to be mastered.”
“I do not yearn… oh!” she cried out as he cupped her breast again. Unlike the light touch of before, his hands squeezed her flesh, and his expert fingers massaged and caressed while her body pulsed in response.
“Your body cannot lie, lass,” he said. “I want ye. Badly. My whole body aches with the need of it, the need to be inside you.”
“How can you say such crude things!”
“I speak the truth, lass, and you know it,” he said. “Would you prefer the pretty speeches of a boy, or the raw honesty of a man who promises unbridled, earth-shattering pleasure?”
A firebolt of lust shot through her body, and she swallowed to hide the small cry which threatened to burst from her.
“Are all Scotsmen as uncouth as you?”
“We’re wild, lass,” he admitted. “We seek pleasure where we can. We live on the raw landscape of the Highlands, where we take our women against the rocks and among the heather.”
His words sent a wicked thrill through her, and an unfathomable ache begged to be eased.
“Allow me,” he whispered.
He placed a hand on her thigh and waited. The ember of pleasure dulled, and she shifted her legs apart.
“Shall ye feel pleasure at my touch?”
She drew in a sharp breath at the anticipation of sweet release, and he dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers.
“Have I shocked you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, “but I find it not unwelcome.”
“I will not ruin you,” he said. “I value you too highly. But I can promise pleasure you’ve never known before. If you ask it.”
He lifted the hem of her gown. His fingers caressed the skin of her thigh, and she drew in a sharp breath.
“You’re so responsive to my touch, lass,” he whispered. “It’s as if nature fashioned you just for me.”
Her blood warmed at his gentle words of praise, intensifying the need which almost burned.
“Shall I kiss you?” he whispered. “I warn ye, my kisses won’t be gentle.”
She tipped her face up, offering her lips, and he claimed her mouth. Hot, hungry lips devoured her. She circled her tongue around his, and he growled in approval. Then he broke the kiss, and the brief shock of disappointment was met by a surge of need as he placed open-mouthed kisses across her chin, following a line along her throat. He continued to caress her thigh, moving toward the heat at her center, then his fingertips met the sensitive flesh where her thighs met, and her body shuddered.
“Do you want me?” he whispered.
She nodded.
“No, lass,” he said, his voice rough. “I must hear it. Say ye want pleasure at my hands.”
“Yes,” she panted. “I want you to…to give me pleasure.”
A deep groan rattled in his chest, and his mouth crashed over hers. His hand, which had been teasing her flesh, now caressed her, moving back and forth across her folds until a surge of need swelled from within.
He plunged his finger inside her, and a myriad of color burst in her mind as intense, pure pleasure tore through her. He silenced her cries with his mouth, claiming her with his tongue, mirroring the gesture of his expert fingers, which thrust in and out, intensifying the pleasure. He took her in his arms and held her while the wave receded, uttering gentle words of praise until she fell into a delicious languor, relishing the joy of yielding herself to another.
*
Fraser ought to feel guilty, but need had shone in Miss Hart’s eyes the moment he’d touched her. Beneath the veneer of the bluestocking lay a sensual creature with passions not unlike his, needing to be sated.
And she’d been so responsive to his touch! Imagine what it would be like to be truly inside her!
She moved against him, and his manhood, which had hardened the moment he’d touched her damp curls, surged against his breeches. The need to bury himself inside her screamed at his every nerve, but he had no right to ruin her. She was worth more than a sordid fuck in a Mayfair garden.
She stirred and opened her eyes. Dark with desire, they glittered in the moonlight, and she smiled.
“Thank you.”
“Are we indulging in idle pleasantries so soon?” he teased.
She reached up and placed a hand against his cheek. He closed his hand over it, rubbing his fingertips along her skin. She looked like a goddess in his arms, face flushed, lips swollen from his kisses.
“That was…” she shook her head as if struggling to express herself “…wonderful.”
“No man can pleasure you like a Highlander,” he said. “Our ancestors were lusty, virile, and passionate.”
She blinked, and a bead of moisture formed on her lashes.
“Oh,” she whispered, “I…”
“Don’t speak,” he said. “These things are best left unsaid. As much as I enjoy the thrill of a coupling outside, I have no wish to scandalize you.”
“Then you should have thought of that before,” a voice said.
He looked toward the direction of the voice. Their hostess stood before them, arms folded, as if in challenge.
“What the devil have you been doing to my sister!”
Chapter Eleven
“Thea!” Miss Hart cried. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.”
Fraser scrambled to his feet. “Miss Dorothea,” he said, “I can explain.”
“There’s no need,” she snapped. “I can see what you were doing.”
“We’ve done nothing wrong,” Lilah said.
“I beg to differ, Delilah,” came the reply. “Count yourself fortunate nobody other than I saw or heard what you were doing. You sounded like a rutting sow.”