Page 48 of For a Scot's Heart Only

“I could say the same of you, Miss Fletcher. When you walk into a room, my senses spin like a top.”

Her lips parted. Air was growing scarce. They were provocative, keeping a small aching distance between their bodies, yet not touching. The divide was driving her mad, the sea wolf working his magic on her. Overwhelmed, she had to avert her eyes. How would she get to what came next when she was swamped with pleasure at him playing with her hair?

“Those tools are for men and women seeking another form of excitement,” he went on. “They’re not a requirement.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” she said, a little breathless.

“You didn’t request them?”

She tipped her face to him.

“I only requested you.”

Shadows and light carved Mr. West’s predaciousfeatures, an ancient marauder come to life. His silence was loud and his hunger obvious. She swallowed the arid lump in her throat. Her hands itched. Her gaze roamed his jaw, his mouth.

“Mr. West, I—”

She dropped the willow branch and collided into him. Strong hands grabbed her waist. Mr. West absorbed their imperfect joining. Looking into his eyes, she slid reckless, shaking hands inside his coat.

“I can do better.”

“This isn’t a competition.”

Wind and sea had grained his voice. A scarred and perfect sound, like him.

She pushed up on her toes until his mouth was half an inch from hers.

“Kiss me.”

Mr. West inhaled and finally, finally, they closed the gap. He covered her mouth, a long, cataclysmic caress. The shock stunned her until her sea wolf softened his kiss, tender and unhurried. Her fingers curled against his chest, exultant.

She’d waited years for this.

He lashed his arm around her waist and held her tightly—enough for her to feel hardness growing behind his placket. She rubbed against it.

Flesh pebbled up and down her body. Desire radiated from her breastbone. Her breasts tingled. His body was firm. His lips, silk. Mr. West tasted of sin and whisky. She kissed the corner of his mouth, quaking in her soul as arousal slid through her veins. Gentle noises teased her. Velvetshushingseductively. The whisper of skin on skin.

Mr. West was hiking up her pannier, her petticoat and underskirts, his kisses going on and on. Thesoftness was strange and desperate. To have waited this long for a kiss...

He groaned in her mouth when his hand found her naked hip, tracing that curve, teasing and light. Breath shuddered in and out of her.

She was the sea wolf’s plunder.

She rubbed against him, the friction sweet. Pleasure flared... more infernos, burning everywhere. Her abdomen, her mons, her thighs. Her mouth joined hotly with his until his tongue brushed her lower lip.

Mr. West was tasting her.

His gem-hard eyes were inches from hers, an intimate mystery. A claiming.

Waistcoat buttons dragged her bodice. Her hair clung to heated flesh. She raised her knee, stroking his thigh with hers, daring him to do more.

Heat abraded her inner thigh; cool air teased flesh between her legs.

Wetness trickled there.

But this was... agony.

Mr. West was iron. His breath, jagged and sultry. She moaned and ground her mons against him. London vanished. The league, Scotland, her past, her future... all gone.