Page 8 of The Lady’s Guide to Being Snowbound with a Scottish Laird (The Lady’s Guide to Love #9)
“Whatever I desire?”
“Most certainly. Whatever is your wish, I’ll grant, if it be in my power.”
“Then ’tis easy.” Margaret needed no time to think. “I’ll wager all or nothing. I prevail in winning the game, and you’ll petition for our divorce, citing whatever reason brings the swiftest outcome. No debate or prevarication.”
Finlay’s smile dropped, but he gave a single nod. “As you wish, my lady.”
Most fairly, Finlay allowed her to present the first card, and Margaret confidently selected a knave of spades, taking the first trick, since he had nothing higher than a seven.
The second was hers again, as she laid a ten of diamonds, to which he could only pit a four.
However her luck ran out on the next, when he easily outplayed her six of clubs, and gained control in leading the next card.
Calmly, he placed a queen of hearts; as she’d naught higher than a nine, the trick was his.
And all my trumps exhausted.
She could not read him, but it hardly mattered. They each had but one card to play. ’Twas only a matter of seeing what they’d been dealt. Margaret looked down at hers—a low-numbered spade.
The first set was as good as lost, so she’d need to take both the next to triumph over him.
More immediately, he was going to claim what she’d agreed to.
Something fluttered in the pit of her stomach.
She refused to let herself imagine a kiss from Finlay Dalreagh—not upon her mouth, nor anywhere else…
How long has it been?
She knew exactly, of course. The last between them had been in the morning, directly after the wedding celebrations. They’d woken in her chamber at Castle Balmore, and ’twas more than a kiss they’d shared.
An image assailed her—of him arching back as he thrust, grasping her knee to bury himself deeper.
She bit her lip. The kisses had come afterward, as if he could only take his time with those once he was sated.
Gentle kisses down the length of her back, then her bottom, growing more urgent, until he’d turned her over and kissed where he never had before.
A long, wet, unrelenting kiss that had been almost too much to bear.
“Margaret. Your play?”
For a moment, she was dazed, blinking at the paltry five of spades she was clutching. On the pile was a nine of clubs. She could neither follow suit nor trump him.
The card fell from her hand.
“Ah! Mine I believe.” Smoothly, he collected the last trick. “Where would you like your kiss, lady wife?”
“H…Here.” Looking away, she proffered her hand.
“As you wish.” Interlacing his fingers between hers, he turned her palm upward. “A single kiss is what I’ll give but, though it may begin here, I shall decide where it ends.”
“’Tis not what we agreed!” Angrily, she pulled back, but his hold upon her was firm.
His eyes, splintered green and tawny brown, held the promise of what he really wanted.
’Tis only a kiss. I have the power to decide what it means, and I say it shall mean nothing.
Nonetheless she could not control how she felt and, as he touched his mouth to her palm, a tremble moved through her.
Finlay’s kiss moved to her wrist, his tongue tasting her there.
His lips continued to graze upward. At the inner crease of her elbow, his mouth pressed more urgently, before skimming over the insubstantial sleeve of the nightgown to the bare skin of her shoulder.
She was dimly aware of his hands upon her waist, his touch warm through the diaphanous fabric.
His kiss never left her, his breath teasing her collarbone. Open-mouthed, he dragged upward with his teeth, the length of her neck. By all the saints and the Virgin Mary! She was going to faint if he carried on like this.
His kiss had reached her ear, drawing the lobe gently into his mouth, sucking upon it. She was overcome by the smell of him, so close. Sweat and desire, underpinned by heather, of course. Wherever Finlay went, there would always be heather.
Her fingers had worked into his hair and, as his kiss traversed her jaw, she parted her lips, ready to receive his passion full upon the mouth. ’Twas with spinning mind that she felt him ease back, his hands lifting from her body.
Margaret blinked, striving to right herself, to dispel the haze of heated need. Heavens only knew what she looked like. Several coils of hair had unwound, and her nightgown had drifted so low the merest tug would render her bare breasted.
“Is that all?” She attempted to sound aloof.
His laugh was rich as whisky spooned with honey. “I would kiss you here…” Presumptuously, his thumb brushed her lower lip. “But not until I’m certain of you kissing me back. Is that what you wish, my love? A kiss long and deep, without end, until we’re both full-sated and breathless?”
“What? Nay! Of course not.” She was fighting hard, trying to drag her thoughts from that blood-hot outcome.
“A rare pity.” He regarded her a moment before picking up the deck again and, from the top, dealt them both another five.
She’d quite forgotten the cards.
Another two sets, and I must win them both.
If she didn’t, the consequences would be dire.