Page 35 of The Laird's Wicked Game
“Aye.” He paused then. “Open it … if ye dare.”
Her breathing caught. There had been no mistaking the challenge in his voice.
He’d just thrown down the gauntlet, and she’d answer.
Jaw setting, Kylie flashed him a feisty look before settling her attention upon the book once more. Aye, her face was likely glowing like a coal, but she wouldn’t be cowed. He thought she didn’t have the spine to look inside this book. But he was wrong.
Even so, when she opened the volume at a random page and scanned the words that had been written there, her breathing choked off.
When yer lover’s quim is suitably wet … rub her juices over yer swollen member and—
“By the Saints.” She shut the book with a snap. “Where did yer father get this?”
“I have no idea,” Maclean replied. “He never spoke to me of it, obviously … but he and my mother were happily wed. He must have gone to some lengths to please her.” Their gazes fused then, the moment drawing out. “Ye can borrow it, if ye wish?”
Kylie flushed hot. Her first instinct was to throw this volume back at him and leap to her feet before making a hasty excuse and fleeing the solar.
But she didn’t. Instead, an odd, kindling excitement flickered to life in the cradle of her hips. She was so aware of the man seated opposite. Even though the table separated them, she marked every detail about him, including the shallow rise and fall of his broad chest as he watched her.
Maclean was waiting for her to refuse, for her to hand the book back with a shake of her head and a look of reproach.
But she wouldn’t. Once again, a strange boldness had gotten its claws into her. “Very well,” she replied finally. “I shall. Thank ye.”
Silence fell between them, and when the laird shattered it, his voice was strained. “As I said, I’m not a ‘good’ man, Kylie. If I were, I wouldn’t imagine going through that book … page by page … and doing everything it describes to ye.”
She stopped breathing altogether at these words. Squeezing her thighs together, for her quim was aching now, she stared back at him.
Rae’s lips lifted at the corners, although his gaze had now turned bleak. “Aye, lass … I amthatdepraved.” He raised a hand, scrubbing it through his short hair. “And if ye don’t wish to remain at Dounarwyse in the wake of such a revelation, I shall understand.”
Kylie searched his face, marking the self-recrimination plastered over it now. What a tortured man he was—passionate yet ashamed of it. Sadness constricted her throat then. How lonely he must have been over the years. “I don’t want to leave, Rae,” she said softly.
His brow furrowed, tension rippling through his broad shoulders. “Ye don’t?”
“I admitted I wanted ye too, didn’t I?”
“Ye did … but I thought—”
She shook her head. “I have no wish to get emotionally ‘entangled’ with anyone again … or to ever take another husband … but yer words don’t shock me.” She paused then, her pulse lurching before she blurted out, “On the contrary … I find them intriguing.”
He gave a shaky laugh, reached for his cup, and drained it. And when he set it back on the table, she noted a slight tremor in his hand. “I don’t want to remarry either,” he admitted, his tone roughening once more. “But nor do I want to spend the rest of my days living as a monk.”
Kylie stilled at these words. Was he celibate? Surely, a man as attractive as him could easily find a servant to warm his bed? Meanwhile, the laird’s gaze met and held hers. “Do ye intend to remain chaste?”
She considered his words a moment before letting out a soft laugh. “I’d rather not … but it isn’t the same for women as men.” She couldn’t help but inject a chiding edge into her voice. “Ye can visit brothels and take lovers with impunity … but a widow cannot. Not if she doesn’t want folk to whisper behind her back.” She broke off then, dropping her gaze to where her finger now traced the patterns of the oaken table. She couldn’t believe they were discussing such things.
“Ye could take a lover in secret.”
Her heart started to thump against her breastbone. She knew where this conversation was heading, and she was suddenly skittish. “I could.”
“And if yer lover didn’t make emotional demands on ye … if he didn’t try to trap ye in marriage … would ye consider such a liaison?”
“I don’t know,” she replied hoarsely. “Relationships often sour once the initial excitement fades … the situation could get … complicated.”
“What if there was a time limit?” he asked, his voice lowering once more.
“What do ye mean?” Her voice was little more than a croak now, sweat bathing her skin. She’d never had a conversation like this. It was both erotic and alarming, and it made her feel as if she were spinning out of control.
“What if I took ye to my bed from the first of September … and we spent the autumn and winter months working our way through The Art of Coupling,” he replied, his gaze gleaming now. “But once the first spring bulbs flower, we ended our involvement to prevent unwanted emotional entanglement. After that, this …hunger… would be sated.”