Page 109 of The Scot Beds His Wife

“Ye doona ken what a gift this is.” His other hand threaded into her hair, cupping her head so he could rest his forehead against hers. “Ye’ve given me more than just Erradale. Ye’ve given me a chance to be what I’ve always wanted to be. A good man. A good father. I need this, bonny. I need ye.Us. And even if ye doona feel the same, I’ll do what it takes to make ye happy. I’ll protect ye and this child from anything and everyone. I’ll—”

She wrenched herself away from him, turning back to the bed in the futile hope that some distance would return some of her clarity. Her sanity. Was it possible, just this once, that things could go right? She pleaded with the heavens. Both the cruel palace of perfection that housed the vengeful God she’d been raised with, and the older, more human gods of this place. Could she be forgiven? Redeemed? Happy?

“It wasn’t supposed tobelike this,” she sobbed.

“What do ye mean?”

She touched her chin to her shoulder, glancing back at the perfection that was his face and form. “I wasn’t supposed to fall for you.”

His arrogant smile returned, though with none of its previous cruelty. “Well, doona be too hard on yourself, bonny. It’s an understandable mistake that thousands of ladies in your position have made—och!”

He ducked just in time for her hairbrush to sail harmlessly over his head and clatter against the far wall.

And then she was in his arms again. “But ye’re the first woman I’ve ever felt this way about,” he said seriously. “Ye’re the last woman I’ll ever want.”

Well… shit,she lamented as more hot tears leaked over her cheekbones. She was done for.

His mouth took hers again, distracting her from what his hands were about until the chilly night air kissed her flesh and she realized that she was naked again.

Gavin left her no time to process that fact as he shaped his strong hands over her body, spanning her narrow hips, splaying over her ass, and lifting her against him.

Left with no choice, she wrapped her legs around his lean waist and her arms around his shoulders as their tongues speared and tangled with each other. He tasted of salt, but Samantha had the strange sense that the tears she licked from the seam of their mouths might not only belong to her. That the preponderance of them carried not sorrow, but joy.

Hope.

She let the next word skitter across her thoughts until it disappeared beneath the dense blanket of raw lust and incoherent need evoked by his touch. She dare not think that word.

Not yet.

Gavin walked them both to the bed, though instead of spreading her beneath him, he surprised her by turning and sitting on it, splitting her legs over his hips so their mouths could remain fused.

Samantha didn’t mind one bit. After tonight, her man deserved a good ride.

The blunt pressure of his cock pressed intimately against her, impossibly hotter and harder than the rest ofhim. She reached between them, lifting herself in preparation to take into her body the one thing it wept for.

Lord, but with just a few kisses, her husband set her skin on fire, and released a wet flood of preparation all at once.

A fucking miracle of biblical proportions,thatwas sex with Gavin St. James.

In a sinuous motion of both unparalleled grace and strength, he stretched his magnificent body onto his back, all the while lifting her hips and dragging her up his torso and past his shoulders.

“What are you—”

His wicked mouth answered her, but not with words.

Knees split on either side of his head, she hadn’t the time or the strength to fight him as he pulled her to his lips. The lick was little more than a pass, their wet flesh whispering against each other with the promise of more.

She felt it all the way to the roots of her hair. Tossing her head back, she arched her pelvis forward, offering him what he would ultimately take.

His tongue traced the slippery skin around the place where she twitched and throbbed for him. An iniquitous tease with wet consequences.

Samantha made a hoarse moan of pleading that she’d never in her life thought to utter. This wasn’t her, this wild and needful woman. In his arms she was no longer skinny Samantha. She was lithe. She was supple. She was a twisting creature with long, tight limbs and endless desires and demands.

She wasn’t just a wife, she was a woman.

Tired of his teasing, her fingers instantly found his hair and gripped it, pulling him closer, demanding satisfaction.

She’d expected him to comply, but she hadn’t expected his moan of anticipation as he cleaved her sex open withthe flat of his tongue. Nor the following one of appreciation at what he found.