Page 85 of The Scot Beds His Wife

“Callum said they call ye Sam.” He discarded his vest and grappled with his cuff links.

“They do.” She undid her belt and peeled her blouse from her shoulders.

They were silent as he flicked open his cuff links and made short work of the buttons of his shirt. She, in turn, kicked away the slippers she’d been able to wear without stockings, as the pressure hurt her leg too much. She also unpinned the scrap of lace from her hair and set it next to her.

Pausing, he touched his chin to his shoulder. “Are ye afraid, Sam? Do ye have questions of me? About what I’m going to do to ye?”

“No,” she lied. On all three counts. “I already told you, I’m no virgin. And everyone knows you’ve made love to most of the maidens in Europe, and half the married women, besides.” She said this more to remind herself, than for his benefit.

“Imade loveto no one. I fuck. Love has nothing to do with it.”

Then his shirt was gone.

Though his back was to her, he faced the fireplace so his scars were naught but shadows. Samantha wouldn’t have noted them anyhow. In the firelight, the broad slopes of his shoulders seemed to be carved from pale pine and sanded to a perfect, smooth finish. His back was wide and long, roped with thick muscle that tapered into a lean waist.

Samantha gaped.

He was like a banquet to her eyes. She made an appeal to both the graces and the muses to grant a simple girl like her the words. Only the language of the angels could have done him justice.

All she could think was how lucky she was to have not met himbefore. Before her illusions about men had been shattered. When she still believed in silly, girlish things like romance, heroes, and happy endings.

She would have been counted among Lord Thorne’s many,manycasualties.

Now, she could merely appreciate his unparalleled physique and pretend that he elicited no instincts of covetous possession.

He turned back to her, and instead of divesting himself of his trousers, as she expected, he reached for her. Gently, he pushed her to her back, with her legs still dangling overthe edge of the bed, and through some magic wrought of experience, he peeled away her skirt and corset. Leaving her bare but for the bandages on her leg.

When he leaned down, she expected him to crawl between her knees and open his pants.

Instead, he drove his hands beneath her, and lifted her once again.

“What—what are you doing? Are we not going to—”

“If ye think I’m not making this marriage completely legitimate, ye’re mad. I want no one to be able to contest my claim.”

He didn’t say his claim to Erradale, though she knew that’s what he meant.

“You don’t really have to woo me, or anything. You can just—you know—get on.”

“Get on?” He looked down at her, his perfect brow furrowed with confusion.

“Fuck. Like you said. The bed’s right there and—”

Then she saw it, and gave a moan full of more erotic yearning than she’d ever expected to utter that night.

Samantha couldn’t believe she’d not noticed it before. In her defense, the porcelain claw-footed tub had somehow blended with the marble of the fireplace. The steam rising from the water beckoned with a sinuous dance as cool air circulated around them from the partially opened window.

“I didna have time to get ye a proper ring or a wedding gift, bonny, but I thought—”

Overcome by a surge of gratitude, she threw her arms around his neck and planted her lips right on his in an enthusiastic kiss. Her exuberance in his arms drove him back a few steps in order to avoid landing on his ass, but he maintained his balance and returned her kiss through lips tight with a pleased smile.

Pulling back she said, “It’s perfect.” And wriggled a bit in his grip to get him walking in the right direction.

“Careful, lass,” he warned, as a gleam of wickedness lurked beneath his playful grin. “If ye persist in moving like that whilst naked, the bath might be cold before I’m done ravishing ye.”

“I promise to be good,” she vowed instantly, curling around herself and modestly covering her notoriously unimpressive breasts by crossing her arms.

“That makes one of us.” He strode to the tub and lowered her down, deftly positioning her injured leg upon a soft towel previously draped over the lip to keep it out of the water.