The Devil Wears Tartan by Karen Ranney Read Free Book Online Page A

think I understand you.”
    “It’s not an entirely bad thing to have a beautiful woman confused.”
    She tried to ignore the warmth she felt at his words, but it was impossible. He’d called her beautiful. Did he truly think she was, or was he only being the diplomat?
    He suddenly leaned over the bed and kissed her, a gentle, sweet kiss on the lips. He straightened before she could draw away, and then climbed the three steps to sit beside her on the bed.
    Outside, she could hear the wind whistling around the windows, fighting the building, roaring against the brick and mortar of Ambrose as if it were in a fierce winter battle. Inside, the room was so quiet, she could hear both of them breathing.
    “I hadn’t expected you to be innocent,” he said, obviously picking his words with care. “Do you know what will happen?”
    “I’m not innocent,” she said. “I know quite well what will happen. You will put your member in me.A moment or two later it will be over. You’ll feel compelled to repeat the act periodically. Something about a man’s dominant urges.”
    He glanced at her. “All that?”
    “Have I amused you in some way?” she asked.
    “Not at all, Davina.”
    “You’re smiling.”
    “Am I?” he asked.
    His eyes were crinkling at the corners, amusement seeming to color them even darker than normal.
    “I don’t think it’s that entertaining, Your Lordship,” she said. She couldn’t decide if she was annoyed or hurt, and the very fact that she was vacillating between the two emotions irritated her even further.
    “I didn’t know you were so well versed, Davina,” he said, still smiling.
    Before she could comment, he leaned over her. Without warning her of what he was about to do, he pushed her down on the bed. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said. “Consider it one of my dominant urges.”
    She lay there bared to his gaze, naked except for one very thin layer of fabric. The material clung to her body, leaving no doubt as to the contours beneath. She clenched her hands at her sides and closed her eyes and prayed for dignity, that she would not voice a whimper or a moan or a complaint. A Scotswoman was brave. A McLaren was valorous.
    But he didn’t plunder her body. Instead she felt a very gentle breath on her mouth just before he kissed her again. And this kiss was curious enough that she peered from beneath her lashes to look at him when it was finished.
    He was smiling, but he did nothing more than reach out his hand to pull one of her curls free.
    Instead of teasing her with words, or continuing their conversation, he pulled her to a sitting position and then kissed her again. He induced her to open her mouth to breathe into his, to allow his tongue to touch hers in the most intimate way. But the curious thing was the feeling such a touch evoked. Her face warmed, and her fingers tingled as well as her toes. Her heart began to beat rapidly, almost as if a kiss had some bearing on it.
    Her mind darted from one topic to another, and then circled back to concentrate on the touch of his lips on her cheek, her nose, her closed lids, and then her chin.
    He touched her breast with his hand, cupping the fabric around it. The effect was so startling that she gasped and opened her eyes simultaneously.
    His smile had gone, and in its place was a sober gaze.
    “I sent my solicitor to Edinburgh to pick a bride for me,” he said conversationally. “He returned with news of you. He neglected to mention, however, that you were exquisite. Or that you had the tongue of an asp.”
    A laugh escaped her. “Surely you shouldn’t say such things,” she said. “Not on our wedding night.”
    He smiled. “Or that you had a mouth like a sorceress, one that tempts me to kiss you silent.”
    “Should I be flattered or shamed, Your Lordship?”
    Or should she just close her eyes and pretend that this whole experience was over, done, and complete? Somehow, that didn’t seem sensible at all. She’d always