she arched into it. Her pulse plummeted to join the ache between her thighs, redoubled, spreading
through her like a fever.
Sandison suddenly cursed and yanked his hand away. Beau shook her head and tried to reorder her thoughts. Why stop? Why stop
now?
“Damn pins,” he muttered, sucking on his finger, and then giving his hand a shake.
He smiled down at her, and the rush of heat flooding through her swirled almost painfully through her womb, making her thighs
shake. His erection pressed into her, hard and demanding even through several layers of petticoats.
Beau rocked in his lap, grinding against him. She tugged at his coat. Sandison frowned. His hands gripped her hard, holding
her still. “You’re my playground, brat. Not the other way round. Not just yet anyway.”
“And why is that?” Beau slid one hand down his side, fingers flittering over the button that held the fall of his breeches
up. Sandison caught her wrist.
“I thought we covered that last night.”
Beau leaned in to bite his earlobe, just as he had hers the night before. “Not to my satisfaction.”
Sandison gave a weak laugh and kissed her again. “It was very much to your satisfaction as I remember it.”
“But not to yours.” Beau sat back enough to watch his reaction. His pupils widened, black pushing the blue to the edges. She
couldn’t tell if he was poised for flight or attack, but the silent tension spoke volumes.
“There’s more than one kind of satisfaction.” One of his hands began to work its way up her leg. “Bringing pleasure to your
partner, giving rather than receiving, is a pleasure all its own.”
His fingers skimmed over her thigh. Beau repressedthe wanton need to let him touch her. To let him have his way. He liked to win, but so did she.
“Show me how,” Beau said, annoyance and frustration coloring her voice more than she would like. It made her sound weak.
“Not now, brat.”
Beau pushed herself up, batting his hand away. “Why not? It’s not fair that you get to touch me but I’m not allowed to touch
you.”
“Fair? St. Jude protect and defend us. You’ve got no idea what you’re asking.”
“I think I do.”
Sandison shoved one hand through his hair, leaving his queue disordered and rumpled. His eyebrows dipped, pleading with her.
Beau leaned forward to kiss one and then smoothed them both with her thumbs as she cupped his face.
“Show me.”
“I’m a man, Beau, not a saint.”
“And?”
“And? You are the most maddening woman alive. Do you know that?”
Beau nodded, trying not to smile. She was winning. She could see his defenses crumbling before her. The bleakness had left
his eyes, replaced with dawning amusement.
“I hate to admit to being less than a gentleman, but the simple truth is that if I let you do as you’re asking, I’m not entirely
sure where it will end. But the most likely scenario is with me taking your maidenhead in this blasted coach.”
“Think of it as a challenge. Or a bet. Men love a goodbet, don’t they?” The smile that she’d been fighting won out. “I bet you, Gareth Sandison, the sum of one bawbee that no matter
what I do, you can resist tupping me until after we reach Scotland.”
Sandison’s eyes widened. “Tupping? Where on earth did you learn that term?”
“Rude prints in the window of Ackerman’s,” Beau replied with perfect truth.
Sandison shook his head, the corners of his mouth giving way to a grin. “Did you ever stop to think I might want to lose that
bet?”
“And let me lord that coin over you for the rest of your life? And I would, you know. I think not.”
Gareth stared at Beau, fighting off the urge to roll her under him and lose the bet that instant. “You were born with the
soul of a libertine.”
Beau’s smile turned into a full-fledged triumphant grin. Then she kissed him, lips and teeth and tongue all brought to bear,
hands seemingly everywhere. She slid over until she was
through her like a fever.
Sandison suddenly cursed and yanked his hand away. Beau shook her head and tried to reorder her thoughts. Why stop? Why stop
now?
“Damn pins,” he muttered, sucking on his finger, and then giving his hand a shake.
He smiled down at her, and the rush of heat flooding through her swirled almost painfully through her womb, making her thighs
shake. His erection pressed into her, hard and demanding even through several layers of petticoats.
Beau rocked in his lap, grinding against him. She tugged at his coat. Sandison frowned. His hands gripped her hard, holding
her still. “You’re my playground, brat. Not the other way round. Not just yet anyway.”
“And why is that?” Beau slid one hand down his side, fingers flittering over the button that held the fall of his breeches
up. Sandison caught her wrist.
“I thought we covered that last night.”
Beau leaned in to bite his earlobe, just as he had hers the night before. “Not to my satisfaction.”
Sandison gave a weak laugh and kissed her again. “It was very much to your satisfaction as I remember it.”
“But not to yours.” Beau sat back enough to watch his reaction. His pupils widened, black pushing the blue to the edges. She
couldn’t tell if he was poised for flight or attack, but the silent tension spoke volumes.
“There’s more than one kind of satisfaction.” One of his hands began to work its way up her leg. “Bringing pleasure to your
partner, giving rather than receiving, is a pleasure all its own.”
His fingers skimmed over her thigh. Beau repressedthe wanton need to let him touch her. To let him have his way. He liked to win, but so did she.
“Show me how,” Beau said, annoyance and frustration coloring her voice more than she would like. It made her sound weak.
“Not now, brat.”
Beau pushed herself up, batting his hand away. “Why not? It’s not fair that you get to touch me but I’m not allowed to touch
you.”
“Fair? St. Jude protect and defend us. You’ve got no idea what you’re asking.”
“I think I do.”
Sandison shoved one hand through his hair, leaving his queue disordered and rumpled. His eyebrows dipped, pleading with her.
Beau leaned forward to kiss one and then smoothed them both with her thumbs as she cupped his face.
“Show me.”
“I’m a man, Beau, not a saint.”
“And?”
“And? You are the most maddening woman alive. Do you know that?”
Beau nodded, trying not to smile. She was winning. She could see his defenses crumbling before her. The bleakness had left
his eyes, replaced with dawning amusement.
“I hate to admit to being less than a gentleman, but the simple truth is that if I let you do as you’re asking, I’m not entirely
sure where it will end. But the most likely scenario is with me taking your maidenhead in this blasted coach.”
“Think of it as a challenge. Or a bet. Men love a goodbet, don’t they?” The smile that she’d been fighting won out. “I bet you, Gareth Sandison, the sum of one bawbee that no matter
what I do, you can resist tupping me until after we reach Scotland.”
Sandison’s eyes widened. “Tupping? Where on earth did you learn that term?”
“Rude prints in the window of Ackerman’s,” Beau replied with perfect truth.
Sandison shook his head, the corners of his mouth giving way to a grin. “Did you ever stop to think I might want to lose that
bet?”
“And let me lord that coin over you for the rest of your life? And I would, you know. I think not.”
Gareth stared at Beau, fighting off the urge to roll her under him and lose the bet that instant. “You were born with the
soul of a libertine.”
Beau’s smile turned into a full-fledged triumphant grin. Then she kissed him, lips and teeth and tongue all brought to bear,
hands seemingly everywhere. She slid over until she was
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