swallowed.
“Scotsman?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. His eyes were closed.
“Scotsman?” she whispered again.
Still no reply.
Relief seeped in. Awareness crept in. Something else, Maura realized, was different as well.
Her gaze skidded down his body. Only now did she realize her hand was still in his—
With a cry she wrenched it free.
Triumph vied with disbelief. She had attained the night’s goal. But she felt as if the world had gone a little mad.
Climbing over the Scotsman’s limp form, she set to work removing his boots. Mercy, but he was heavy! It took at least three deep breaths before she gathered the courage to peel away his pirate’s breeches. His legs were iron-hard with muscle. Coated with the same black hairthat covered his chest. As for that other part of him…
She tried. Truly she did. But she couldn’t make herself not look.
Even soft, that oh so male part of him was impressive enough to make her eyes widen.
When she was done disrobing him, she staggered back, falling into the chair. It was as if she were looking through a haze. She blinked. It took a moment for her to focus. She realized then it was the wine—so much, in so little time. She wasn’t used to it.
She divested herself of her skirt, drawers, and boots, tossing them aside. It didn’t matter where they landed. Indeed, she decided vaguely, it would be all the more convincing.
But she wasn’t yet finished. There was one more thing to be done.
She stumbled to the bureau and picked up the letter opener. Returning to the bedside, she leaned over the Scotsman and pricked her finger soundly. A thick drop of blood appeared, and she quickly smeared her bloody fingertip across the sheets.
Maura returned the letter opener to the bureau, then staggered back to the bed. Crawling over the Scotsman, she dragged the coverlet over them both, insinuated herself beneath a heavy arm, then fell back upon the pillow.
Her eyelids had closed but she couldn’t let go of the thought. She was halfway to victory. She had accomplished what she sought. She was here. With the Black Scotsman. In his arms. In his chamber.
And in his bed.
Chapter Five
Alec woke the next morning with a hammer pounding dully in his head. Strange, he thought vaguely. Wine—no matter how much—rarely had that effect on him.
And then, good God, he felt soft, immensely pleasurable warmth nestled against his side.
His head still spinning, he opened his eyes.
Soft, silky skeins of black hair tumbled across his bare chest. Shocked, he took a strand between his fingers, following its length up, over the curve of her back. What the devil? Who the devil…
Remembrance swelled over him.
It was her. His lady pirate, who had bewitched him so the night before.
She was rousing. Stirring, snuggling deeperinto the warm depths of the bed. She turned on her side, fitting herself against him.
And opened her eyes.
Slender, beautifully arched black brows drew together over her nose. In sheer, utter bewilderment, she beheld him. She stared at him as if…as if…
“You!” she gasped. She scrambled back against the wall, as far away from him as she could get.
Alec sat up and stretched out a hand. It was odd. His throat was cotton dry, his mind a fog. He remembered his midnight guest—how could he not? The previous night returned in jagged pieces that floated in and out of his brain. His mind groped. It was almost as if he didn’t know what was real and what was not.
He sought to make sense of it. He remembered bringing her to his room, their teasing play. The last thing he recalled was a kiss, a hot, hazy, mesmerizing kiss that promised everything.
Yet now the chit regarded him as if he were an asp.
Something weaved in and out of his consciousness, a warning. A sense that something was wrong. He’d been drinking, yes, but he wouldn’t have considered himself drunk. For pity’s sake, what the bloody hell—
Someone was knocking at the door. He ignored it.
“Come
“Scotsman?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. His eyes were closed.
“Scotsman?” she whispered again.
Still no reply.
Relief seeped in. Awareness crept in. Something else, Maura realized, was different as well.
Her gaze skidded down his body. Only now did she realize her hand was still in his—
With a cry she wrenched it free.
Triumph vied with disbelief. She had attained the night’s goal. But she felt as if the world had gone a little mad.
Climbing over the Scotsman’s limp form, she set to work removing his boots. Mercy, but he was heavy! It took at least three deep breaths before she gathered the courage to peel away his pirate’s breeches. His legs were iron-hard with muscle. Coated with the same black hairthat covered his chest. As for that other part of him…
She tried. Truly she did. But she couldn’t make herself not look.
Even soft, that oh so male part of him was impressive enough to make her eyes widen.
When she was done disrobing him, she staggered back, falling into the chair. It was as if she were looking through a haze. She blinked. It took a moment for her to focus. She realized then it was the wine—so much, in so little time. She wasn’t used to it.
She divested herself of her skirt, drawers, and boots, tossing them aside. It didn’t matter where they landed. Indeed, she decided vaguely, it would be all the more convincing.
But she wasn’t yet finished. There was one more thing to be done.
She stumbled to the bureau and picked up the letter opener. Returning to the bedside, she leaned over the Scotsman and pricked her finger soundly. A thick drop of blood appeared, and she quickly smeared her bloody fingertip across the sheets.
Maura returned the letter opener to the bureau, then staggered back to the bed. Crawling over the Scotsman, she dragged the coverlet over them both, insinuated herself beneath a heavy arm, then fell back upon the pillow.
Her eyelids had closed but she couldn’t let go of the thought. She was halfway to victory. She had accomplished what she sought. She was here. With the Black Scotsman. In his arms. In his chamber.
And in his bed.
Chapter Five
Alec woke the next morning with a hammer pounding dully in his head. Strange, he thought vaguely. Wine—no matter how much—rarely had that effect on him.
And then, good God, he felt soft, immensely pleasurable warmth nestled against his side.
His head still spinning, he opened his eyes.
Soft, silky skeins of black hair tumbled across his bare chest. Shocked, he took a strand between his fingers, following its length up, over the curve of her back. What the devil? Who the devil…
Remembrance swelled over him.
It was her. His lady pirate, who had bewitched him so the night before.
She was rousing. Stirring, snuggling deeperinto the warm depths of the bed. She turned on her side, fitting herself against him.
And opened her eyes.
Slender, beautifully arched black brows drew together over her nose. In sheer, utter bewilderment, she beheld him. She stared at him as if…as if…
“You!” she gasped. She scrambled back against the wall, as far away from him as she could get.
Alec sat up and stretched out a hand. It was odd. His throat was cotton dry, his mind a fog. He remembered his midnight guest—how could he not? The previous night returned in jagged pieces that floated in and out of his brain. His mind groped. It was almost as if he didn’t know what was real and what was not.
He sought to make sense of it. He remembered bringing her to his room, their teasing play. The last thing he recalled was a kiss, a hot, hazy, mesmerizing kiss that promised everything.
Yet now the chit regarded him as if he were an asp.
Something weaved in and out of his consciousness, a warning. A sense that something was wrong. He’d been drinking, yes, but he wouldn’t have considered himself drunk. For pity’s sake, what the bloody hell—
Someone was knocking at the door. He ignored it.
“Come
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