Desire in Tartan: 2 (Highland Vampires) Read Online Free PDF Page A

let her go, sat on the bed and regarded her quizzically. “Ah. I had thought ye were distressed about something. Mistress, I ken ye’re afeared of riding, but—”
    “You know that?”
    He looked affronted. “’Twas obvious at the mop fair that ye doonae ride. I’m neither blind nor stupid.”
    “I didn’t lie to you. I have ridden a horse before. But not recently.”
    “Why not? What happened?”
    “I fell off a horse when I was eight.” She lifted her robe so he could see her ankle. “My ankle becomes sore in cold weather, and I never ride.”
    “Never?”
    “Never.”
    “Well, ye will on the morrow.”
    She drew in a shaky breath. “I know.”
    “Was the horse named Mary, perchance?”
    She stared at him while heat rose into her cheeks. “Yes.”
    “Och, well…I see.” He scratched his head. “But ’tisnae possible that you’re afeared of a gentle creature like our little Mary.”
    “She’s bigger than I am,” Alice said defensively.
    He quirked a brow. “Not by much.”
    She gave him a really nasty look, the meanest she could muster, and he laughed. Again, the sound was a little creaky.
    Her mood altered and she softened her glare. “Why are you sitting on my bed?”
    He jumped up. “Oh, ah…I felt ‘twas the place for a talk. Aboot the riding.”
    “Bed is the best place for a talk about riding?”
    He leaned against the bedpost. “Bed is the best place to talk about anything, ye ken?” His voice had softened, grown a little husky.
    She found that her attention was fixed on his mouth, was inexorably drawn to his lips as he shaped the words he spoke. Bed is the best place to talk about anything, ye ken?
    “Anything?”
    “Anything.”
    “Does this apply to everyone?”
    “Nay,” he said deliberately. “Just to bonnie lassies.”
    He looked her full in the face, but not into her eyes. He was staring at her mouth.
    Her mouth.
    Was it possible that Dugald Kilburn was as interested in her mouth as she was in his?
    P’raps so. Had he not called her a bonnie lassie ? Mother of mercy. She was a bonnie lassie. A pretty girl. Who would have known? Not she.
    Dugald leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek. Then after a frozen moment, he shifted, kissing her full on the mouth.
    Shock tingled through her. His cool lips tasted faintly of the ale he’d drunk, and though she’d been kissed before, no one had tasted like Dugald or felt remotely like him. She kissed back, placing both palms on his face and pressing her lips firmly to his, so firmly that she parted his lips with hers.
    She feared that her boldness would lead him to believe she was experienced. She’d kissed and been kissed before, had liked it, and had pursued that…but not more.
    And when Dugald’s hands roamed to her breasts, cupping and fondling over her robe, her fears were realized. But she didn’t stop. His touch affected her too strongly, reaching her through the thickness of her robe, charging her with a pleasant heat she enjoyed. She was protected by her clothing, so why stop?
    One hand drifted lower to clasp her bottom, and misgiving flashed through her. But still, what could happen through layers of fabric, through quilted robe and heavy trews?
    But when he set his substantial palm firmly onto her buttock and pressed, shoving her against his body, she knew.
    She knew exactly what could happen. How could she not, with an enormous thick, hard pole jabbing her through his breeches and her robe?
    At least it…he…seemed enormous. A foot long, at least. But surely he…it…couldn’t be. How could such a length fit into his trews? Wouldn’t she have noticed if a gentleman’s…appendage were so substantial?
    She was virgin, not blind.
    Dugald rubbed against her and her ruminations fled her mind, rinsed away by sheer emotion. His tongue had remained in her mouth, but not still, not any more than hers was. Her tongue seemed to have developed a playful spirit that matched his, which surprised her. She’d