He let out a huff.
She lifted a stray lock from her forehead, clearly struggling to keep her poise—a difficult task with her velvet bonnet askew and a twig in place of a hairpin.
Boyd bit back a grin. “So, Miss Croft, is this what they call ‘poise’ these days? Or did ye leave that behind with the rest of your wardrobe?”
She responded with a strangled sound that might have been a groan, her lips pressing together as if she could will her composure back. But the effect was ruined by the smear of dirt on her cheek and her obvious reluctance to touch the ground.
“I... I had it under control.”
“Did ye now? Then I’d hate to see what happens when ye’re not in control. My poor ribs might not survive it,” he murmured, wishing she wasn’t wearing such a thick corset so he could better feel her curves.
“I imagine winemakers do take their falls with a bit more grace than that...”
Do they? He was quite insensible to falling and grace—unless it was a fall from grace. The lass felt too good in his arms. As if she belonged there.
Get up, get away.But he couldn’t bring himself to move.What’s gotten into you?
He brushed the smudge from her cheek, his fingers lingering, marveling at the smoothness of her skin.
“I know my chest makes a fine cushion, Miss Croft, but if you’d rather settle in proper comfort, we might think about getting off the ground, aye?”
“Oh, of course.” She slid from atop him.
He was already missing her warmth when he felt a surprising resistance. Lifting his chin, he glanced down to see the bow of her skirt tied up with the placket of his trousers. The sight sent heat to his face, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
Saints preserve me.
“Seems we’re in a bit of a... knot, Mr. Sandeman,” Beth said, oblivious to how much in a knot he really was.
She tugged at the fabric, her brow furrowing as she worked the button with exasperatingly clumsy fingers.
Boyd’s jaw clenched as her knuckles brushed against his groin. The maddening sensation ignited a warmth that traveled low, settling with vengeance in his cock.
“Now, if you would just... let me...” Beth huffed, her voice full of focus and effort, utterly unaware of the telltale tension in his nether regions or the flush creeping up his neck.
He should move, pull away. But damn if he could—not when every instinct screamed to keep her close, to...what?Blast it all, the lass didn’t even ken what kind of blaze she was igniting.
A groan escaped his chest.
She paused, glancing up at him. “Are you quite all right, Mr. Sandeman? Have you a sprained ankle, perchance?”
He would have a sprained erection if she didn’t stop rubbing. “Just. Release. The. Bow. Miss Croft.”
“No need to worry. A lady is ever adept with buttons, for grace is found even in the smallest of tasks...” Her voice strained as she redoubled her efforts.
His head fell back against the earth with another groan, his breath fast and shallow.
“Honestly, Mr. Sandeman, you ought to consider the merits of less elaborate closures. These buttons are remarkably resistant.”
Resistant like tempered steel—and just as hard. Groaning like a pig to the slaughter, Boyd forced his gaze anywhere but her tempting lips, clearing his throat in a desperate attempt to regain control.
She shifted closer, leaning over his stomach. Her warm breath ruffled his shirt, teasing the skin beneath. A vision of her lips closing around him burst into his mind, forcing all the air from his lungs.
He needed to take her dainty hands out of his crotch before he took her right here, above the treacherous schist.
With both hands, Boyd snapped the cloth free. He didn’t care if he became a eunuch in the process—this torture had to end.
Beth looked up, startled.
