He swallowed hard. If this were her idea of torture, he was ready to confess anything she wished—and she hadn’t even touched skin.
She moved to his chest, her fingers deftly unfastening the buttons of his waistcoat. He clenched his fists at his sides, resisting the urge to seize her hands and hasten the torment.
If she goes any slower, I’ll break.
She attacked his shirt next, beginning at the collar and slipping the buttons free. With each snap, tension coiled tighter in his gut.
The fabric parted, and when cool air met his flushed skin, he shivered as if he were the virgin.
She eased the shirt over his shoulders. His muscles tensed beneath her fingertips, straining with the effort to remain still. This was agony—and he welcomed it.
Boyd didn’t trust himself to move.
Beth went over his clothing with the same quiet grace she brought to every challenge, a dignity befitting her rank but paired with the curiosity that was uniquely hers.
Her teeth caught her lower lip as she slid his braces from his shoulders, letting them hang at his sides. The gesture was simple, but it sent a fresh wave of heat through him.
I’ll be ruined before she even gets to the end.
Sweat trickled down his spine as her hands moved to his waistband, her movements unhurried. The fastening gave way, and as she slid the trousers over his hips, cold air brushed against his erection.
Confession? Hell, I’d pledge my soul if she asked.
Boyd cradled her cheek. She met his gaze, certain where he was trembling, cool where he was burning, tender where he was a storm.
“Why are you doing this, Beth?” He searched her eyes. “I proved to be the uncouth Scot your family believed me to be.”
Her gaze softened, and she cupped his face, her thumbs brushing along the stubble of his jaw. “You are so much more, Boyd. And you must believe me because a lady cultivates a critical eye, honing her ability to discern character.”
She took his hands in hers, pressing her lips to each palm. “These hands cradled Anne’s baby with a tenderness that belies everything you pretend to be. They are strong, yes, but capable of care.”
She kissed his shoulders, her breath warm against his skin. “These shoulders bear more than the weight of your business. They carry the trust of your friends. They admire you, because they know your loyalty runs deeper than any title.”
She traced the lines of his arms. His skin hummed, goosebumps rising in the wake of her lips. “You fight for what you love with fierceness. You think it’s all for power, but it’s not—it’s because you look after what you hold dear.”
Her lips trailed down to his chest. “And this heart... It beats with a sense of honor that made you cancel the dinner that would have humiliated me. Even when it cost you your revenge, you chose to protect me.”
The lass must be a sailor because with each word, she unraveled the knots inside him, things that had been tight and hurting for too long. His hands trembled as he gripped her waist,fingers flexing to hold her closer. She was good, this Beth. Too good. And if she could see all that in him—if she could believe it—then maybe it was true.
She leaned up and brushed her lips against the side of his jaw. “You may be rough, moody, and outrageous... but you are also honorable and courageous. When you said I shouldn’t lose my heart to you—”
“Beth, I—”
She silenced him with a fingertip above his lips. “I didn’t. You stole it. Like you lifted my hats and ribbons, you took it right out of my chest, and such a rogue that you are that I didn’t realize it until it was quite too late. I love you, Mr. Sandeman.”
Boyd stared at her, his chest tightening as if the very air conspired against him. “Damn it, lass, a winemaker’s wife isn’t supposed tae bring tears tae a man’s eyes,” his voice came out rough as gravel. “Ye keep surprising me, and I hope tae hell ye’re done, because—”
“Actually, I have a tiny bit of surprise left...”
She tilted her head, a mischievous glint lighting her green gaze. With a flick of her wrist, her coat slipped to the floor, and Boyd’s brain stopped working. There she stood—bare as the day she was born. Her fiery hair cascaded over her shoulders like molten temptation, and Boyd’s mind stopped working.
His mouth opened, then closed. He rubbed his eyes, half expecting to wake up.
“Beth—” His voice cracked. “Did ye lose the rest of yer wardrobe on the way here, or is this another Christmas gift?”
“You never stand when I’m present, Mr. Sandeman. You must not start doing it so now.”
With surprising strength, she pushed him back into the chair.
