His smile held relief at her simple request. “You’d like to make a Scot of me?”
Trying to maintain this lighter mood between them, she returned his smile. “Afeileadh’svery comfortable, or so Uncle Fergus says.”
“A bit breezy, though, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never worn one. Will you put it on for me, Nicholas? Just for a little while?”
“Your wish is my command, my lady, except that I don’t know how to wrap the plaid properly,” he replied. “Adair tried to explain it to me once, but I confess I didn’t really listen.”
“I’ll help you.” She ran her gaze over him. “The shirt first?”
“Very well, my lady. The shirt first.”
He undid his belt and tossed it onto the table. After pulling off his tunic, he set that beside the belt, so that he was wearing only his breeches and boots.
Her mind strayed to thoughts of making love until they were both satisfied and exhausted, and she had to leave to return to her own chamber.
He drew on the white shirt, which smelled faintly of lavender, then discovered that he couldn’t get his arms into the sleeves. “It doesn’t fit,” he said, his words muffled by fabric as he struggled to get it on.
“Your shoulders are too broad,” she replied, hurrying to help him.
She didn’t resist the urge to blatantly caress him while she did.
“Are you trying to make this more difficult?” he asked as he continued to struggle with the garment.
“Not particularly,” she replied, caressing him again.
When he succeeded in getting the shirt off and tossed it onto the chest, she tilted her head to admire him. “Let’s not bother with a shirt.”
“Wanton wench—and if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to pick you up and carry you to the bed right now.”
“Then I won’t look at you,” she pertly replied. “Or you can keep your breeches on until I’ve got the fabric around you.”
He started to undo the tie of his breeches. “If I’m to wear that plaid, I think I should wear it as the Scots do, and that means naked underneath—or so Adair’s informed me. Don’t you think I should?”
Her cheeks warmed with a blush, and the memory of his naked body. “If you wish.”
He shook his head as he got one boot off. “Ifyouwish.”
“I won’t stop you.”
“When you look at me like that, it makes me want to kiss you.” He got the other boot off and kicked it into the corner. “Of course, there seems to be very little these days that doesn’t make me want to kiss you.”
She put the fabric on the floor and started to unroll it. “What are you doing” he asked.
“I’ve got to spread this out.”
“What, on the floor?”
“It’s too long for the bed.”
“Ah, the bed.”
His deep, husky voice alone could make her moist and ready for him. But although she would gladly make love with him now, she did want to see him in afeileadh—another recollection to take with her when she went home.
By the time he had his breeches off, she had laid the fabric out so that it was flat on the floor, stretching from the window nearly to the door.
“Is this going to take a long time?” he asked as he stood wearing nothing but a smile, and shamelessly displaying the extent of his eagerness to make love with her.
