He was so close now, his body a wall of heat and tension, that it made the air between them feel impossibly tight.
She took a breath to steady herself, but it only dragged his scent into her lungs—warm spice, clean linen, and his unmistakable musk, dark and masculine. It coiled low in her belly, scattering her thoughts like windblown ash.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, her skin prickling with awareness. Every inch of her felt attuned to his nearness, her breath catching as though her body already knew what was coming, already ached for it.
“Ye are mistaken,” she breathed, but her eyes were locked on his, unable to break away. “I promise ye that.”
“Am I?” he challenged, his hand reaching out, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. “Or are you simply afraid to admit what you truly want? I have no interest in games. But if you insist on playing… I promise you, I will win.”
He leaned in, his lips hovering inches from hers.
Elspeth’s breath hitched. She knew she should push him away, should rail against his arrogance, but her body was betraying her. Again.
She found herself leaning into his warmth, cravinghim. The softness of his skin, the strength of his touch.
Suddenly, his mouth was on hers. It was soft at first as he licked the sweetness off the corners of her lips, tentative, then deepening, demanding.
Her hands found their way to his chest, then across his shoulders, then back around his neck, pulling him closer.Closer.
The world outside the drawing room faded, replaced by the dizzying rush of sensation only heightened by the rush of sugar through her veins.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their eyes dark with complicated emotion.
“Ach, this is wrong,” Elspeth whispered, her voice hoarse as she clutched her chest.
“Yes, my Scottish sorceress,” Hugo agreed. “It is.”
“We shouldnae—we cannae do this again,” she said.
“And we will not,” he affirmed, averting his gaze. “I have important matters to attend to.”
“Like meeting more land agents to sell Inverhall?”
“Do not wait for me to sup,” he barked as he walked out of the drawing room.
“You seem rather distracted, old boy,” Aaron observed, taking a sip of his drink. “Are you still vexed by your Highland charge?”
Hugo found himself at his club later that evening, a glass of brandy in hand. He was supposed to be listening to Aaron recount a particularly scandalous tale he had heard about Lady Featherstone’s youngest niece. Yet, his mind was elsewhere.
He was plagued by the image of Elspeth earlier that afternoon. Each time he closed his eyes, he could see her flushed cheeks, her defiant emerald-green eyes.
He could taste the sweetness of her soft lips.
Damn her.
He despised how the Scottish widow had gotten under his skin, how she managed to unravel his carefully constructed control with infuriating ease.
Hugo grunted as he drained his glass. “Yes, she is a constant annoyance. I swear, the woman is determined to try my patience. She is spending money like water, buying every ridiculous piece of fabric in London. And the sweets! I cannot seem to get rid of her.”
“Ah, yes, theannoyance.” Aaron chuckled as he motioned for a server to bring over another round of drinks. “Funny how yourannoyanceseems to consume all your thoughts, Hugo. Rumor had it that you were both dining at a certain new restaurant on Oxford Street after visiting Olde Fitzwilliam’s.”
“Are you having me tailed?”
“Wait!”
“What now?”
“You are not falling for her, are you?”
