Robert’s gaze softened. “Then I’ll keep earning it.”
Scarlett’s heart turned over. “Ye’ve already earned more than ye ken.” “Maybe,” he said, his voice deepening, “but I’d like to prove it again.” “Here?” she asked, though her tone was less scandalized than amused.
He looked around the solar, the sunlight slipping across the polished table, the open windows letting in the faint scent of heather and rain. “Aye,” he said finally. “Here’s as good a place as any.”
“Ye’re incorrigible.” “Only for ye.”
Scarlett’s protest died before it reached her lips. Robert’s mouth found hers again, firmer this time. The kiss deepened slowly, his hands tracing her sides, memorizing her like a man who still couldn’t quite believe she was real.
She rose on her toes to meet him, her fingers sliding through his hair. The world outside the solar fell away again, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the soft sighs that slipped between them.
“Robert…”
He caught her whisper with another kiss then lifted her easily, setting her on the desk amidst the scattered ledgers. A few pages fluttered to the floor, forgotten.
Scarlett’s laughter was breathless. “Ye’ll ruin yer papers.”
“They can wait,” he murmured, his lips tracing the line of her throat.
Her head tilted back, hands clutching his shoulders. The warmth of his body pressed against hers, the solid weight of him both steadying and intoxicating.
He drew back just enough to look at her properly, his thumb brushing along her jaw. “Ye sure?”
She met his gaze, steady and certain. “Aye.”
Robert’s gaze, dark and intent, held hers for a heartbeat longer, as if sealing a pact. Then, his hands were on her, not with frantic haste but with a deliberate, devastating purpose.
He didn’t fumble with laces. Instead, his large hands slid from her waist to her hips, and with a single, powerful motion, he lifted the chair. A soft gasp escaped her as he turned, setting her down not on the wood but against the nearest stone wall, its cool surface a shocking contrast to the heat blooming through her dress. He caged her there, his body a solid, warm barrier against the world.
“I’ve wanted to do this since the first day ye stormed in here, all fire and fury,” he murmured, his mouth finding the frantic pulse at the base of her throat. His lips were warm, his tongue tracing a slow, wet path that made her knees weaken.
“And what… what is ‘this’?” Scarlett breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders for balance.
“This,” he said, his voice a low growl against her skin as his hands went to the sash at her waist. He tugged, and the fabric loosened with a whisper.
“Is me proving that this room, this desk, will never again be just a place for ledgers and treaties.” He pushed the gown from her shoulders, the heavy fabric sliding down her body to pool at her feet like a puddle of twilight. “It will be the place I remember ye coming apart in me arms.”
Standing before him in only her thin chemise, she felt utterly exposed and impossibly powerful. The sunlight streaming through the window gilded his hair, his face all hard planes and soft shadows as he looked at her.
“Yer turn,” she managed, her voice husky. Her fingers went to the leather of his belt, but he stilled her with a hand over hers.
“Nay,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Let me.”
He made a show of it, unbuckling the belt with a slow, deliberate pull, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft hiss. He tossed it aside, the metal buckle clattering against the wooden floor. His tunic followed, pulled over his head and cast onto a chair, leaving his torso bare. The firelight played over the sculpted muscles of his chest and abdomen, and Scarlett’s mouth went dry. The evidence of his desire for her was a prominent, formidable ridge straining against his trousers.
He stepped back into her space, his skin radiating a heat that seared her through the thin linen of her chemise. His hands slid up her thighs, gathering the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her sensitive skin and making her shiver.
“Lift yer arms, lass,” he commanded.
She complied, and he drew the chemise up and over her head, leaving her completely bare against the cold stone. A flush spread across her chest and neck, but she held his gaze, refusing to be ashamed of the want that thrummed through her veins.
“God, ye’re a vision,” he breathed, his eyes drinking her in. He didn’t touch her, just let his gaze roam over her from her flushed face to her peaked breasts, down the gentle curve of her stomach and lower still. The intensity of that look was a caress in itself.
Finally, he closed the distance. One hand came up to cup her breast, his thumb sweeping over the taut peak, while the other arm slipped behind her back, supporting her as his mouth descended on hers. This kiss was not gentle. It was a conquest, a claiming. It was all tongue and teeth and shared, ragged breath.
When he broke the kiss, they were both panting. “The desk,” he rasped, his voice thick with need.
He lifted her again, as if she weighed nothing, and carried her the few steps back to the large oak desk. With a sweep of his arm, he sent a cascade of papers and ledgers scattering to the floor. The sound of crumpling parchment was loud in the room, a symbol of all the rules and duties being cast aside.
