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Chapter 20
He reared back and stared at me, his gaze narrowed. “I was headed in that direction, Duchess. Don’t rush me.”
“It’s almost morning. I think we should cut to the chase.”
“I was wrong,” he said soberly, though his eyes danced with humor. “You’re not romantic at all. We have a cozy fire and rain on the roof. What’s your hurry?”
“Well,” I said, pretending to consider the matter, “if the house does disintegrate and crush us, I’d like to know we’d done it at least once.”
“Done what?” He kissed my nose.
“You know what. Don’t make me say it again. I grew up in the South. Women aren’t supposed to be pushy.”
He chuckled, his hand at my breast. “Push all you want, Duchess. I’m a grown man. I can tell you when to stop.”
When he toyed with my nipple, my stupid pajamas suddenly felt like they were strangling me. “Undress me, Finley. Please. Or put out the fire. Your choice.”
His painfully slow pace in unbuttoning my top was nothing more than deliberate torture. I needed to bat his hand away and do it myself, but I didn’t want him to see my bossy side.
When he bared my chest, I heard his sharp intake of breath. “Lord, Duchess. You’ve got magnolia flower written all over you. I thought those tales of soft southern skin were exaggerated, but yours is about the smoothest, prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“There’s more,” I offered meekly. “You know, skin? You’re welcome to take a look and compare.”
My sexual experience was admittedly limited. Being playful with a man in the midst of intimacy was not something I’d ever experienced. Finley brought out my inner vixen. Either that, or he was just fun to be with…in every way.
After my provocative suggestion, things got serious…really fast. Evidently, Finley’s patience wasn’t much deeper than mine. Suddenly, he was stripping off my pajama pants, undies, and even my socks. Now I was bare from the waist down.
His chest heaved as he looked at me. “Last chance for second thoughts,” he said gruffly, propped on one elbow.
The man’s hands were shaking. His eyes glittered with hunger. And yet still, he gave me a way out.
“I know what I want,” I said calmly. Rising up on my knees, I shrugged out of my pajama top and let him look his fill. Despite my daring statement, I felt plenty of nerves, though the look in his eyes bolstered my confidence. He gazed at me as if I were the last stop on the way to heaven.
He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure where to start, Duchess. You’re a smorgasbord of delights.”
“Kissing is nice,” I offered.
“It is, at that.”
Without warning, he sat up and dragged me into his lap. His fingers tangled in my hair, steadying my head as he found my mouth and kissed me hard. “It’s been awhile, McKenzie. Stop me if I go too fast.”
Dazed, I tried to decipher what he meant. He wasn’t having sex on a regular basis? What was wrong with the women in Portree?
I wanted to tell him there was too fast and not fast enough. He didn’t need my help. The man knew what he was doing. Not only did any desire for conversation fly out the window, I’m not sure I’d have been able to speak, even if I wanted to.
His lips were firm and coaxing, the taste of him as addicting as French champagne. Even so, I wasn’t entirely ready to take the final step.
I pulled back…just a hair. “I need to tell you something, Finley.”
A pained look crossed his face. “I have protection if that’s what’s bothering you.”
“No,” I said, my cheeks hot. “I want you to know I get it.”
He frowned. “Get what?”
“I understand where you’re coming from. You like your space, and you’re happy the way you are. Not in a relationship. Free. I won’t make any demands on you, I swear. I’m on vacation. This falls under the category of fun.”
“It’s not much fun yet,” he groused.
