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My breaths quicken. My pulse quickens too because I recognize that lustful look in her eyes. When she splays her hands on my chest, I feel my slat awakening.
"Yes, please," she says. "Let's go to bed."
"To sleep, Emery." My voice grows rough. "You need rest, to recover from the jet lag."
"So do you." She glides her hands up to my shirt collar, pressing her supple body into me, and I feel her nipples hardening as they rake over my chest. "Might as well lie down together."
"I doubt either one of us would sleep that way." I lower my head, intending to nuzzle her neck, but catch myself. "We will lie down. You in your room, and I in mine."
Her hands sweep up and over my shoulders, where she links them at my nape. "Your perfect grammar makes me so hot."
"Behave, Emery." My command probably lacks vigor since I'm experiencing a powerful need to rip her clothes off and have her on the coffee table.
"You like it when I misbehave." She twirls her fingers at my nape, and I suck in a sharp breath. "Never asked me what kind of whisky I like."
"Try Ben Nevis. I think you'd like it."
"I'd love to taste it." She feathers her lips over mine, licking at the seam of my mouth. "Think I'll sample it now."
She spreads her delicate fingers over my scalp and clasps the back of my head with both hands as she fuses her mouth to mine. I shouldn't let her do this, but my body overrules my brain. I part my lips in a silent invitation for her to take whatever she wants, and she dives her agile tongue deep, exploring with leisurely strokes, teasing the roof of my mouth and coiling that tongue around mine until I cannae stop myself from responding with hungry thrusts. I grip her waist and tug her body into mine while plunging deeper, tasting more of her.
She must taste the whisky on my tongue—its rich, smoky flavor, imbued with hints of nut and chocolate and with an undercurrent of fruit.
"Mmm," she moans into my mouth. Then she peels her lips away from mine with a slowness that leaves me fighting for breath. The lass massages my nape as her lips curve into a lazy smile. "Delicious."
I stare down at her as the need to claim her body pulses inside me.
She dances her fingers over my cheek.
The siren has entranced me, again, and I blink rapidly until the spell fades. "To bed, Emery. You in your room—"
"And you in yours. Yeah, I heard you the first time." Her hands fall away from my shoulders, and she rocks back on her heels. "I'm not crazy about this separate-bedrooms thing."
"Once you've lived with me for a while, you'll be glad of the privacy."
She studies me the way she often does, as if she's trying to unravel a mystery. I'm not mysterious. I told her exactly what I can give, and she agreed to the arrangement.
"You are my husband for the next year," she says. "I'd rather share a bed with you, but if separate bedrooms makes you feel safer, I'll go along with it. For the time being."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
I pivot on my heels and head for the door. "Upstairs, to bed."
She jogs after me as I rush down the hallway and through the door to the dining room, out into the main hall, and up the winding stairs to the top floor. At Emery's bedroom door, I halt. My shoulders are stiff, and my chin is elevated. Why am I assuming my solicitor stance? I use it in court, not with my wife.
"Sleep well," I say, then I turn to leave.
Emery settles a hand on my arm to stop me. "No good-night kiss?"
"You had your kiss downstairs. Good night, Emery."
I hurry down the hall to my bedroom at the opposite end of the hall, as far from Emery as I can get, unless I move into the guest wing on the ground floor. The door clicks shut behind me.
While I undress for bed, I begin to seriously consider moving downstairs. Emery will not give up. She insists on trying to reshape our arrangement into a genuine marriage, but she signed the contract and the prenup. She knew what I could offer and what I can never give her. Yet she insists on testing me.
I stay awake half the night, tormented by thoughts of the beautiful, sexy, bizarre woman I've brought into my home, into my life. No one has ever crawled under my skin the way she does. No more playful kisses from my wife. I don't need intimacy from her. Only sex.
Sometime after two o'clock, I start to drift off. Then I remember what will happen in a matter of hours, and I lose any chance I might've had to sleep.
Tomorrow, my family will descend on Dùndubhan.
