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She broke away, her eyes glassy with lust and a consuming need as pressing as his own. “Well?”
He’d forgotten the question in the agonizing torture of having Morgan in his arms and still fully clothed. Something he meant to remedy in the next few minutes. But her question hung like the treasure it was. “Oh gods, yes, Morgan. I love you.” His hands curved around the swell of her rear, lifted her onto the hard bulge in his breeks. “But we do it right this time. Proper.”
He looked up into the eyes of his grandfather’s portrait. Offered a nod of acknowledgment.
“Marry me, Morgan.” His tone brooked no dissent.
“You? Proper?” She moved against him, the friction making him hiss. “Aye, Cam Sinclair. I’ll marry you.” She leaned close to whisper in his ear, “And they lived happily ever after.”
