He watched her neck bob as she swallowed, then followed her line of flesh down to her collarbone. God, her whole body was delicate. Like a perfectly crafted work of art. He took another step, reaching his hand out to touch her skin, exposed by the ‘V’ of her robe. His finger traced a line down from the dip at her throat to the top of her cleavage, his touch making her chest lift as she inhaled sharply.
‘You’re afraid,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to be afraid.’ He found it enticing, the way she reacted to him.
‘I’m not afraid,’ she whispered. ‘I’m just trying to work out if this is a good idea. I don’t do this sort of thing.’
‘We can stop if you want.’
‘No.’ She placed her hand over his, pressing his palm to her warm, damp skin. When their eyes met, there was a resoluteness in her gaze he hadn’t seen before. ‘Don’t stop.’
He angled his head until their mouths were barely touching. Her breath was fast, hot, her heart barrelling against her chest where he touched her. God, her responsiveness was a turn-on. Her apprehension was, too. And the sensation of her body beneath his hand was almost too much to bear. Pulling his lips away from their almost-kiss, he said, ‘We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’
‘Okay.’
He could feel her relax beneath her touch. ‘You’re in control,’ he said, looking down at her. ‘In fact, let’s take it a step further. Tonight is all about you. You tell me what you want, you tell me what to do, you’re in charge of everything.’
Her tense muscles loosened. Interesting.
‘What’s in it for you?’ she asked.
His eyes were heated when he looked at her. ‘You are.’
She laughed in spite of herself. ‘You haven’t lost your charm along the way, then?’
‘I haven’t lost anything,’ he told her. ‘I play to win, remember?’
She looked like she remembered, her eyes turning glassy as she stared at him.
‘Speaking of which,’ he continued, ‘I have an ulterior motive.’
‘Which is?’
He cupped the side of her face, his palm covering her skin. ‘If you’re in control tonight, then tomorrow night I get to be in charge.’
Her mouth dropped open again. Without thinking, he pressed his thumb against her lips.
‘What do you think?’ he whispered.
Her lips closed around him, her tongue grazing the pad of his thumb, before she slowly slid her mouth back, releasing him. ‘It’s a deal.’
It was the second time she’d crawled into bed with Lachlan MacLeish, but it felt like the first. As though everything was new. As though Glencarraig had been the appetiser, and this was the main course, a chateaubriand for two.
‘Just lie there for a minute,’ she told him, sliding in beside him. ‘Don’t take your boxers off, okay?’
‘Okay.’ He looked amused.
Slowly, she pulled at the sheet until his torso was exposed. Her brain exploded with the memory of how it had felt when he’d held her that night in Glencarraig, the strength in his muscle, the taut, smooth skin.
‘Don’t move,’ she whispered, reaching out. With her index finger, she followed the line of his collarbone, lingering in the dip beneath his throat. Then she continued, until she’d traced her way to his shoulder, and down his arm, along the swell of his bicep. The skin beneath her finger flexed, and when she looked down she could see his hand clenched into a fist, the tendons of his wrist tight and prominent. She traced the inside of his elbow, making him shudder, and a soft chuckle escapin
g from his lips.
She smiled at the sound. ‘Are you ticklish?’ she asked him.
‘No.’
Licking her bottom lip, she moved her finger back up his arm, feathering it across the crease between his chest and bicep. This time his laugh was higher pitched, and he moved away from her. She couldn’t help but laugh too.
‘You are. You’re ticklish.’ The grin split her face. ‘The implacable Lachlan MacLeish has a weak spot.’