The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(37)

His body took over, leaving him to bliss.

Faster and faster he moved, filling her with ever-more-frantic thrusts.

“Yes,” she cried with one. And then another. And then she was chanting in tandem with his manic moves.

They rode the waves together, up and up, reaching desperately for the peak. Tension coiled in his balls. His body hardened. His cock burned.

But still, he held back. He wanted her to come first, even if it killed him, and it just might. She was close, but not close enough.

When panic flared in his gut, he reached down between them and stroked her slick nub.

Her eyes flew open. Her lips parted. Her features tightened.

And she closed on him like a fist.

It took them in a maelstrom of splendor. It took them both.

It was a brand of ecstasy he’d never felt, the physical pleasure tangled with emotional bliss. He loved this woman. He would be her man until the day they died, no matter what the world had to say.

Elizabeth St. Claire was his.

And he was never letting her go.

*

When it was all over, he pulled her close and held her, skin to skin, and stroked her gently, and it was magnificent. Not as magnificent as making love had been, but damn close.

Elizabeth tipped up her chin and stared at him, her heart full of gratitude and amazement. “That was lovely,” she said.

His chest shook with his laugh and he tightened his arms around her. “It was.”

“Can we do it again?”

His laughter increased and he rolled her over so he was half on her, and kissed her. “Nae doubt . . . But give me a moment.”

She put out a lip. “I thought you were a Scotsman.”

“Aye. But no’ a Titan.”

“You seem godlike to me.”

“I appreciate that blasphemy, but I assure you, wee lass, I am only a man.”

She set her palm against the scruff on his chin. “I love when you call me wee.”

“Well, you are, my lass.”

“I’m plump.”

“No’ hardly. You’re perfect.”

She sighed and stroked him with her thumb. “I love it when you call me perfect.”

“You are.”

“Not hardly. But I do try.”

He kissed her again for a long moment, but when he lifted his head it was with a sigh. “We need to talk, you know.”

“I know.”

“For one thing, I live in Scotland.”

“I’m aware,” she said in a horrible attempt at a brogue.

“You’ll have to work on that,” he said with a snicker.

“Aye, me braw mon.”

He rolled his eyes. “We’re no’ pirates.”

“Was that a pirate accent?”

“It was.”

“My apologies. I’ve never met a pirate, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Seriously, Elizabeth. Could you live in Scotland? Would you like to live there?” he asked with a hint of trepidation.

“I would.”

His head dropped on her shoulder and he sighed. “Thank God.”

“Perhaps we should head there now.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“Elope. To Gretna Green.”

He jerked up and stared down at her. “I canna leave until my mission is done, lass. I have to see your sisters wed.”

She made a face. “I don’t want to stay here. I hate the season. I hate London.” And she didn’t want to have to face Twiggenberry and tell him her answer was no.

But of course she must.

“I made an oath to the duke, lass. I owe it to him to see this done . . . especially if I break his faith and marry you.”

She frowned. “Surely you’re not breaking his faith? Did he tell you specifically not to court one of us?”

“Well . . . of course no’.”

“There you go then. If he is as munificent a lord as you’ve said, he won’t mind.”

His expression was dubious. “Regardless, I must see the season through.”

She sighed and buried her face against his chest. “I know. We will just have to work harder to get them all engaged quickly.”

He grinned. “We shall. And then, off to Scotland.”

“Aye.” She reached up and kissed him. “Victoria seems interested in Peter Ross.”

“Catherine’s brother?”

“Mmm-hmm. And Mary has her eye on Jamison.”

His brow wrinkled. “Lord Jamison? I don’t remember him.”

She grinned. “Jamison. The footman.”

Hamish gaped at her. “The footman? That willna do.”

“Why not?”

“Are you daft? He’s a footman.”

Elizabeth shook her head and tsked. “Double standards do not become you.”

“Well, hell,” he said, snuggling closer. “You have me there. But I’m no’ the one telling Bower.”

“Will you tell Bower about us?”

He stroked her cheek. “I have to. He willna like it.”

“It doesn’t signify what he likes. You and I like it, and that is all that matters. No one else’s opinion matters in the least.”

His expression blanked and then was replaced with a look of horror unlike anything she’d ever seen.