Her Wicked Highland Spy (The Marriage Maker #10)(13)

Rosalyn smiled. The man did not disappoint. On the subject of tidiness, he earned the highest score. Another ten. Even his rumpled bed linens seemed tidy, the way they folded back across the bed.

She crossed to the dresser and noted the orderly placement of each item. Curious, she picked up his bottle of cologne, sniffed the stopper, and breathed deep of the citrus scent.

Outside the door, someone cleared his throat.

Footsteps approached.

Rosalyn slammed the cologne down and searched for a place to hide. There were only two: under the bed or behind the floor-length drapes. She would never make it under the bed in time. She bolted for the curtains.

She’d barely managed to slip behind the drapes before the door opened, then closed. Strong, booted feet strode to the center of the room and paused.

It had to be Ethan. The step was so decisive. She bit her lip and cowered, half convinced he could hear the pounding of her heart.

Almost a full minute passed before the boots moved away.

She couldn’t resist a peek.

As she thought, it was Ethan. He stood before the armoire, untying his neck cloth first. Next, he shrugged off his coat. The rest of his clothing followed with remarkable speed until, in mere seconds, he stood, entirely naked.

It was impossible to tear her eyes away from that lean, powerful body and the play of muscles shifting beneath such tanned and gorgeous skin. Her gaze locked onto his shoulders first, so wide and straight, then to his strong, lean buttocks. He stood with his feet planted wide apart. From her angle, she knew she could easily catch a glimpse of his bollocks and cock, dangling between his legs should she let her eyes slide even further.

She hesitated only a moment, then gave into temptation. She bit her lower lip. His bollocks were huge and from what she could see of his cock as he moved, he was particularly well-endowed and wide of girth. She held her breath, willing him to turn and provide her with a perfect line of sight.

Almost as if he’d read her mind, he turned fully and allowed her a stunning view of his thick, proud cock standing out from a nest of curls at its base. Arousal flooded her. Oh, it was wrong. She knew it, but she couldn’t help but stare and even wonder how that hardness would feel stretching her channel. He was so long and thick and with veins running up and down his length.

The magnetic pull of his naked skin became almost too hard to resist. She curled her fingers into a fist. If only she could step out from behind the drapes, push him down on the bed, and sink onto that large length until it filled her. Primal need rose with a strength that threatened to sweep her away.

Ethan moved again, this time to select a fresh change of clothes.

Breathless, Rosalyn watched him dress, admiring the way his muscled thighs flexed. She lowered her lashes in appreciation as he struggled to subdue his large cock into his breeches. He crossed to the dresser, adjusted his cuffs, and then strode to the door and left as quickly as he’d come.

As the door behind him closed with a decided click, she exhaled a long breath, feeling almost weak-kneed. Her thighs were slick, and she ached to be filled. Heavens. The dream had left her in a bad enough state. Now, her need had only grown.

She remained hidden until she spied him through the window, striding toward the outbuilding housing his balloon. She fled to her room and, once inside, closed the door and leaned against it, breathless.

Images of his manhood filled her mind. She didn’t even attempt to push them away. Instead, she threw herself on her bed and focused on them. He was so pleasingly large. What would that cock feel like, pounding inside her? She clenched her legs, keenly aware of just how wet she’d become. She moaned. She’d suppressed her desires for so very, very long—too long. She slipped out of her dress, then shift, lay back amongst the pillows, and spread her legs wide. With closed eyes, she summoned thoughts of Ethan and slid her fingers between her wet folds.

*

The evening, Rosalyn sat in the library, staring at her journal and feeling beyond conflicted. She’d never imagined an erotic, wild fancy—well, several, if truth be told—concerning the subject of her observation before. It was a complete breach of ethics. She bit her lip and squirmed in the tufted leather chair.

As for her observation? She was doing a rotten job of it all. She’d avoided Ethan the entire day. How could she look him in the face after imagining where that face should be?

“Discipline,” she snapped, and forced her fingers to pick up the quill.

For a moment, she felt tempted to mark him as lacking so Lady Elana would look elsewhere for her bride-to-be. Sanity quickly chased that thought away. Her uncle had impressed honor and ethics upon her from the start. She would never betray him in such a way, no matter how jealous she might be.

Jealous. Yes. There, she said it. She was jealous.

With a scowl, she dipped the quill in the ink and began to write.

As for his lordship’s physical proportions, he is exceedingly well-endowed. His member is of exceptional size and the bride need have no fear she will lack pleasure in bed. The man is equipped, and exceedingly so. No doubt, he is exceptionally skilled in the art of love.

She jerked, realizing what she’d written and fanned her cheeks. Her pulse quickened. What devil had possessed her to write those words? Clearly, she couldn’t stop herself where the man was involved. Still, it made her feel like an author of the racy, banned kind, to write down such things.

Feeling excitingly risqué, she lifted her quill to continue.