And Payton could not possibly have been more pleased. He grinned, slapped his crop playfully against her hip. “Ye’re jealous, Mared Lockhart. Ye want a kiss for yerself.”
“Donna be ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “I am hardly jealous.”
“Ye are!” he said, delighted, and touched his crop to her shoulder as his gaze wandered over her lovely body. “Ye thought to bring Miss Crowley round for yer little scheme, but when ye thought I kissed her, ye wanted that for yerself. Ye want me to kiss ye now. Ye want the kiss of a Douglas.”
She took a quick step back. “Ye’ve been dipping in that grog ye call whiskey, for ye’d be mad to believe I want anything from ye, especially a bloody kiss.”
Payton grinned as he stepped forward and slid the crop down her shoulder and over her bosom. “Ye do,” he insisted. “Look at how ye blush now. I’d wager a woman of yer years, a woman who has never known the touch of man, has lain awake more than one night thinking about a kiss—”
“Aaiie! Ye insult me!” she cried, her face now crimson.
“Ye’ve lain there,” he cheerfully continued, “thinking of my mouth on yer sweet lips,” he said, and lifted the crop from her breast to touch her lips with the tip of it. Mared slapped his crop away.
“Ye’ve wondered if my lips are soft or hard,” Payton continued, enjoying the high color in her face, the furious glint in her eyes. “If they are warm and wet…”
She made a strange sound and punched him in the shoulder. Payton grabbed her wrist and pulled her into him, and with a laugh, he kissed her hard for a long moment, then lifted his head, smiling.
He’d meant it as a jest, only to tease her, but when he saw those green eyes and heard her tiny little gasp through lips pursed in surprise and wonder, male instinct suddenly took hold of him. He dropped his crop and slid his arm around her waist to hold her to him, put his hand against her warm cheek, smoothed her hair back from her temple, then forced her chin up, so that she could see him.
Her eyes were glittering with anger; she put her hands between them and pushed. “Ye flatter yerself, as always. It may come as quite a shock to ye, but I donna lie awake at night thinking of ye at all! I leave that for the poor, unfortunate Miss Crowley.”
“Uist,” he softly commanded her. “Be still, lass, for I see the bloody truth in yer eyes—ye have indeed wondered about that kiss, and perhaps even more. A beautiful, bonny lass cursed from ever knowing a man. How she must wonder what it is to lie naked with him, to feel him inside—”
“Ye’re incredibly vain!” she cried, pushing against him.
“I’ll no’ deny it,” he said with a lazy grin, “but ye’re as much a liar if ye say ye’ve no’ wondered.” With both hands he cupped her face, holding her still as he lowered his mouth to hers.
She seemed surprised, as if she hadn’t believed he would do it, gasping into his mouth, her body stiffening as he gently pressed his lips to hers, shaped them around hers, sucking her plump flesh between his lips.
His arousal was instant and scorching; he felt a tide of burning pleasure rise in him, and he meant to let her go before he did something foolish; but then Mared was suddenly kissing him—awkwardly at first, but earnestly. Her hat fell away and Payton touched the corner of her mouth, her cheek, tried to gentle her, to slow her, and as he did so, he could feel the tension slipping out of her body, until she tilted her head back to better receive his kiss.
When the tip of her tongue touched the seam of Payton’s lips, every ounce of proper courting decorum melted away as he met her tongue and eagerly delved into the sweet recess of her mouth, his breath mingling with the sweet taste of berries, her scent arousing every masculine inch of him, her body spreading fire through his veins.
He deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue farther inside her mouth, slipping over teeth, around the soft skin of her mouth, tangling with her tongue.
Mared pressed against him, her body arching into his. He tightened his hold around her waist, pushed his thigh between her legs. She made a little mewl in her throat, and she squirmed against him, her hands sliding up his chest to his head, her fingers grasping at his shoulder and his hair while her tongue darted around his, her lips pressed against his, her hips pressing back against his hardness.
A long and wild sliver of her hair caught between their mouths, but Payton didn’t care—he cared for nothing but the erotic pleasure of her kiss, the scent of her body, the taste of berries on her breath. He dropped his hand to her waist, then spanned her ribs, and pressed up, to her breast, to the soft mound of flesh that filled his palm and spilled out of it. His fingers dipped into the bodice of her gown, grazing her soft breasts, sliding into the warmth of her cleavage.