He leaned back, and his gaze sauntered over her. The heat in his eyes, nearly a physical touch, warmed her. Once again, her defiant heart beat a wild dance. Definitely not a waltz. No, this was a tarantella. Exhilarating. Thrilling. Utterly rebellious.
“Aye, ye are indeed a temptation. I’ve seldom seen a more appealing sight. Most women would don silk or satin or some ridiculous lacy get-up that left them half bare. But you…you, Miss Templeton…have chosen cotton from head to toe.”
“Oh my.” Had the whisper actually made it past her lips? Mortification spiraled through her veins. She’d forgotten the matronly nightdress she wore.
“Ye’ve decided to maintain yer mystery.” The mischief in his eyes transformed into something far more dangerous, laced with desire and unspoken promise. He slipped his hands over her shoulders. The low rumble of his voice stirred a deep, languorous need deep within. “I like it.”
He was teasing her. Of that, she was quite certain. He was no fool. Surely he knew the truth of her purpose in his chamber.
But that did not dilute the power of his attraction, the magnetic pull of the hunger in those penetrating green eyes. She did not pull away. In truth, Johanna doubted she could’ve willed herself to reject his gentle touch. The beat of her heart punctuated each moment of contact.
He drew her close. His arms encircled her, and he pressed her to his body, to the hard length beneath the plaid that betrayed his most primal need. The flicker of amusement in his gaze had transformed into a far deeper emotion, a yearning that transcended the hunger of the flesh.
“Ah, ye are a bonny lass.” With one hand, he smoothed tendrils of hair behind her ear. “A temptation too sweet to resist.”
The heat of his body seared her. She should push him away. Really, she should. But some rebellious instinct deep within demanded she savor this moment. She’d never been in the arms of a man such as Connor MacMasters. Never luxuriated in the intoxicating essence of a vital, powerful male in his prime.
Never allowed herself to be swept away.
His mouth brushed her cheek. Skimmed her flesh with the gentlest of touches, with a seductive lack of haste, as if he drank in every moment of contact. Roaring currents of desire drowned out the feeble protests of her logical mind.
“I know what ye want, Johanna.” His words were a raw whisper. Ragged. Her name on his lips unfurled a deeper longing.
“How can you know?” she whispered. “I don’t understand myself.”
“I know what’s brought ye here…why ye’re in my arms tonight.” His warm breath tickled the curve of her jaw. He pressed a kiss to the tender spot at the base of her throat where her pulse throbbed. Pleasure raced through her veins, and she wanted more.
More of his touch. More of his kiss. More of him.
But this was wrong. She’d come to his chamber in search of the book. Not to warm his bed, no matter how tempting that prospect might be.
She pressed her palms to his chest, easing away. Creating a precious inch or so of space between their bodies.
Still, he held her. Drawing his thumb over her bottom lip, he smiled down at her. “Ye’ve remembered why ye came here tonight.”
“Yes.” Her response was hushed. Reluctant. How she longed to tug away the length of cloth covering his lean hips and discover all his secrets. But that could not be.
His lips were almost touching hers. Johanna wanted to kiss him. She quelled the impulse. Defiant, the uncontrollable longings urged her to press her lips to his. Just one kiss. That’s all she wanted.
If only she could convince herself.
“It’s not here,” he murmured.
Confusion washed over her. Johanna blinked, as if that would banish the thoughts of all the decidedly improper things she wanted to experience in Connor MacMasters’s arms…in the bed that lay so tantalizingly close.
He framed her face in his hands and brushed a lazy caress over her lips. Releasing her, he put not-quite-an-arm’s-length between them.
“Ye’ve come after the book, but yer wasting yer time.” Still a whisper, his voice had taken on a deeper burr.
His meaning washed over her like a frigid downpour. “You knew.”
“From the moment I heard ye sneaking about.” The mouth she’d longed to taste heartbeats earlier settled into an infuriatingly smug line. “I’m not thick-skulled, Johanna. Nor am I one to delude myself that ye are a fantasy come to life.”
“A fantasy?” she repeated, testing the word on her tongue.
He offered a solemn nod. “Aye. And a more fetching sight I’ve never imagined.” His heavy-lidded gaze skimmed over her, and he flashed a grin designed to melt a feminine heart. “Ye’re a beauty, Johanna—even in a nightdress Mrs. Bailey might take to wearing on a night when the wind howled. But I knew you’d come looking for that bluidy book.”