Her heart began to pound harder with every step. She closed the door behind them and turned the key in the lock.
Then she found herself pinned against the door.
He caged her there with his body, using one hand to wind her loosened hair around his fist, pulling it up and away. Then his mouth, hot and hungry, descended on her neck.
She gasped with the sweet shock of it. The firm tug on a thousand nerve endings. His tongue, running from her collarbone to her ear.
Her knees wobbled.
She braced her arm against the door.
She slumped forward there, helpless to move as he covered every inch of her neck with kisses and possessive sweeps of his tongue. The rasp of stubble scraped against her skin, adding a deliciously sharp contrast to the soft heat of his mouth.
Soon her whole body felt aflame. Beneath her bodice, her nipples pressed to hard points, craving touch. Craving his mouth. And his kisses kindled a low, hollow ache between her thighs.
She’d been biting her lip to keep from crying out. But when he reached to cup her breast, she couldn’t hold back any longer. She abandoned that last shred of self-consciousness and moaned with pleasure.
The sound only seemed to encourage him. He responded with a low groan of his own.
His free arm slid around her waist, and he gathered her close. His erection pressed against the small of her back. Impressively hot and rigid, even through the layers of chemise, corset, frock, and heavy kilt.
He kissed her ear now, tracing the ridges with his tongue and catching the nub of her earlobe between his teeth. His thumb found her nipple, and he rubbed it back and forth. Just lightly teasing. The torture was exquisite.
“Logan. Please.”
She tried to turn to face him. He put his hand on her waist, forbidding it.
“Not just yet.”
“But . . . when?”
“Soon, mo chridhe. Soon.”
His hands went to the closures of her frock. He fumbled and cursed as he yanked them free. His difficulty with the buttons let her know he wasn’t quite as collected and in control as he would have her believe.
He was every bit as eager as she was. Perhaps even anxious.
Desperate.
When he’d loosed the hooks and buttons and laces sufficiently to allow her frock to slide to the waist, he spun her around to face him, pressing her to the door once again as he took her mouth in a possessive kiss. His hands tugged at her frock and her stays. She tried to help as best she could, pulling her arms free and then getting them out of the way by lacing her hands behind his neck.
He cupped her bared breast in one hand, lifting and kneading. She sifted her fingers through his soft, heavy hair as they kissed. He moaned against her mouth, and she tasted the lingering fire of whisky and his own unique, elusive sweetness. He kept that sweetness hidden from the world, but she knew how to draw it out.
She savored it.
Impatient, she began to tug at the fabric of his shirt, pulling it loose from the belted waist of his kilt and gathering it in rough handfuls. When she’d managed to work the hem high enough, he broke their kiss long enough for her to yank the garment over his head and toss it aside.
And when they kissed again, his bared chest met hers for the first time.
The sensation was bone-melting in its intensity.
All that skin on skin. Heat on heat. His solid muscles shaped her softness. The light hairs on his chest teased her nipples.
His heart pounded against hers.
“Lift your skirts,” he muttered, sliding his tongue down her neck.
Merciful heavens.
Given her choice of any three words to hear from Logan’s lips, Maddie probably would have chosen I love you. But she had to admit, Lift your skirts had an undeniable appeal.
Her softest, most secret parts quivered.
She obeyed, gathering the silk in rough handfuls and hiking it until the hem reached her knees.
His hands slid to her backside, and he lifted her off the ground and against the door, wedging his hips between her thighs and locking her stockinged legs around his waist.
She gave a little shriek of laughter.
Then his mouth found her nipple, and her laughter became a languid sigh.
The rough surface of the door scraped against her bare back, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. His lips and tongue were working magic on her breasts, and the hard ridge of his arousal was just where she wanted it. He rolled his hips, and a pure, bright joy swept through her. She let her head fall to the side and clung to him, riding the waves of bliss.
After he’d treated each of her breasts to a through pleasuring, he gathered her to him and turned her away from the door, carrying her toward the bed.