Never Kiss a Scot

by Lauren Smith

  Joanna held out her injured palm, and he carefully washed the blood away. Then he pulled a small flask from his coat pocket and looked at her.

  “This will sting a wee bit,” he warned before he poured whiskey over the cut. Joanna bit her lip hard, but she refused to make a noise. Then he dabbed the cut and returned to his bag, where he retrieved a small black glass jar. He opened it and dipped a finger into the white substance and rubbed it over the cut.

  “This will help you heal.” Then he ripped up a bit of a white handkerchief from his pocket and bound it tight around her palm.

  “What about you?” She caught the wrist of his own injured hand.

  He shrugged. “I’ll tend to it later.”

  “No, please, let me help you. I’m your wife now. We did pledge to care for each other, didn’t we?” Her heart pounded hard as she waited for him to respond.

  Brock’s lips curved in a teasing smile. “Aye, we did.” He extended his cut palm over the basin. She cleansed his wound, poured whiskey over it, dried it, and rubbed the cut with his salve, and then she wrapped it securely with the remainder of the handkerchief. She held his hand in her own injured palm, a further bond between them. She met his gaze, and she saw an invitation in the burning depths of his eyes.

  “Joanna,” he whispered, the single word betraying his ardor, and she trembled as he reached for her.

  Someone knocked on the door. With a curse, Brock stepped back and opened the door. Three lads came in, each carrying a pair of buckets. They poured the water into the tub and exited after Brock slipped them some coins.

  “Bathe now, and I’ll see that we have a fire lit so you willna catch cold.”

  She nodded, her body still humming with the excitement of what had almost happened. She turned her back on him and began to undress. She’d worn a gown that buttoned down the front, and her stays were a little loose, so she could undo them herself if necessary.

  Brock worked on the fire, keeping his back to her until she’d slipped completely naked into the tub. She dipped her head below the surface, scrubbing her hair. When she surfaced, Brock was still on the opposite side of the room, but she saw he’d left a bottle of rose oil by the tub. He must have found it in her bag and put it there in case she wanted it.

  For a Highland brute, he was strangely caring and thoughtful. She lifted the rose oil to her nose and breathed in the sweet floral scent, not too strong, not too weak. Perfect. Just like him.

  Everyone is wrong about him. But not me. I know what kind of man I married.

  13

  “Do you wish to bathe, Brock?” she asked. “The water is still warm.” She had taken care to wash quickly so he could have warm water if he wanted it. She already dreaded getting out, knowing her damp skin would turn cold. She’d soon be able to put on a dressing gown and perhaps feel the heat of her husband’s body when he held her against him.

  Brock’s eyes locked on hers as he picked up her dressing gown and came over. Her senses came alive as she realized she was about to stand up from the bathtub completely naked before him.

  “Er…yes. Thank you,” he replied. He held the gown for her and then turned his head. She climbed out of the tub and slipped into the gown, then moved around him carefully, toward the heat of the fire and away from the very different heat between them. As she started to comb through her hair, she listened for his every movement, keeping her face turned away out of respect for the privacy he’d shown her. But oh how she longed to have a peek.

  He splashed around a bit, and she smiled when she heard him humming a song to himself. Her husband liked music. She bit her lip, trying to contain a giddy laugh. It would take a while still for her to become accustomed to being married.

  He belongs to me, and I to him. The thought was a welcome one, however strange it seemed. She finished combing her hair and then spoke.

  “Where is your dressing gown? I shall fetch it for you.”

  “In the large bag by the door. ’Tis dark red,” he said.

  She carefully dug through his clothing, feeling strangely excited about touching the soft buckskin trousers, the embroidered waistcoats and even his stockings. She almost giggled at the silly thought that she was fetching her husband’s clothes, such a domestic, intimate task. Joanna soon found it and lifted the heavy red dressing gown out of the bag.

  She turned back to him and stopped, frozen in place. She did her best not to stare, but he was so tall that he was almost folded in half in the small tub. His long, muscular legs stuck out of the water where he bent his knees like two mountainous islands. Unable to stop herself, her eyes moved over the rest of him. His chest was smooth except for a patch of dark hair that covered the center. She gazed at him, fascinated. She had known that men were different than women, but to see it so clearly, knowing that Brock was her husband, that his body was hers to explore… She swallowed hard as she realized the same was true for him. He could look his fill of her and explore her body just as well.

  A flash of fear filled her. He had said he would be gentle, but she had heard that being with a man could hurt, and that men often took their pleasure sooner than women and left the bed the moment they were done. She had heard such whispers over the years, sometimes having to read between the lines of such talk.

  What would Brock be like in bed? Would he use her, even gently so, and then abandon her? Surely he wouldn’t. They had one bed to share, at least here. What would happen when they reached his castle? For the first time since she had left home, she was assailed with doubts.

  “Are you all right?” Brock asked. His eyes had widened with concern.

  “Yes.” She set his dressing gown by the tub and fled to her chair by the fire. There was another knock on the door, and she stiffened.

  “It will be the lad with food. My coin purse is by the washbasin. Can you give him a shilling, love?” Brock asked. Joanna averted her gaze and hastily opened the door, just enough to take the tray of food and bottle of wine and glasses before she handed the boy his money. The lad smirked when he saw her clutch her dressing gown closed at her neck. She scowled at him to send him running.

  Brock splashed behind her, getting up, as she placed the food by the fireplace. Her hands jangled the tray as the image of him standing there naked and glorious just behind her overpowered her good sense. Lord, she could almost picture it, the water dripping down his muscular body, but she didn’t dare look. Not yet.

  “Brock, would you like a late luncheon now or…” She swallowed hard and tried to rearrange the plates on the tray, her fingers clumsy and her skin hot.

  Then she felt him right behind her, the heat of his body close against her barely clothed skin. “Aye. We should eat a bit before…” Brock cleared his throat but didn’t finish.

  “Yes,” she agreed, her body shaking. “Oh!” She knocked over the bottle of wine on the table, but he reached around her, catching it before it could fall. His clean male scent enveloped her, and she wanted to purr like a contented cat.

  “Easy, lass, I know you’re a wee bit nervous. Allow me.” He moved beside her and poured the wine into two glasses. Joanna was envious of how calm he seemed to be, his hands steady whilst hers wouldn’t stop shaking. She took a seat in the chair while they split the food between them. She was too nervous to be truly hungry, but she needed to eat or else she would be too faint to deal with what would come next.

  They ate in silence, and Joanna poured herself a second glass of wine, drinking it hastily. Brock watched but said nothing. Still, she felt compelled to explain.

  “I’m sorry. I just want to be calmer before we…” How silly she must look, stammering and shaking like a bloody virgin. Well, she was one, but she wanted to appear more worldly, more self-assured for him, and she was letting herself down.

  “It’s all right, Joanna. We dinna have to do this now if you dinna wish to—”

  “Yes, we do. Ashton could arrive at any moment, and I don’t want him to have a reason to annul our marriage.” She paused, su
mmoning her courage to tell him the truth. “And I do want to be with you. It’s merely unnerving to think of one’s first time. I know so little about all of this. Mama never spoke to me, and my older sister, Thomasina, was busy raising children and having a life of her own. Rafe and Ashton were simply out of the question when it came to getting answers.” She hoped he wouldn’t find her silly.

  Brock laughed, the rich sound putting her at ease. “I can only imagine, lass. Rafe would tell you far too much, and Ashton would tell you nothing at all.”

  “Exactly,” she said, joining in with a chuckle. But he looked at her more seriously then.

  “It can be frightening. The first time I lay with a woman, I thought I was about to die—it felt good and terrible all at once. That passes. You won’t be afraid the next time.”

  She placed her hand in his as he drew her up from the chair and pulled her into his arms, simply holding her to him, embracing her.

  “Lovemaking should be tender and gentle the first time. Later, when a man and woman feel comfortable and know each other better, it can be wild, fierce, powerful.” He coiled his hand into her damp hair, pulling lightly at the base of her neck so that she tilted her head back to look up at him.

  “Forget what you’ve heard from other ladies. When you and I share a bed, it will be about mutual pleasure.” His voice was deep and hypnotic, lulling her into a sensual trance. “You understand, lass?”

  Joanna nodded, spellbound by the soft allure of his gaze and his rich, rumbling voice.

  “Good.” He lowered his head, and just as his lips touched hers, her heart throbbed in her ears and her pulse quickened into an erratic rhythm. Her soft curves molded into the hard lines of his body as she sank into his arms. His mouth covered hers hungrily, his lips persuasive and seductive, setting her body aflame. She was only barely aware of his hands removing her dressing gown and the sensation of cool air caressing her bare skin before she was consumed again by the tender ravishment of his mouth. The fabric of his dressing gown was soft and ticklish against her. She almost sighed in disappointment when it fell to the floor, but then the searing heat of their naked bodies touching sent shockwaves through her. He showered her with kisses along her lips and jaw as he lifted her up and carried her to the bed.

  Brock laid her on her back, and she shivered as he gazed down upon her naked body. She wanted to cover herself, to hide from him, but she worried that if she did he would stop, and she didn’t want that, no matter how nervous she was.

  “Lass,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re beautiful. So much it near hurts me to look at you.” He cupped her face and trailed one hand down her body, a fingertip exploring her nipples, then her navel before pausing above her mound.

  Joanna’s breath caught in her throat as he knelt down by the foot of the bed and gently nudged her legs apart. “Brock, wha—”

  He placed a kiss upon her mound, and she gasped. The sensation of his warm breath down there was…shocking.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked. She propped herself up on her elbows to watch him do whatever it was he was going to do.

  “No, it’s just… I didn’t know that men did that.”

  Brock’s chuckle made her blush. “Not all men, but the best lovers do. ’Tis a pleasurable spot for a woman.” He placed another kiss, this one closer to her sensitive bud, and she wriggled, trying to escape and yet get closer at the same time. He gripped her thighs, pressing them open as he moved his mouth lower still. Joanna nearly shot off the bed when his tongue flicked against her sensitive folds. Sheer exquisite pleasure rippled through her, making her legs shake. She had never felt anything like this before.

  “That feels…good,” she gasped, starting to lose some of her shyness as the sensations began to overwhelm her. Brock licked her again, then sucked the pearl of her bud between his lips, and she cried out as sharp pleasure exploded within her. Every muscle inside her tightened and then went completely lax, and she sank deep into the bed, strangely euphoric. Her husband was gifted with a magical mouth.

  “How was that?” Brock asked with a chuckle as he stood up between her thighs.

  “Wonderful,” she sighed, and then she gasped as she felt him push her thighs wide again. She opened her eyes and watched as he gripped his shaft and nudged her entrance. She didn’t mean to tense, but the sight of him, massive, erect, was daunting to say the least.

  “Try to be calm,” he murmured as he leaned over the bed, bracing one arm by her head so he could kiss her. She fisted the sheets by her thighs, instinctively trying to close her legs against him, but all she could do was squeeze his hips with her knees. He pressed deep, shaft penetrating hard, and something sharp stung her inside. She whimpered against his lips as he moved out a little and rocked back in, and then she cried at the new flash of pain as he sank fully into her. Their bodies were pressed tight, and she wriggled beneath him, trying to escape the uncomfortable pain he caused.

  “Kiss me, Joanna,” he whispered gently and feathered his lips over hers.

  She did kiss him, because she was desperate to be distracted by his intoxicating kisses. She uncurled her fingers from the sheets and slowly wrapped her arms around his neck. Their breath mingled as she opened her lips for his questing tongue, and the panic from before softened. The pain receded after a moment, and when he moved, withdrawing slightly before sliding back, it felt better. She was still sore, but there were new sensations now. The pleasure from before was coming back, yet it felt strange, more intense somehow, now that it was combined with the power of being filled by him. The sensation of being connected to him, she a part of him and he a part of her was something she never could have imagined possible. Their kisses grew slightly rougher, and it was exciting, wicked, and wonderful.

  She shifted her legs higher on Brock’s body, the heels of her feet pressing into his lower back. Their mouths broke apart as he strengthened his thrusts. Their eyes locked as he gripped her hip with one hand, holding her still so she did not slide up the bed. Brock grunted, and Joanna found the primal sound both exciting and erotic.

  They didn’t speak—she merely clung to him, her fingers digging into his bare shoulders as he thrust over and over into her, owning her body, claiming her as his wife in the most ancient way a man could. His eyes devoured her, and she felt as if she couldn’t hold on to her body anymore. She came apart, her eyes temporarily blinded by a flash of sparks as a fresh wave of pleasure raced through her.

  He murmured something soft and seductive in Gaelic, thrust twice more, and went still, his body pressing heavily onto hers. She didn’t mind his weight on her, but she knew he was still standing, awkwardly bent over the bed which could not be comfortable. Joanna stroked his face, smiling in a daze.

  “Can you move, Brock?”

  He lifted his head, still breathing hard. “Am I too heavy?”

  She shook her head. “No, but it must be uncomfortable for you to stand there. Why don’t we pull the covers back and get into bed?”

  “I like that idea.” He pushed off her, and she winced a little as he withdrew from her body. His shaft was streaked with blood, hers. She was a little embarrassed, but she was also glad it was over. She had consummated her marriage with her husband. They were truly married now.

  Brock wet a cloth from the basin and cleaned himself. He returned to the bed and kissed her as he gently wiped her thighs. Then he helped pull back the covers, and they slid under the sheets together. The feather tick mattress was little old and lumpy. Once his bigger body settled in beside her, she rolled into him with a startled gasp. He caught her by the waist, laughing softly. She laughed as well, then ducked her head shyly.

  “Still all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. It came as a shock at first, but there at the end…” She couldn’t finish, but instead pressed her lips to his throat. He was so deliciously warm.

  “It was nice, I hope?” He sounded a little vulnerable, which seemed so unlike the Brock she was used to. The one who was usually so full of quie
t confidence.

  “Yes,” she assured him. She brushed her fingertips over the patch of dark hair on his chest, again fascinated by his body. He in turn curled a lock of her hair around his finger.

  “Do you need to rest? We can sleep here if you like. The room is paid for the night.”

  She was about to say no but then yawned and burrowed deeper into him.

  “Rest,” he commanded with a gentle chuckle. “We’ll eat again when you wake.”

  She didn’t think it would be possible to sleep, not lying naked in her husband’s arms after what they had just done, but somehow she simply slipped off to sleep without even realizing it.

  14

  Brock held his new wife in his arms, a quiet peace filling him. They had managed to enjoy a peaceful night’s sleep at the inn as man and wife. Late morning sun boldly illuminated the room. Brock knew he should have gotten up and roused Joanna from her slumber, but they’d traveled so hard the last few days that she deserved to rest. And he couldn’t resist enjoying her like this.

  She was nestled against him, his arms around her, pulling her tighter to him. Having been inside her, sharing himself with her and she with him, the idea of putting any distance between them now was unfathomable. Merely holding her while his lips occasionally dropped kisses onto the damp curls of her head, filled him with a peace he’d never before experienced and never imagined he would feel.

  The scars left behind from his father’s violence were still there, marring him inside and out. He still feared, deep down, that he would end up like his father, that he also held that cruelty within him. He feared what would happen if he ever lowered his guard, if he stopped holding those feelings at bay. Yet somehow, when he was with Joanna, he wasn’t afraid of himself anymore.

  The anger that had always simmered beneath the surface faded when she was near, leaving behind only a faint prickling sense of something poisonous being removed. She was, in her own way, a kind of magic, one that leeched away the darkness within him. He would never hurt her—it was impossible now for him to do so. The rightness of being with her, protecting and caring for her, was there, buried deep in his bones, deeper than any anger and violence could reach.