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Devil in Disguise

Book by Lisa Kleypas · 50 quotes · Merritt Sterling, Keir Macrae, Merritt And Keir

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Devil in Disguise Quotes

“MacRae drew closer and took her head in his hands. His thumbs caressed the edge of her jaw, the light rasp of calluses causing gooseflesh to rise everywhere. Holy Moses, he was really going to do it. She was about to be kissed by a stranger. Too late to make light of anything now. What have I done? She stared up at him with wide eyes, the dissonant notes of nerves and tension joining in a long, sweet chord of desire. The crescents of his lashes, dark with gold tips, lowered slightly as he looked down at her. There was no place to hide from that piercing gaze. She felt so terribly exposed, every bit as naked as he'd been a few minutes ago. His head bent, and his mouth found hers with a pressure as soft as snowfall. She'd thought he might be rough or impatient, maybe a bit clumsy... she'd expected anything but the gently teasing caress that coaxed her lips apart before she was even aware of it. He tasted her with the tip of his tongue, a sensation that went down to her knees and weakened them. She felt herself list like a ship unable to right itself, but he gathered her firmly against him, his supportive arms closing around her. The tender focus on her mouth deepened until it had gone on longer than any kiss in her life, and still she wanted more. He kissed her as if it were not the first time but the last, as if the world were about to end, and every second was worth a lifetime. He feasted on her with the craving of years. Blindly she caught at his mouth with hers, while her fingers tangled in his hair. The textures of him- plush velvet, rough bristle, wet silk- stimulated her beyond bearing. She'd never known desire like this, a swoon that kept deepening into more and more exquisite feeling.”

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“I wasn't shocked by what they were doing as much as I was by Merritt's recklessness. Taking a man into her bed in broad daylight? It's not at all like her. She's behaving as if scandal can't touch her, and she knows better than that." "So does Keir. But they’re both moonstruck. You remember how it is in the beginning.” She grimaced. “Yes, a state of derangement with chapped lips." Folding her arms across her chest, she heaved a sigh. "Tell me about this young man. Is he a silk purse or a sow's ear?" "He's pure gold. A big, fearless lad... engaging and quick-witted. Admittedly, the manners are a bit rustic, and I can't speak as to hygiene: so far, grooming him has been a collective effort. But all in all, a fine young man." "And how is he with Merritt?" Sebastian hesitated before replying, "No one outside a relationship can ever know its inner workings. But from what I've seen, it has the makings of something durable. They talk easily. They pull together in adversity. Many marriages have started with far less, including mine.”

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“She... her... He couldn't hold on to her name... it kept darting away from him... but he was aware of her soft presence, her voice like honey, her hands bestowing cool, sweet calm on his tortured body. But for all her softness, there was steel in her. She was unrelenting when it came time to dose him with medicines he didn't want. She made him sip water or broth despite his struggles to keep anything down. There was no bloody refusing her. This was a woman who would keep him anchored safely to the earth, to life, with the force of her will. During the worst of it, when Keir was maddened by suffocating heat, and every breath felt like someone was stabbing a peat knife into his chest, the woman packed ice around him, or bathed him all over with cool cloths. It mortified and infuriated him to lie there helpless and naked as a wee bairnie while she took care of his intimate needs, but he was too damned sick to do anything for himself. He needed her, both the softness and the steel.”

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“I don't mind if you want to keep it. But... why did you?" Keir shrugged. "'Tis no' my way to take a feeling apart and examine the workings of it." Merritt tilted her head, regarding him intently. "Did you want it as a trophy, perhaps? To remind you someday of a conquest you once made?" Keir's smile vanished. He didn't think she really believed that, but the suggestion- the very idea of it- filled him with indignation. "No. I'm no' a brute who would think of you as a thing to be won." Seeming to realize he was genuinely offended, Merritt said hastily, "Oh, I didn't mean to imply-" "I may have rough ways, but I know how to be gentle with a woman-" "Yes. Of course. I shouldn't have put it that way-" "-and as for needing a reminder-" Keir's indignation deepened into outrage. "Do you think me so shallow-pated I'd need reminding of a woman I once held in my arms? How could I forget you? The most-" He was interrupted as Merritt took his face in her hands and kissed him again. There was more he'd meant to say, but her mouth was too luscious to resist.”

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“Have you met Lady Merritt?" The mere mention of her name softened the tension in the atmosphere almost miraculously. Keir felt the small muscles of his face relaxing. "Aye, I've had the honor. A kind and bonnie woman, she is." The duke's sudden easy smile was like the sun giving off light. "I've known her since the day she was born." Keir's brows lifted slightly. "You were there during the storm?" "She told you about that? Yes, I was one of the volunteers who went out in search of a midwife or doctor. It didn't look promising when one of us brought back a veterinarian, but to his credit, it all turned out well." "I'd say the credit should go to Lady Merritt's mither," Keir said.”

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“I'm only a little nervous, that's all." Keir was almost shocked by the rush of tenderness he felt. “No, dinna be nervous with me.” He took her against him, nestling her to his chest. “I would never harm you. You’re safer in my arms than anywhere outside them." He caressed her shining dark hair, and ran his fingertips over her cheek and neat curve of her ear. Her skin gleamed like a pearl in the light.”

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“After my father's passing, my men and I took inventory at the distillery and found a hidden cellar where he'd stashed a hogshead of single malt. It had been sitting there untouched for forty years." Keir uncorked one of the miniature bottles and poured the amber liquid into a glass. "We finished it in first-fill sherry quarter casks for a year, bottled it, and named it Ulaidh Lachlan- Lachlan's Treasure- in honor of my father." "How many bottles in total?" "Two hundred ninety-nine," Keir replied. Hoagland swirled the whisky in the glass, moved it close to his nose, and inhaled deeply. He took a taste, paying attention to the soft, rolling feel of it in his mouth. The subtle variations of his expression revealed the progression of flavors... the opening of dry, dusty wood and salt brine, like lifting the lid of a pirate's treasure chest... the richness of bread pudding... finishing with a surprising meringue lightness and a touch of smoke.”

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“Merritt stared in bemusement at the big, wrathful Scotsman. He was an extraordinary sight, more than six feet of muscle and brawn dressed in a thin wet shirt and trousers that clung as if they'd been glued to his skin. An irritable shiver, almost certainly from the chill of evaporating alcohol, ran over him. Scowling, he reached up to remove his flat cap, revealing a shaggy mop of hair, several months past a good cut. The thick locks were a beautiful cool shade of amber shot with streaks of light gold. He was handsome despite his unkempt state. Very handsome. His blue eyes were alert with the devil's own intelligence, the cheekbones high, the nose straight and strong. A tawny beard obscured the line of his jaw- perhaps concealing a weak chin?- she couldn't tell. Regardless, he was a stunner.”

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“When Keir met Kingston at the back of the house, he was glad to discover the family dog, Ajax, was going to join them on the excursion. The boisterous black and tan retriever helped to ease the tension as they walked along the holloway, a narrow sunken lane that had once been an ancient cart path. Slender trees bracketed the high banks on either side, forming a delicate canopy overhead. Casually Kingston said, "You mentioned you have a dog. What breed?" "A drop-eared Skye terrier. A good rabbiter.”

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“Phoebe!" Lady Phoebe Ravenel turned and came to her with a laugh of delight. They had known each other their entire lives, growing up together, sharing secrets, joys, and sorrows. Phoebe was strikingly beautiful, as tall and willowy as Merritt was short and solid. Like Merritt, she had been widowed a few years ago, although in Phoebe's case, the loss had not been unexpected. Her first husband, Henry, had suffered from a prolonged wasting disease, and had passed away before the birth of their second son. Then West Ravenel had come into Phoebe's life, and they had married after a courtship so brief, it hardly even qualified as whirlwind.”

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“Before Keir MacRae arrived, everything was normal. Now there's been stabbings, explosions, and debauchery, and my sensible older sister is engaged to a Scottish whisky distiller. What's happened to you? You're supposed to be level-headed!" Merritt tried to sound dignified. "Just because one is usually level-headed doesn't mean one is always level-headed." "You won't be comprised if no one knows about it," Luke said. "And God knows none of us are going to say anything." The duke intervened, his voice so dry one could have struck a match off it. "My boy, you're missing the point. Your sister wants to be compromised." Ethan Ransom, who had been inching toward the stairs, ventured, "I don't need to be part of this conversation. I'm going up to see my wife.”

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“White-gloved footmen would bring out marvelous dishes... platters heaped with succulent red-and-white shrimp, called pandles by locals, still smoking-hot from the gridiron... tureens of bisque sprinkled with tender shreds of Chichester lobster... Amberley trout spangled with toast almond slices, served directly from the pan onto the plates. There were endless varieties of fresh vegetables, and salads chopped as fine as confetti, and bread served with newly churned butter, and platters of local cheese and hothouse fruit for dessert.”

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“Talking with Merritt was like slipping into one of those silk-lined borrowed coats from the Challons. Comfortable, luxurious. She was whip-smart, understanding the details, the unsaid words. She had a way of wrapping people in empathy that extended to everyone from the duke down to the young assistant groundskeeper. It was the kind of charm that made people feel wittier, more attractive, more interesting, in her reflected glow. Keir was doing his level best to resist her lure. But he was so drawn to her, so damn besotted. He adored her fancy words... "prevarication"... "resplendent"... her easy smiles... her perfumed wrists and throat. She was like a beautiful gift that begged to be unwrapped. Just being near her made the blood sing in his veins.”

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“He's not fond of town, to put it mildly. He's not impressed by luxury or appearances. He loves his simple life on the island, and doing things out in nature." "And you dislike nature," Phoebe said sympathetically. "'Dislike' is too strong a word. Nature and I have an understanding- we try not to interfere with each other. It's a peaceful coexistence." Phoebe looked skeptical. "Dear, no matter how attractive this man is, I can't envision you existing happily on a remote Scottish island." "It's possible," Merritt argued. "I'm a woman of many facets." "You don't have a single facet that wants to live in a hut." "I didn't say he lived in a hut!" "Five pounds says it has a stone floor and no indoor plumbing." "I never take bets," Merritt said loftily. "Which means you think I'm right.”

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“I met Mr. Sterling when he came to London to establish a branch of his shipping firm." She paused. "I never imagined I would someday be running it." "You've done very well," Keir commented, before it occurred to him that it might seem presumptuous, offering praise to someone so far above him. Lady Merritt seemed pleased, however. "Thank you. Especially for not finishing that sentence with '... for a woman,' the way most people do. It always reminds me of the Samuel Johnson quote about a dog walking on its hind legs: 'It's not done well, but one is surprised to find it done at all.”

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“You might consider a full shave," he suggested. "You certainly have the chin for it." Keir shook his head. "I must keep the beard." Looking sympathetic, the barber asked, "Pockmarks? Scars?" "No' exactly." Since the man seemed to explain an explanation, Keir continued uncomfortably, "It's... well... my friends and I, we're a rough lot, you ken. 'Tis our way to chaff and trade insults. Whenever I shave off the beard, they start mocking and jeering. Blowing kisses, calling me a fancy lad, and all that. They never tire of it. And the village lasses start flirting and mooning about my distillery, and interfering with work. 'Tis a vexation." The barber stared at him in bemusement. "So the flaw you're trying to hide is... you're too handsome?" A balding middle-aged man seated in the waiting area reacted with a derisive snort. "Balderdash," he exclaimed. "Enjoy it while you can, is my advice. A handsome shoe will someday be an ugly slipper." "What did he say, nephew?" asked the elderly man beside him, lifting a metal horn to his ear. The middle-aged man spoke into the horn. "Young fellow says he's too handsome." "Too handsome?" the old codger repeated, adjusting his spectacles and squinting at Keir. "Who does the cheeky bugger think he is, the Duke of Kingston?" Amused, the barber proceeded to explain the reference to Keir. "His Grace the Duke of Kingston is generally considered one of the finest-looking men who's ever lived." "I know-" Keir began. "He caused many a scandal in his day," the barber continued. "They still make jokes about it in Punch. Cartoons with fainting women, and so forth." "Handsome as Othello, they say," said a man who was sweeping up hair clippings. "Apollo," the barber corrected dryly. He used a dry brush to whisk away the hair from Keir's neck. "I suspect by now Kingston's probably lost most of those famed golden locks." Keir was tempted to contradict him, since he'd met the duke earlier that very day and seen for himself the man still had a full head of hair. However, he thought better of it and held his tongue.”

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“Family is everything to him. When he was a young boy, he lost his mother and four sisters to scarlet fever, and was sent away to boarding school. He grew up very much alone. So he would do anything to protect or help the people he cares about." She hefted the album into Keir's lap, and watched as he began to leaf through it dutifully. Keir's gaze fell to a photograph of the Challons relaxing on the beach. There was Phoebe at a young age, sprawling in the lap of a slender, laughing mother with curly hair. Two blond boys sat beside her, holding small shovels with the ruins of a sandcastle between them. A grinning fair-haired toddler was sitting squarely on top of the sandcastle, having just squashed it. They'd all dressed up in matching bathing costumes, like a crew of little sailors. Coming to perch on the arm of the chair, Phoebe reached down to turn the pages and point out photographs of her siblings at various stages of their childhood. Gabriel, the responsible oldest son... followed by Raphael, carefree and rebellious... Seraphina, the sweet and imaginative younger sister... and the baby of the family, Ivo, a red-haired boy who'd come as a surprise after the duchess had assumed childbearing years were past her. Phoebe paused at a tintype likeness of the duke and duchess seated together. Below it, the words "Lord and Lady St. Vincent" had been written. "This was taken before my father inherited the dukedom," she said. Kingston- Lord St. Vincent back then- sat with an arm draped along the back of the sofa, his face turned toward his wife. She was a lovely woman, with an endearing spray of freckles across her face and a smile as vulnerable as the heartbeat in an exposed wrist.”

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“The long, involved conversation he'd had with Merritt after breakfast had been full of revelations about the duke's long-ago affair with Cordelia, Lady Ormande, and its consequences- one of which was very likely Keir himself. Which meant the red-haired woman at the threshold could very well be his half sister, and the wailing imp in her arms his niece. Having been raised by elderly parents, Keir had never expected a sibling. His rowdy pack of friends were his brothers, and the men at the distillery were his extended family. It was strange to think of having a sister. It shocked him, in fact, to realize that for the first time in his life, here was someone... a woman... with whom he might have a blood tie. And not just any woman, but an aristocratic lady. There was nothing for them to talk about, no experiences they had in common. But as he stared at Lady Phoebe, she seemed like any ordinary young mother on Islay, who hadn't had quite enough sleep and couldn't always tell what her baby wanted. There was a smart, bright look about her- canty, a Scot would say, a word that suggested the dancing flicker of a candle flame.”

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“I meant to come sooner, but it's been madness at the estate. We're going into harvest, and I've been busy with the baby-" "Where is she?" Merritt asked eagerly. She hadn't yet seen Phoebe's daughter, Eden, who had been born six months earlier. "You've brought her, I hope." "Had to," Phoebe replied wryly, gesturing to her button-front bodice, strained by the full bosom of a nursing mother.”

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“He came to my office in wet clothes, all muscles and smolder. I hardly knew where to look." "I think you knew exactly where to look," Phoebe said, her light gray eyes sparkling with amusement. "Is he handsome?” “A stunner. Tall and big-chested, with blue eyes and hair the color of summer wheat. And his accent . . .” “Irresistible?” “Oh, yes. There’s something about a Scottish burr that makes it seem as if a man is either about to recite poetry or toss you over his shoulder and carry you away.” “Maybe both at the same time,” Phoebe said dreamily, sipping her tea.”

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“Keir's attention, however, was fixed not on Kingston, but on the frozen figure by the doorway. "Who's that?" he demanded. Merritt followed his gaze to Phoebe, whose face was carefully blank. What a shock it must be for her, to be confronted with a man who looked so eerily similar- almost identical- to her father as a young man. "Dear," she said apologetically to Phoebe, "about that story I was telling you... there was a part I hadn't yet reached." Her friend replied slowly, staring at the duke. "I think perhaps my father should explain it to me." "I will," Kingston said, giving his daughter a reassuring smile. "Come with me." He ushered her from the room, saying, "We'll leave Merritt with her fiancé." "What?" came Phoebe's bewildered voice, just before he closed the door.”

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“I occasionally try my luck at dry-fly casting on a Hampshire chalk stream." The earl glanced at Merritt and smiled reminiscently. "My daughter has accompanied me a time or two. She has excellent aptitude but little interest." "I lose patience with the fish," Merritt said. "They take too long to make up their minds. I prefer going shooting with you-- it takes far less effort." "Are you a good shot?" Keir asked. "I'm not bad," she said modestly. "She's the best shot in the family," Lillian said. "It drives her brothers mad.”

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“And I think he may have a notion of turning a rough diamond into a polished stone." "But you don't want to be polished?" Merritt asked gently. "I'm no' a diamond in the first place." She smiled as she went to him. "I disagree on that point." An earthy but appealing mixture of scents clung to him, smoke, sea air, a hint of wet dog, the sweet tang of whisky on his breath.”

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“The revolver was chambered for .442 rounds, which meant there was only room for five. "These are large caliber bullets for such a short gun," Merritt remarked. "It's designed to stop someone at close range," Ethan said, absently arching up to rub a spot on his chest. "Being hit by one of those bullets feels like a kick from a mule." "Why is the hammer bobbed?" "To keep it from catching on the holster or clothing, if I have to draw it fast." Keeping the muzzle of the gun pointed away from him, Merritt reassembled the revolver, slid the extractor rod into place, and locked it deftly. "Well done," Ethan commented, surprised by her assurance. "You're familiar with guns, then." "Yes, my father taught me. May I shoot it?" "What are you going to aim for?" By this time, the others had come out from the parlor to watch. "Uncle Sebastian," Merritt asked, "are those pottery rabbits on the stone wall valuable?" Kingston smiled slightly and shook his head. "Have at it." "Wait," Ethan said calmly. "That's a twenty-yard distance. You'll need a longer-range weapon." With meticulous care, he took the revolver from her and replaced it in his coat. "Try this one." Merritt's brows lifted slightly as he pulled a gun from a cross-draw holster concealed by his coat. This time, Ethan handed the revolver to her without bothering to disassemble it first. "It's loaded, save one chamber," he cautioned. "I put the hammer down to prevent accidental discharge." "A Colt single-action," Merritt said, pleased, admiring the elegant piece, with its four-and-a-half-inch barrel and custom engraving. "Papa has one similar to this." She eased the hammer back and gently rotated the cylinder. "It has a powerful recoil," Ethan warned. "I would expect so." Merritt held the Colt in a practiced grip, the fingers of her support hand fit neatly underneath the trigger guard. "Cover your ears," she said, cocking the hammer and aligning the sights. She squeezed the trigger. An earsplitting report, a flash of light from the muzzle, and one of the rabbit sculptures on the wall shattered. In the silence that followed, Merritt heard her father say dryly, "Go on, Merritt. Put the other bunny out of its misery." She cocked the hammer, aimed and fired again. The second rabbit sculpture exploded. "Sweet Mother Mary," Ethan said in wonder. "I've never seen a woman shoot like that." "My father taught all of us how to shoot and handle firearms safely," Merritt said, giving the revolver back to him grip-first.”

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“He said rich fare might be difficult for you to manage." Keir snorted at the thought. "Difficult for an Englishman, maybe. But I'm after having for a full Scottish breakfast." Her dark eyes twinkled. "What does that consist of?" Unfolding his arms, he settled back against the pillows with a nostalgic sigh. "Bacon, sausage patties, ham, fried eggs, beans, potatoes, scones... and maybe a bit of sweet, like clootie pudding." Her brows lifted. "All that on one plate?" "You have to build a mountain of the meat," he explained, "and arrange the rest around it.”

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“When Ethan finally arrived at Heron's Point and was shown into the parlor, Merritt was concerned by his appearance. He was obviously exhausted, with sleepless shadows beneath his eyes, and uncharacteristic grooves of strain carved into his face. Ethan's iron constitution and Napoleonic ability to go without sleep had always been a source of ready humor among the Ravenels. But he was still a young man who shouldered a weight of worldly responsibilities that would have crushed nearly everyone else.”

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“How strange and delicious it was to sit here like this, entwined and filled, while sea breezes rustled through the marram grass on the dunes and quiet waves lapped at the shore. Eventually Keir lifted his head, his eyes very light in his flushed face. "Put your legs around my waist," he said. He helped to rearrange her limbs until they were pressed together closely in a seated embrace, with his bent knees supporting her. It was surprisingly comfortable, but didn't permit much movement. Instead of thrusting, they were limited to a rocking motion that allowed only an inch or two of his length to withdraw and plunge. "I don't think this is going to work," Merritt said, her arms looped around his neck. "Be patient." His mouth sought hers in a warm, flirting kiss. One of his hands searched beneath her skirts to settle on her naked bottom, pulling her forward as they rocked rhythmically. Feeling awkward, but also having fun, Merritt experimented by bracing her feet on the ground and pushing to help their momentum. The combination of pressure and movement had a stunning effect in her. Every forward pitch brought her weight fully onto him, in deep steady nudges that sent bolts of pure erotic feeling through every nerve pathway. The tension was building, compelling her toward a culmination more intense than anything she'd ever felt. She couldn't drive herself hard onto the heavy shaft, her body taking every inch and clenching frantically on each withdrawal as if trying to keep him inside. Nothing mattered except the rhythmic lunges that pumped more and more pleasure into her. Keir's breath hissed through his teeth as he felt her electrified response, the cinch of her intimate muscles. His hand gripped over her bottom, pulling her onto him again, again, again, until the relentless unfaltering movement finally catapulted her into a climax that was like losing consciousness, blinding her vision with a shower of white sparks and extinguishing every rational thought.”

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“He gripped the sides of her body carefully, keeping her in place as he parted her with his tongue and stroked the sides of the soft furrow. Entranced by the vulnerable shaper of her, he lapped at the edges of softly unfurled lips and tickled them lightly. The delicate flesh was unbelievably hot, almost steaming. He blew a stream of cooling air over it, and relished the sound of her moan. Gently he licked up through the center, a long glide through silk and salty female dampness. She squirmed, her thighs spreading as he explored her with flicks and soft jabs. The slower he went, the more agitated she became. He paused to rest the flat of his tongue on the little pearl of her clitoris to feel its frantic throbbing, and she jerked and struggled to a half-sitting position. Pausing, Keir lifted his head. "What is it, muirninn?" Red-faced, gasping, she tried to pull him over her. "Make love to me." "'Tis what I'm doing," he said, and dove back down. "No- Keir- I meant now, right now-" She quivered as he chuckled into the dark patch of curls. "What are you laughing at?" she asked. "At you, my wee impatient bully." She looked torn between indignation and begging. "But I'm ready," she said plaintively. Keir tried to enter her with two fingers, but the tight, tender muscle resisted. "You're no' ready," he mocked gently. "Weesht now, and lie back. 'Tis one time you won't be having your way." He nuzzled between her thighs and sank his tongue deep into the heat and honey of her. She jerked at the feel of it, but he made a soothing sound and took more of the intimate flavor he needed, had to have, would never stop wanting. Moving back up to the little bud where all sensation centered, he sucked at it lightly until she was gasping and shaking all over. He tried to work two fingers inside her again, and this time they were accepted, her depths clenching and relaxing repeatedly. As he stroked her with his tongue, he found a rhythm that sent a hard quiver through her. He kept the pace steady and unhurried, making her work for it, making her writhe and arch and beg, and it was even better than he'd imagined, having her so wild beneath him, hearing her sweet little wanton noises. There was a suspended moment as it all caught up to her... she arched as taut as a drawn bow... caught her breath... and began to shudder endlessly. A deep and primal satisfaction filled him at the sounds of her pleasure, and the sweet pulsing around his fingers. He drew out the feeling, patiently licking every twitch and tremor until at last she subsided and went limp beneath him. Even then, he couldn't stop. It felt too good. He kept lapping gently, loving the salty, silky wetness of her. Her weak voice floated down to him... "Oh, God... I don't think... Keir, I can't..." He nibbled and teased, breathing hotly against the tender core. "Put your legs over my shoulders," he whispered. In a moment, she obeyed. He could feel the trembling in her thighs. A satisfied smile flicked across his mouth, and he pressed her hips upward to a new angle. Soon he'd have her begging again, he thought, and lowered his head with a soft growl of enjoyment.”

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“He was so very gentle, despite his power and size, his fingertips sliding over her in light, beguiling patterns. His focus on her, his awareness of every sound, pulse, shiver, was absolute. His low voice tickled her ear as he murmured how beautiful she was, how good she felt, how hard she made him... and all the while, the thick shaft kept sinking deeper and deeper. By the time he filled her completely, she was feverish with need. A little sob of anticipation escaped her as he began to move. But every thrust was long and agonizingly slow, withholding the last bit of stimulation she needed. He held her more closely now, his weight on her from pelvis to breasts, while his hips rolled and circled, drawing up new surges of feeling. His mouth lowered to one of her breasts, licking and gently gnawing at the erect nipple. Squirming in frustration, she pushed her hips upward, but he pulled back reflexively. "No, love. I could hurt you." "You won't. Please... Keir..." "Please what?" "I need more." His laugh, a smolder of a sound, could have come from the devil himself. "I dinna think you can take more than this, darlin'." "I can." She strained against him. "This deep?" he asked, reaching places in her that had never been touched before. She shook at the pleasure of it. "Oh, God. Yes." His hands grasped her hips, keeping them angled firmly upward as he pumped in a steady rhythm. Slow in... slow out... "Faster," she said desperately. "No' yet," he whispered. "Please," she begged. His low, dark voice curled in her ear. "There's a saying we have about whisky: Slow fire makes sweet malt." She whimpered as he rolled his hips gently, his hardness caressing everywhere inside. The deliberate pace didn't alter, no matter how she tried to drive herself harder onto the rigid length of him. Every time she began to plead for more, his mouth came to hers in another one of those obliterating kisses. None of this was what she'd expected. Her husband had been a considerate lover, doing everything she liked and giving her exactly what she wanted. Keir, however, was doing the exact opposite. He delighted in tormenting her until she didn't recognize herself in the frantic creature she'd become. He was absolutely wicked, shameless, making love to her in ways that felt unimaginably good, always holding satisfaction just out of reach. "You give me so much pleasure, darlin'... more than a body can stand. The way you hold me so tight inside... like that... I can feel you pulling at me. Your wee, hungry body wants me deeper, aye? Put your hands on me... anywhere... ah, how I love your sweet touch...”

Hot SexMerritt And Keir
Book:Devil in Disguise
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“His arms wrapped around her, and he rolled easily to his back, taking her with him. Surprised and flummoxed, Merritt floundered a little as he gently pushed her up and arranged her legs to straddle him. "What are you doing?" "Putting you to work," he said, "since you're so set on wringing me dry." She looked at the brawny male beneath her and shook her head slightly. A brief laugh escaped him as he saw her confusion. "You're a horsewoman, aye?" he asked, and nudged upward with his hips. "Ride." Genuinely shocked at finding herself in the dominant position, Merritt braced her hands on his chest for balance. Her first tentative movement was rewarded by an encouraging lift of his hips. It sent him even deeper than before, the angle seeming to open something inside her, and she quivered in sensitive reaction. Hot and excited and mortified, she understood what he wanted. As she began to move, she gradually lost her self-consciousness and found a rhythm, her sex rubbing and pumping against his. Every downstroke sent pleasure through her, every sensation connected to the thick length of him. Panting heavily, Keir reached up to cup her breasts, his thumbs stroking the stiff peaks. "Merry, love... I'm going to come soon." "Yes," she gasped, a tide of heat approaching fast. "You'll... you'll have to pull away, if you dinna want me to release inside you." "I want it," she managed to say. "Stay in me. I want to feel you come... Keir..." He began to pump fast and hard, his hands grasping her hips to keep her in place. His eyes half closed, the passion-drowsed intensity of his gaze pushing her over the edge. The release went on and on, new swells and crests washing over her, having her moaning and shivering in their wake. She felt his hands grip her thighs as he bucked beneath her once, twice, and held fast. When he subsided, trembling like a racehorse held in check, she lay on top of him with their bodies still fused. Feeling euphoric, she nuzzled the dark golden fleece of his chest.”

Scottish RomanceHot SexMerritt And Keir
Book:Devil in Disguise
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“He bent to kiss her stomach, so low that his chin brushed the triangle of curls. The tip of his tongue touched her skin, painting a delicate pattern. Her hips undulated, trying in vain to coax him lower, her entire body begging, Please down there down there. She felt as helpless as a jointed doll. Different parts of her were quivering, tensing, trembling, while her insides closed frantically on emptiness. He changed their positions with a quiet grunt of discomfort, until they were both lying on their sides, his head toward her feet. She felt him pull her top leg up and across, and then he relaxed with what sounded like a purr. As she felt him breathing between her thighs, she moaned, panted, licked her dry lips, wanting to say his name but afraid she might scream it. She tensed at the touch of his fingers, stroking lightly across the wet entrance of her body. All her consciousness focused on what he was doing, the fingertip that dipped very slightly into the pulsing cove. A teasing finger slid all the way inside and began to thrust in the slowest, gentlest rhythm possible, while her intimate muscles clenched and squeezed at the invasion, and her belly writhed. His breath rushed against the hard, tender bud of her clitoris in feathery tickles. It was heaven. It was torture. She wanted to kill him. He was the meanest, wickedest man who'd ever lived, the devil himself, and she would have told him so if she'd had the breath to spare. He added another finger, and a deep glow began at her core. The feeling spread through every limb and swept upward, until it burned in her face and throat, even at the lobes of her ears. It was beneath her arms, between her toes, at the backs of her knees, a radiant heat that kept climbing. His fingers curved gently inside and held her like that, and then, finally, she felt his mouth at her sex, his tongue stroking in catlike laps. It sent her into a climax unlike anything she'd ever felt, pure ecstasy without a precise beginning or end, a long open spasm that went on and on. A new surge of wetness emerged when his fingers finally withdrew. His tongue was strong and eager as he hunted for the taste of her, making her writhe. Her head came to rest close to his groin, her cheek brushing the satiny skin of his aroused flesh. Languidly she rubbed her parted lips along the rigid length, making him jolt as if he'd received an electric shock. Encouraged by his response, she took hold of the shaft with one hand and drew her tongue along it. When she reached the tip, she fastened her lips over the silkiness and salt taste, and sucked lightly. He groaned between her thighs. With his fingers, he spread her furrow wider, and nibbled at the taut, full center, flicked at it. She moaned, vibrating around the head of his shaft.”

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Book:Devil in Disguise
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“As she sat implanted on that hard, unyielding flesh and felt its altering pressures inside with each back-and-forth sway, the tension began again. She started to move with him, her breath hastening with renewed effort. He braced one hand on the ground and slid the other low on her backside, pulling her into each thrust. She jerked as she felt one of his fingers accidentally slip into the crevice between the halves of her bottom. A guttural sound escaped his lips as her body clenched tightly around his shaft. The finger teased deeper, and she responded with a little squeal of protest, clamping down hard on him again. Keir groaned in pleasure and kept thrusting, while she yelped and writhed to avoid that impudently delving, stroking finger, her muscles squeezing over and over until she stiffened with a climax that stole her breath away. Somewhere in the white-hot shudders, she was aware of Keir finding his own release, his entire body turning to iron beneath hers.”

Hot SexMerritt And Keir
Book:Devil in Disguise
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“His weight lifted, and his hand reached between her thighs, stroking and opening her. She felt a nudge, an adjustment as he aligned himself, then steady pressure at her entrance. He was so hard, his flesh like steel, but he was gentle and controlled, taking his time. She gasped as her muscles gave way and the broad tip pushed inside, stretching her, keeping her open. He held still, his hands stroking her hips and bottom. All her nerves tingled and sparked in anticipation, knowing how good it was going to be. She pressed back against him, and he sheathed himself in a slow, wet plunge, all the way inside, deeper than she'd ever been filled before. He went in at just the right angle, pressing where she most wanted. Her body gripped him, or tried to, except the invasion was so thick, her muscles only fluttered and throbbed instead of clenching down. She felt almost as if she were at the brink of release. And to her astonishment... she was. She was about to tip over into a sea of mind-dissolving pleasure. "Wait," she heard Keir say through the clamor of her heartbeat. His hands were on her hips, keeping her close and tight. For some reason it aroused her intolerably, knowing he was trying to stop her from climaxing. She tried to drive herself back on the hard shaft inside her, unable to get enough of its even though she was stretched to the limit. Raising up on her forearms, she writhed and pushed desperately against him. Keir's husky laugh caressed her ears as he leaned over her. He held her hips snugly against his, allowing only a sense of motion, a subtle grinding that wasn't nearly enough. Very gently, he closed his teeth on the side of her neck and soothed it with his tongue. "Tell me how good it feels," he whispered. Merritt fought for the breath to reply. "It feels too good. I want to come... I want to spend... oh, please, Keir..." "Spend," he repeated, and smiled against her shoulder. "I like that word for it." He withdrew just an inch, and rolled his hips upward. "Aye, I want your pleasure. Spend it all on me." She sobbed and squirmed, able to feel the motion of him deep in her belly, but it wasn't enough. "Harder. Please." The rhythmic drives grew longer, more aggressive. "No one else could ever feel this good to me," he said. "No other woman in the world. Only you." He reached beneath her to cup the round weights of her breasts, and began to pinch and tug at her nipples. Not sharply but not softly, the little flashes of discomfort somehow magnifying her pleasure. His hand slid down her front and between her thighs, finding the taut peak of her sex. The gently massaging fingers, the steady pumping, set off an explosion of pleasure that spread to every part of her body and kept unfolding and renewing itself. The release was so powerful, it left her dazed and too weak to move. She was only vaguely aware of Keir's climax, the quiet growl he pressed against her skin, the rough shudders that ran though him.”

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Book:Devil in Disguise
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“He reached down between their bodies, and she felt the smooth head of his shaft stroke up and down between her thighs, parting her dampening flesh, while the silky-coarse hair of his chest teased her breasts, and suddenly nothing in the world mattered except having this feeling go on. She wanted his naked body forever against hers, his scent and weight, the way he flexed and moved. Holding on to his shoulders, she gave a little satisfied moan as began to enter her, gently working inside that pliant opening, stretching her slowly.”

Hot SexMerritt And Keir
Book:Devil in Disguise
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“He drew in a rough breath as he felt her grasp the erect shaft and guide him into place. "Aye," he said gruffly, "feel that... 'tis all for you. Come take your pleasure of me." He steadied her hips as she sank down on him. She concentrated on relaxing to let him in, yielding to the thick, heavy glide of him inside her. When she'd taken all she could, she paused, trembling, her face level with his. She felt pulses and throbs, sensation and echos of sensation, all centered in that naked, concealed place where they were joined.”

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“Before she made any decisions, perhaps she should travel abroad. Italy, Germany, Spain, Greece, China, Egypt... She could visit the seven wonders of the world and keep a journal. What were the seven wonders? She tried to recall a poem a governess once taught her to help remember them. How did it go?... The pyramids first, which in Egypt were laid... Next Babylon's garden, which Amytis made... Now that she thought of it, who had made the list in the first place? In a world full of wonders, seven seemed an awfully stingy number. Gloom started to creep back over her again. I’ll compile my own list of wonders, she decided, far more than seven. She would become an adventuress. She might even try mountain climbing. Not a large, life-threatening mountain, but a friendly mountain, with a nearby resort that served afternoon tea. Being an adventuress didn’t mean one had to suffer, after all.”

Travel AbroadMerritt SterlingAdventuressPlan AheadSeven Wonders
Book:Devil in Disguise
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“A cask of whisky slipped from the hoisting gear, broke on the roof of a transit shed, and poured all over MacRae. He's ready to murder someone - which is why I brought him up here to you." Despite her concern, Merritt let out a snort of laughter. "Luke Marsden, are you planning to hide behind my skirts while I confront the big, mean Scotsman?" "Absolutely," he said without hesitation. "You like them big and mean.”

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“My brother and I are both well aware that I have nothing at all to fear from you. On the contrary, it's common knowledge that Scots are trustworthy and honest, and... and simply the most honorable of men." MacRae's scowl eased slightly. After a moment, he said, "'Tis true that Scots have more honor per man than other lands. We carry the honor of Scotland with us wherever we go." "Exactly," Merritt said. "No one would doubt my safety in your company. In fact, who would dare utter one offensive word, or threaten any harm to me, if you were there?" MacRae seemed to warm to the idea. "If someone did," he said vehemently, "I'd skin the bawfaced bastard like a grape and toss him onto a flaming dung heap." "There, you see?" Merritt exclaimed, beaming at him. "You're the perfect escort.”

ReasonableHonorable ManMerritt SterlingMerritt And KeirScotsman
Book:Devil in Disguise
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“No one's ever had this effect on me before. I feel ten times more alive." She laughed self-consciously. "Does that sound silly?" "Not at all. I understand. Your mother had the same effect on me." "Did she?" The earl let out a gravelly chuckle as he thought back to those days. "She was a fearless, free-spirited beauty with all the self-restraint of an unbroken horse. I knew she wasn't to the only life I could offer her. But I was mesmerized by her. I loved her enthusiasm and warmth, and everything that made her different from me. I thought if we were both willing to take a chance on each other, we might have a good marriage. It's turned out to be an extraordinary one." "No regrets, then?" Merritt dared to ask. "Even in the privacy of your own thoughts?" "Never," he said promptly. "Without Lillian, I would never have known true happiness. I don't hold with the common wisdom that a couple must have the same tastes and backgrounds. Married life would be dull indeed without some friction: one can't light a match without it." Merritt smiled. "I adore you, Papa. You've made it nearly impossible for me to find a man who doesn't suffer in comparison to you.”

Merritt SterlingLillian BowmanLillian And MarcusRelatable RelationshipsIt Happened One Autumn
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“What were you singing?" Merritt asked. "A lullaby?" "An old song from the islands, about a selkie." Seeing the word was unfamiliar, he explained, "A changeling, who looks like a seal in the water but takes the form of a man on land. In the song he woos a human maiden, who gives birth to his son. Seven years later, he comes back to take the child." Keir hesitated before adding absently, "But before they leave, the selkie tells the mother he'll give the boy a gold chain to wear on his neck, so she'll recognize him if they meet someday." "Are she and her son ever reunited?" Merritt asked. Keir shook his head. "Someone brings her the gold chain one day, and she realizes he's dead. Shot by-" He broke off as he saw Merritt's face begin to crumple. "Och," he exclaimed softly. "No... dinna do that..." "It's so terribly sad," she said in a watery voice, damning herself for being emotional. A chuckle broke from Keir as he moved closer. "I won't tell you the rest, then." His hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb wiping an escaping tear. "'Tis only a song, lass. Ah, you've a tender heart." His blue eyes sparkled as he looked down at her. "I warn you, no more tears or I'll have to put you on my shoulder and pat you asleep as I did the bairnie." It left Merritt temporarily speechless, that he sincerely seemed to believe she would regard that as a threat.”

Scottish RomanceLullabyKeir MacraeMerritt And KeirSelkie
Book:Devil in Disguise
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“Damn it, he thought wearily, I miss Evie. When she was away, which thankfully was seldom, the world stopped spinning, the sun went dark, and life devolved to a grim exercise in endurance until she returned. At the outset of their marriage, Sebastian had never dreamed a shy, awkward wallflower, who'd spoken with a stammer since childhood, would turn out to have such fearsome power over him. But Evie had immediately gained the upper hand by making it clear he would have nothing from her- not her affection, her body, or even her thoughts- unless he'd earned it. No woman had ever challenged him to be worthy of her. That had fascinated and excited him. It had made him love her. Now he was left counting the remaining nights- four, to be precise- of waking in the middle of the night blindly searching the empty space beside him. And the hours- ninety-six, approximately- until Evie was in his arms again.”

Inner StrengthSebastian KingstonWallflowerEvangeline And SebastianEvangeline KingstonDevil In WinterMissing A Loved One
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