By Karen Ranney
A guy within the shadows a few say he's harmful. Others say he's mad. None of them is familiar with the reality approximately Marshall Ross, the satan of Ambrose. He shuns right society, sworn to permit not anyone detect his negative mystery. together with the gorgeous lady he has selected to be his spouse. A fallen girl merely desperation may deliver Davina McLaren to the mythical Edinburgh citadel to turn into the bride of a guy she hasn't ever met. laid low with scandal, left with out offerings, she has made her discount with the satan. And now she needs to percentage his mattress. a fireplace in contrast to any they have ever recognized From the instant they meet, Davina and Marshall are rocked via an unforeseen hope that leaves them merely longing for extra. however the pleasures of the wedding mattress can't defend them from the sins of the prior. With an enemy of Marshall's drawing ever nearer and every little thing they now cherish so much at stake, he and Davina needs to struggle to guard the eagerness they can't deny.
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Extra info for The Devil Wears Tartan
If she didn’t stop herself, she’d spend the whole night in rapt silence, studying him. She ﬁnally ﬁxed her gaze on her folded hands, forcing herself to listen to the minister. He was reading some kind of blessing. She should spend the time heeding his words rather than musing on how attractive Marshall was. Or wondering about what was to come. Would the act be different if the man was handsome? Dear heavens, was she blushing again? She rarely blushed. Yet the idea of being alone in a room with this man was occasion enough to incite a warm ﬂush traveling through her body.
No,” she said, forcing herself to look at him. He was smiling, and for a moment—barely more than a second, actually—she was struck dumb by how handsome he truly was. “I’m not afraid of very much. I quite like storms, for example. And winter. ” “That’s good to know,” he said softly. His voice was very low, very seductive, and sounded oddly enough like the J. S. Fry & Sons chocolate her aunt occasionally brought her from London. “I’m not afraid of you,” Davina said, with more bravado than truth.
The look they shared was disturbingly intimate. As if he knew what she was feeling, and felt the same: confusion, pleasure, surprise, and a curious yearning. She wasn’t hungry or thirsty, but she wanted something, some basic need that must be satisﬁed. The strangest feeling of all was that she knew he could satisfy it. Her hands slid down to rest on his clothed arms, her gaze on his face. Somehow it didn’t seem important anymore that she was nearly naked or that he was a stranger. He drew away from her touch, and just when she thought he might leave her, he merely removed his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt.