Why do we love men in kilts?
Do you have a kilty pleasure?
If you watch Outlander you’ve already explored the idea of a man in a kilt…and probably have a craving to see more. What is it that drives us crazy about a plaid piece of cloth? Is it because we automatically wonder what they’re wearing–or not wearing–underneath? If a man is brave enough to wear a kilt, show off his jewels to the world, I’d say he isn’t scared of much, if anything. That’s pretty hot!
When I think of a man in a kilt, I think of the sexy, rolling accent that comes along with it. Every sentence sounds like a romantic poem, and they don’t even have to try.
My hero in PRESSURE POINT, Nash Walters, doesn’t have the poetic brogue, but he isn’t wearing anything under the kilt *swoon*. Actually, the kilt is a plaid blanket, but it’s his worst nightmare when his clothes are MIA and he has to face the world in a skirt, except he is wearing his cowboy hat. What’s a cowboy without his hat?
PRESSURE POINT (Book 3, Rhinestone Cowgirls) is available now at Amazon.
Here’s an excerpt to get your blood flowing…
He touched her cheek, smoothing the tips of his fingers across her smooth skin and following the fullness of her bottom lip. The trembling finally subsided. Then her shoulders twitched, maybe more of a shiver? “Are you cold?”
“No. Yes. I really don’t know.” Her voice shook.
He dropped his hand to her collarbone, tracing the feminine line. His cock pulsated in anticipation. He’d never wanted a woman like he wanted her.
“What is going on here, Nash?”
He swallowed. “I don’t know, but whatever the hell it is, it feels right.” He forced his lungs to work. “If you don’t feel the same, now would be a good time to push me away.”
Instead, she swept the tip of her tongue over her lips, making his desire grow. His cock grew and his zipper bulged in painful anticipation. She reached up, took his hand and lowered it to her chest. He could see the outline of her hard nipples under the material.
His mouth salivated. He wanted to lick every inch of her, starting at her breasts.
Flicking the pad of his thumb over one nipple, she closed her eyes and her mouth parted slightly. A moan dripped like honey from her tongue. To him, the small, but powerful, sound was an invitation to lick, suck, nip…to bring her pleasure. Her erect nipples practically begged his tongue to sample. He swept his hand lower, skimming the fabric of the jean shorts, and to her bare thigh. Her skin rippled with goosebumps.
Another noise slipped from her throat. It almost sent him over the edge. Heat radiated between them, drawing them into a clutch of pure erotic sensation.
Her eyes came open, she stared up at him. “There’s nothing that can come of this, Nash.” Her words should have extinguished his need, but instead it created a scorching inferno through his veins. What man wouldn’t want a free and clear tumble in the sack? He should be happy. Why wasn’t he?
He had a feeling even if nothing came of this but one night of passion, he’d still come out on the lucky end of the straw. Turning back wasn’t an option. They had crossed into a path that drew them closer to nirvana.
Her warm, passion-filled gaze made his chest ache. Her eyes were warm. Her cheeks were dusted with pink and her lips were moist. Fuck. He wanted to see that look on her face all weekend.
“I want you. I can’t see this desire going away unless we put out the flames,” she whispered.
He swept his hand upward, along her inner thigh. Heat from the apex of her thighs warmed his knuckles. Hell yeah…hot and ready.
He’d dismiss any thought of tomorrow. He didn’t care about anything except that he wanted her in a bad way. He wanted to pleasure her as well as be pleasured. They could figure out the finer details later.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she said.
Available for PRE-ORDER, Second Sunrise Cowboy (Book 8, Second Chance)
Releasing June 10, 2015
Rhonda’s Rowdy Readers Street Team