His eyes close briefly as she moves against him. She knows him, like no one else has, making even the simplest touch exactly what he craves. Slowly, one at a time, he flicks open the buttons on his jeans, eyes on her, twinkling in mischievous delight. "In London? I would be cold, yes. But I could pick up a kilt tomorrow."

To wear traditionally, of course.

Bending over her, he drops kisses along her collarbone. "I would take your name, my love. I would take anything you asked of me."