Claire Delacroix (23 page)

Her lips twisted, but her skepticism did not reach her eyes. There lurked the hopes and dreams of a lassie who had been sadly disappointed by whatever she had been granted.

Had some lover left her wounded? Alasdair determined then and there that he would do whatever was necessary to see at least one of this lady’s hopes fulfilled.

“You do not wish to share the bed.” ’Twas more a statement than a question.

Morgaine shook her head.

Alasdair smiled crookedly and leaned back against the door frame, leaving the distance between them that she had made. To his relief, some of the tension seemed to ease from the sorceress.

“But why not the room, my lady?”

She arched a dark brow. “It’s the same thing.”

Alasdair had to convince her to let him stay. If he were locked out of her presence for two days and nights, who knew what decision she could make about his fate?

But Morgaine had to make the choice. ’Twas a critical step in earning her trust. Never had Alasdair forced a woman to his touch or his way of thinking and he would not begin now.

“I say it is not.” Alasdair smiled ruefully, hoping to appeal to her compassion. “Would you not show mercy to an old warrior and let me sleep on the floor?”

She blinked. “You’d do that?”

“By your leave. ’Tis a far sight cleaner than a tavern bench.”

Morgaine shook her head. “You’ll just pounce on me when I’m asleep.”

“Nay!” The accusation straightened Alasdair’s pose. “I would never force myself upon a woman, much less when she slumbered.” She still looked doubtful, and Alasdair determinedly ignored her low opinion of his character. It appeared, after all, that she was judging him by the deeds of another man, a fair scoundrel from the sounds of it. “I would give you my word,” he insisted, then held his breath.

The sorceress chewed her lip as she eyed the room, evidently weighing his proposition.

Then she shook her head. “No. You can’t stay here. I’m sorry, but it just won’t work.”

Outrage rippled through Alasdair, and now he stood ramrod-straight. “You would doubt my pledge?”

Morgaine looked uncomfortable and his irritation died a quick death. “Well, no, not exactly.” She frowned. “Look, I just don’t know you that well,” she admitted, her wondrous eyes filled with an appeal for understanding.

Aye, some foul mutt of a man had served her poorly, that much was for certain! Alasdair’s fists clenched at his sides as he imagined the reward he could grant such a ruffian. No man of merit left such shadows in a woman’s eyes, be she sorceress or nay.

But the problem remained. How could he convince the enchantress to let him stay? If his pledge meant naught, what else could he offer her? Somehow he had to win her invitation, then her trust, then make his way to her bed. Indeed, it seemed a test he was doomed to fail.

For the love of God, what had Alasdair done to deserve such a fate?

* * *

Chapter Ten

Thunder rumbled suddenly in the distance and Morgaine paused to listen. Her gaze flicked to the window, back to Alasdair, then away.

“It’s going to rain,” she acknowledged and there was a seed of doubt in her tone. When she chewed her lip, Alasdair understood the direction of her thoughts.

Ha! She dreaded casting him in out foul weather! Alasdair had only to feel the tide turn in his direction to seize the opportunity.

Already he had seen that she could have a soft heart and Alasdair hoped he could win her sympathy.

“Aye, the Micra will be cold and damp, no doubt.” He shrugged, feigning indifference. “But if you cannot bring yourself to trust a man who would grant you his word, then what else am I to do?”

Her eyes flashed and Alasdair pretended a disappointment he was far from feeling.

“Nay, the Micra ’tis, though do not be surprised, my lady, if you barely recognized my twisted body in the morn. With a damp night like this, ’twould be a fortunate man indeed who could unfold himself from that vehicle.”

He let his shoulders roll in dejection and turned in the doorway. The thunder rumbled, louder and much closer, at the perfect moment.

Indeed, it seemed there was something to these matters of faith. Alasdair resolved then and there to be more studious about his prayers.

“Wait!”

Alasdair did not permit himself to smile, though his heart began to skip victoriously. He deliberately schooled his expression before glancing back to the sorceress. “Why postpone the worst? I had best be on my way, my lady.” He bowed low. “Sleep well in your fine bed.”

Morgaine frowned. “No, wait. Are you serious about giving me your word?”

Alasdair slanted a glance toward her. “I have no qualms about pledging my honor.”

Morgaine folded her arms across her chest and her breasts made tempting curves as a result. Alasdair forced himself to look away, though still his body responded to the fleeting glimpse. ’Twas some spell she had cast over him, to be certain, but any sign of arousal could have the sorceress doubting his honor again.

Alasdair forced himself to think of his wrinkled old gran washing her tired breasts in the morning when she thought he was asleep.

The image had immediate results on the suspicious rise under his kilt. Just for good measure, he recalled exactly how chilling the winter wind could be when it whipped beneath the plaid on those frosty January morns that he fetched firewood.

“All right.” Morgaine conceded, though her expression remained wary. “Will you promise not to get into the bed during the night? No funny stuff - you sleep on the floor and I sleep in the bed.”

Alasdair leaned in the door frame, perfectly capable of imagining many other places to couple with the sorceress. ’Twas only a man without ingenuity who limited himself to a mattress, in Alasdair’s mind.

And he truly had no intention of pouncing on the lady unaware. Nay, Morgaine would invite him between her thighs before this was done.

The first rain splattered against the windows. ’Twas a chilling sound and Morgaine could not keep worry from sliding over her visage.

She was concerned for his welfare! The battle was half-won. Alasdair vowed to recite his entire rosary this very night.

He folded his arms across his chest in turn and his voice resonated in the small chamber. “I pledge upon the blood of my forebears to not invite myself into your bed, my lady Morgaine, on this night or any other.”

The enchantress shifted her weight from one foot to the other as the rain gained intensity and splattered more loudly. Alasdair held his breath again, fearing she would change her mind in the last moment.

“All right, then,” she said finally, “you can stay. But any garbage and you’re out of here. I don’t care what the weather’s like or what time it is. All right?”

At his nod, she spun on her heel, but Alasdair was not quite as convinced that the conversation was over. The road might be taken, but Alasdair would press on to attack the gates while the wind favored his cause.

“One moment, my lady.”

Morgaine glanced over her shoulder.

Alasdair dredged up every increment of his charm and poured it into his smile. “Should we not seal our bargain?”

She turned and stuck out her hand, but that was not the manner of sealing that Alasdair had in mind. ’Twas clear enough that she had other tokens of esteem in mind, as well, for that fluttering pulse appeared at her throat once more.

And Alasdair needed no further encouragement than that minute sign that their thoughts were as one.

* * *

The worst thing wasn’t that Alasdair’s blue, blue eyes showed his intent to kiss her.

The worst thing was that Morgan couldn’t wait. The simple truth was that she wasn’t afraid of Alasdair, or even of the bed. She was afraid that the power of her own attraction would make her act like a fool.

Like right now. Even knowing he was going to kiss her, that she shouldn’t let him, that she
couldn’t
let him, Morgan just stood there, like a lovesick idiot. She stood and
yearned
as she watched Alasdair step closer. She didn’t move when he lifted his hand toward her.

Morgan even shivered a little when Alasdair’s strong fingers curved possessively against her jaw.

And when his thumb, with the rough callus on one side, slid languidly across her lips, Morgan thought she would melt like a stick of butter left out of the fridge in a Chicago July.

She actually leaned closer to him. Alasdair’s other hand slid up her back to her nape, his fingers working their way through the thick mass of her hair. He pulled her gently against his chest and Morgan went willingly, drawn by the magnetic blue of his eyes and the sensuous smile that curved his lips.

It was his tenderness that undid her. If he had tried to force her, Morgan would have fought him tooth and nail, but this gentle assault was irresistible.

She promised herself to pull away after just one second more.

How could she resist him? Alasdair had given her his vow that he wouldn’t press his attentions on her. He had pledged not to drink any more. Morgan was half-certain that he was lying to her, but right now, she wanted to believe.

Even if it was just for a single, tantalizing second more.

Alasdair’s hand slid along her jaw as though he was marveling at the touch of her, that thumb crested the curve of her cheek and made her shiver.

Morgan was sure one more second wouldn’t hurt anything.

He bent and brushed his lips across her brow, the heat of his breath on her skin making her tremble. Morgan’s eyes drifted closed as his warmth surrounded her and Alasdair’s lips drifted across one eyelid, then the other.

Just a little bit longer.

Alasdair kissed the tip of her nose, his strong fingers spearing into her hair. He paused and Morgan knew what he was going to kiss next. That would definitely take a lot longer than another second.

But she couldn’t pull away. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long to have those firm lips claim her own.

And Alasdair’s gentle, languid kiss was more than worth the wait. His lips slid across hers once with aching deliberation, then returned like a butterfly landing on a tempting flower. The heat of his mouth imprinted on hers ever so slightly, as though he asked her permission to continue.

He
asked
, instead of simply taking what he thought his due.

And given that, there was only one possible answer. Morgan’s hands slid around Alasdair’s neck without hesitation. She arched against him, she swore she heard his heart thump at her small surrender, then Alasdair’s cajoling lips captured hers.

It was a kiss designed to melt her defenses. If Morgan hadn’t been so lost in sensation, she might have been dismayed at how readily those defenses fell. There was a surety in Alasdair’s embrace that coupled with his gentleness to make Morgan completely forget about anything other than his kiss.

His hands dropped to her waist and he gathered her protectively into his arms. It was pure heaven and Morgan gave herself up to sensation.

Until one strong arm slid over her shoulder, and a very pungent waft of masculinity recalled Morgan to her senses.

What was she doing?

Alasdair was trying to take advantage of her - and she was letting him! Somehow, he had figured out exactly how to get to her – and she wasn’t stopping him.

Had she lost her mind?

But the sweet heat of Alasdair’s kiss wouldn’t be that easily dismissed, especially since he chose that very moment to slip his tongue between her teeth. Morgan just couldn’t think straight with everything in her body wanting more of Alasdair’s beguiling touch.

His pledge echoed stubbornly in her ears. He hadn’t pressed his attentions upon her, so she couldn’t say he had lied. But she wasn’t exactly holding fast to her own ideas here.

What Morgan needed was a little time to think.

By herself.

Which meant that Alasdair had to be kept busy. Morgan pulled away, hating how her heart lurched when her lips broke free of his.

And she hated even more that the drowsy indigo of his eyes made that same heart take off at a gallop. She noticed the key in the bathroom door and knew exactly how she was going to get out of this muddle.

All by herself.

“You need a bath!” Morgan declared breathlessly.

The highlander grimaced ruefully and gave his shirt a theatrical whiff. “Aye, I have not had a clean shirt for at least...”

“I really don’t need to know the details,” Morgan interjected. “First things first. You need to get clean, but quick.”

His lips quirked; his gaze was warm. “Do I, then?” he rumbled, obviously mistaking her meaning.

Well, she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She pulled Alasdair into the charmingly Victorian bathroom and deliberately ignored the way he looked around. It was a feminine bower in the worst way, a totally romantic room with ruffles and bows and a clawfoot tub big enough for two.

Morgan refused to think about any of that. Summoning her most businesslike manner, she turned on the taps in the tub. The water was steaming hot. “Look, they have one of those clothesline things, so you can wash out your shirt and leave it overnight to dry.”

She rummaged through a basket of toiletries and laid them out in hasty succession, refusing to look back at the man who lurked right behind her and practically oozed sensual allure. Morgan heard a rustle of cloth and saw his shirt fall to the floor out of the corner of her eye.

Dear God, he was getting naked! She had to get out of the bathroom while she still could.

“And look!” Morgan was chattering, but she couldn’t stop. “Soap and shampoo. Even toothpaste and a brush! Why, you’ll be clean in no time at all. There’s even detergent, for when you wash out your shirt...”

Alasdair’s strong hands landed on Morgan’s shoulders and his breath feathered across her nape. All Morgan could think of was that bronzed chest almost against her own back.

She glanced up at the mirror and her heart stopped at the sight of him looming behind her, his hands closed possessively around her.