Dark and Stormy Knight (17 page)

He couldn’t argue with that. He was the king of regret and wouldn’t wish his crown on anyone.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes.”

God help them both, but he couldn’t deny his passions any longer. He pressed his mouth against hers. Her lips, at once submissive and demanding, parted to invite him to deepen the kiss. She welcomed his tongue with a tantalizing swipe of her own. He was dimly aware of her hands in his hair, twisting and tugging, sealing his mouth more firmly on hers. His arms had magically found their way around her, and his hands were busy kneading her bonny wee bottom. Pleasure rumbled in his throat. He felt her shiver, felt her hand sweep down his arm and push between their bodies.

Eager fingers caught in his pubic hair, pulling painfully. As he winced, a small, warm hand closed around his cockstand. Pleasure sparked from the point of contact. He groaned and flexed his hips, pushing deeper into her grasp. She squeezed and began to pump like one of the masturbatory devices he kept in the playroom.

Breaking out of the kiss, he stopped her hand with his own. “Slow down, my love. We have the whole night.”

What was left of the night, anyway. Judging from the dove-gray light peeking through the crack in the draperies, dawn was breaking. He crawled out of bed, padded over, and threw the curtains open. Sudden silver light blinded him. Blinking to clear his vision, he returned to the bed and jerked back the bedclothes.

She looked so small and defenseless in his king-sized bed. She also looked like a goddess. With hungry eyes, he devoured every curve and swell of her flawless figure.

She blinked up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Drinking in your beauty.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“It isn’t a matter of opinion,” he said. “You’re a goddess, an angel, a work of divine inspiration. No one could look at you and find anything wanting.”

She reached for him. “Then come worship me.”

He got on the bed on all fours, crawled beside her, and lay on his side.

Rising on one elbow, she placed her hand on his chest, pushing a little. “Lie back. I want to admire you, too.”

He did as requested, struck by a modesty he hadn’t felt since Clara. Both had been virgins when they married, and they’d spent half their wedding night exploring each other’s anatomical differences.

She drew her finger down the dark trail leading from his chest to his pubic hair. Desire surged as her fingers jumped to the head of his erection. Her stimulating touch moved down his length, over his balls, and back up again, leaving particles of heaven in its wake.

“Did you enjoy the blow job I gave you?”

“Aye,” he said, eyes locked on her pleasuring fingers, “but would have enjoyed it even more without the blindfold.”

She met his gaze with a coy smile. “You like to watch?”

He snorted. “Show me a man who doesn’t.”

“I might like to watch, too,” she said with a sigh.

“Might?”

The hand on his cock stilled. “Believe it or not, until the dining room, I’d never gotten off with a man.”

His gut tightened. Bloody hell.

“Please tell me I wasn’t your first.”

“Of course you weren’t,” she said with a small laugh. “I’m twenty-seven and live in Californication.”

Relief washed through him. He’d been a brute. If she’d confessed to being an innocent, he’d never forgive himself for ravaging her so indelicately.

He moved his nearest hand to her pubic region, parted her labia, and flicked his middle finger against her clitoris. “Are you squeamish about a man kissing you here?”

Some women were. God knew why, but they were. So were a few men, about giving and receiving, which made no sense to him. If a man didn’t enjoy orally pleasuring a woman, he was either far too uptight or far too selfish. Such hang-ups mystified him.

“Not at all,” she said. “It was them, not me.”

That was all he needed to hear. He moved down the bed, grabbed her by the ankles, flipped her on her back, and pulled her legs apart. As he situated himself between them, he met her gaze and offered her a hungry, fang-revealing grin. “Prepare to be eaten, Red Riding Hood.”

She laughed. “Are you the big, bad wolf?”

“No, my love. I’m Rapunzel in the tower, and you’ve just climbed up to save me.”

He moved between her thighs and partook of the aromatic flesh of her feminine folds. She moaned and arched her back, tightening his coil. He licked, flicked, and circled until her body grew tense and her breathing thready. Then, he pushed his tongue into her, straining for depth, and wiggled the tip against her g-spot.

She rolled her hips and moaned, shooting a searing bolt of lust straight to his cock. He returned to her clit, took the tender bud between his lips, and gently suckled.

Gasping with pleasure, she arched her back and twined her fingers in his hair.

His mind jumped back to the dream. Even if he let her climb up, they still had to climb back down without falling to their deaths or being burned alive by the dragon. The full moon was a long way off. She might die before then or be too weak to make the trip to Brocaliande. So much could go wrong. So bloody much.

Her body trembled and writhed under his mouth. He’d suckled her to the brink of climax and then stopped, wanting to feel her shatter around his hard cock.

He lifted his head. “Gwyneth, do you have multiple orgasms?”

Her head popped up, and her gaze met his. “Is that possible?”

“Aye, for some lucky lasses.”

Well, he’d know soon enough. And so, apparently, would she. He went back to what he’d been doing, licking, flicking, and softly suckling. He kept his gaze trained on hers as she observed him pleasing her.

Oh, aye, baby. Watch as I take you to heaven.

She began to squirm and breathe hard. When she pulled his hair, he drove the hard tip of his tongue to the core of her swollen bud.

“Oh, God. Oh, yes. Right there.”

Her hips bucked like an unbroken filly. He drilled deeper, flicking rapidly.

“Oh, yeah. Just like that and don’t stop.”

He had no intention of stopping. Not until she broke. He pushed two fingers into her and moved them in circles as he eased them in and out.

Her cunt was crying to be claimed, and his cock was begging to do the job. His tongue quickened against her clit.

Come on, baby, jump.

Her body tensed and twitched. Her hips thrust. Her pussy convulsed around his digits. A stifled cry flew from her lips. As she floated back to earth, he planted adoring kisses along her inner thighs.

“Did you enjoy yourself, my wee mouse?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

He just smiled. She was right. He knew she’d gotten off. A woman could fake the noises, but not the way the body convulsed in the throes of orgasm. And while, like all men, he’d prefer to believe no woman had ever deceived him in that regard, he knew the statistics didn’t support the supposition. He’d had thousands of partners and possessed super-human sexual stamina. Surely one or two had faked orgasm along the way just to get it over with.

“You’ll never get rid of me now,” she said with a smile.

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to—”

She caught herself in the nick of time, thank God. He pushed up on all fours and crawled over her. His heart swelled with awe. She was so beautiful, so bewitching, so brave. He’d never met a woman like her. He was utterly and completely spellbound. He just prayed he wouldn’t fail her.

Twining her fingers in his hair, she pulled his mouth down on hers. Their tongues did a slow dance before she captured his between her lips. Lust cracked its whip in his groin as she sucked his as he’d sucked hers.

He drew up her knees and buried himself in her sultry depths. She lifted her hips, taking him deeper. Her legs went around him and locked in the small of his back. With each ensuing thrust, his heart drew closer to the point of no return.

When Gwyn awoke, it was light. Squinting against the brightness, she sat up and looked around for Leith, finding, to her dismay, he wasn’t in the bed or anywhere else in the room.

She got up and picked up the dressing gown she’d borrowed from the armoire in her room, which she’d shed at the foot of the bed after stealing into his room. Leith, she presumed, had laid the robe over a chair nearby. As she pulled it on, she crossed to the window and looked out.

The room overlooked a pretty garden enclosed by a brick wall. A gravel path meandered through beds of flowers bordered by hedges. The setting was very romantic. Perhaps she could persuade him to take a walk with her there. First, however, she had to find him.

Determined to do just that, she pulled the dressing gown around her body and tied the belt. The robe was a gorgeous thing—pale-blue silk brocade with ribbons and ruching down the front and a wide lace ruffle edging the three-quarter-length sleeves.

She felt pretty in it. All the clothes she’d worn since arriving at Glenarvon were designed to make a woman feel beautiful and elegant. Modern fashions, in comparison, were so uninspired. Except for
haute couture
, of course, but only anorexic millionaires could wear those creations. Why didn’t anybody design frilly, romantic things like this robe anymore?

She shook the thought away. She had more important things to think about than frills and lace. His curse, for starters. She’d meant the things she’d told him last night from the bottom of her heart. If they could break his curse, she’d stay with him forever and ever.

Lord Lyon had explained how he’d turned his wife before they married. Not out of choice, but because she’d fallen from the tower. He’d healed Lady Vanessa’s injuries by giving her his blood.

Had Leith done the same for her at the crash site? She didn’t think so. For one thing, she didn’t feel any different. For another, she couldn’t believe he’d consider sending her back to California without saying a word about making her like him.

So, he must not have given her enough blood to effect the transformation. Even so, she wanted to speak with him about their plans. Opening the door, she hurried into the hall, which was quiet except for the low drone of voices somewhere far off.

The deep timbre told her they were male voices, but she couldn’t make out who was speaking. Steeling her courage with a deep, inward breath, she followed the sound down the drafty hallway, hugging herself for warmth. The dressing gown was beautiful, though not particularly warm, and the chilly stone floors bit her bare feet as she walked.

She stopped at the top of the staircase. The voices were rising from below. She still couldn’t hear what was being said, but was pretty sure one of the voices belonged to Leith. The voices led her to the library door, which was slightly ajar, making it possible to eavesdrop without giving herself away.

“If your feelings are as strong as you suspect,” Tom said, “I can’t see that you have much choice.”

Gwyn’s pulse quickened. Were they talking about her? If so, she should be happy about it, since she was teetering on the precipice herself, but happy wasn’t quite the feeling whorling inside her right now.

Terrified, maybe. Conflicted, definitely. Hopeful, possibly. Because of the curse, his regard would kill her, which seemed so incredibly unfair. Not to mention, ill timed.

She’d only just started to live, damn it. Only just broken the chains of fear that’d held her back her whole fucking life. Only just met the man of her dreams. Only just got the break that could make her career.

“What will happen to her when the curse kicks in?”

Tom’s question drew her back to the conversation. She held her breath and strained to hear Leith’s answer over the blood-thunder in her ears.

“I’m not sure.” His voice was almost too quiet to be audible. “I only know Faith died of a fading illness.”

Taking a breath to calm her nerves, Gwyn struggled to keep hysteria at bay. Freaking out wouldn’t help matters. Everybody died. She would go sooner or later, and there were much worse ways than simply fading away. There were better ways, too, of course. Like dying in her sleep—or from a sudden impact. The police said her poor father never knew what hit him.

A maelstrom swept away the calm. Fear mixed with outrage over the injustice of it all.

Then, a realization broke through the tempest in her brain: if not for Leith, she’d already be dead. Rather than stealing her life, he’d granted her a reprieve. The days she’d lived since surviving the accident had been bonuses, not entitlements. And she’d be a fool not to make the most of every single second she had left.

“How long did it take Faith to succumb after you realized how you felt?”

“Three weeks,” Leith told Tom. “Maybe four.”

“That’s good.” Tom sounded hopeful. “That means there’s still time to figure something out.”

“My mind’s made up, Tom. I’m taking her to Inverness first thing.”

What?

“I don’t understand. How will that help?”

“I’m not over the moon quite yet,” Leith explained. “And she’ll be out of my life for good that way. Without the film rights, she’ll have no reason to contact me again.”

Gwyn’s hand flew to her mouth to stop the expletive on her tongue from tumbling out. That filthy snake! He’d just made love to her, knowing all the while he was about to pull the rug out from under her feet. What a conniving, fork-tongued reptile.

And to think, not five minutes ago, she was entertaining fantasies about being with him forever. What a gullible idiot she was. Fuming, shaking, and unsure what else to do, she crept back to her own bedchamber, locked the door, and threw herself down on the bed. The deadly brew of anger, betrayal, and disappointment bubbled hot and thick inside her ribcage.

Tears stung her eyes and tightened her throat. She wrapped her arms around the pillow and hugged it to her. Five minutes ago, she stood on the brink of getting everything she’d ever wanted. Adventure, success, and maybe even her knight in shining armor. Now, she had nothing, nobody, no reason to stay in Scotland, and no reason to go home.

* * * *

Standing at the window with a cigarette, Leith felt utterly defeated. About his writer’s block, about his curse, about everything. If he didn’t sell the film rights, he’d lose Glenarvon, the last piece of the past he had left. But what else could he do? Kill the lass to keep his castle? He might be a beast who too often thought with his prick, but he wasn’t a heartless monster.