Flame (13 page)

She couldn’t help looking at his broad, naked
back and hard, muscular buttocks. A tightness quickly gathered in
her middle. He was incredibly tall and a powerfully built man.
Marks from old wounds stood out white on his shoulders and arms,
and she had seen a terrible jagged scar along his left ribs, just
beneath his heart. But he was more stunningly perfect than any
likeness of man she had ever seen in life or in paintings. She let
her eyes travel down his lean, sinewy legs, watching the flex of
muscles as he wrapped the kilt about his waist.

“I still cannot see the reason for your
discomfort at my nakedness,” he said, without turning.

She jumped, startled at the feeling of being
caught. As she stared, he unfastened his broadsword from a thick
belt and dropped it on the bed before wrapping the brown leather
strap around him.

Gavin turned and faced her. “I have lost
track of how many times you have broken into this chamber, but you
must have seen me in bed on numerous occasions. Is this not
true?”

Embarrassed and angry with herself for being
so bold, Joanna turned her face away, trying to cool the heat
racing through her. “Once or twice,” she whispered.

“And then, of course, there was the time when
you came in here to steal the portrait while I was dozing in the
tub. I believe I was less than modestly attired at that time as
well.”

“Hmm...I can only suppose that you were
adequately attired for the situation, m’lord.” She tried to hide
her smile. “Not that I noticed!”

“And you expect me to believe that?” he
replied, folding his arms over his chest. “That you didn’t
notice
?”

“It matters little whether you do or not. But
regarding the painting, I would hardly consider taking what is mine
‘stealing.’”

“You consider that portrait yours?” The laird
smiled mischievously as his eyes raked over her. “Have you
forgotten, Mistress Joanna, that you have been dead for well over
half a year, now?”

“You might find me as ugly as a corpse just
risen from the grave, but I assure you, I am not dead.”

“And I assure
you
, I would willingly
die a thousand times over if I thought someone the likes of you
would be keeping me company for all eternity.”

Joanna gaped at him. His eyes radiated heat.
His expressions were surely empty words of flattery, but the look
in his face continued to disconcert her. His eyes were black and
flashing as they now fixed boldly on her face. She struggled for a
moment to find her voice--and her composure. “As...as I was
saying...I can assure you, m’lord, I am flesh and blood...and
alive.”

“So I can see.”

Joanna almost wished he would stop staring at
her. Was he blind? She was certainly no goddess descending to him
from the heavens. But then his reaction to her was so much like a
dream. So many times she had wished to be whole again. To be a
fraction of what she had once been.

“Why you look at me this way?” she asked,
returning his bold stare with one of her own.

“This way?” he asked with a half smile. “I
have only begun to feed my curiosity, and I have far to go before
‘tis satisfied. And as I can see, you have begun to do the
same.”

Joanna jerked her gaze away. He had a point,
and she knew it. It was all too obvious that she herself had
allowed her eyes to feast openly on him. And watching him dress in
this fashion! But she had never before felt the liquid fire that
was coursing now through her veins. Standing there, gazing into the
embers of a dying fire, Joanna realized now that she had somewhere,
long ago, given up the expectation of such feelings.

“Where were we, lass?”

The mere sound of his voice shook her out of
her wild reverie, and a sudden panic took hold of her.

“I had better be on my way. ‘Tis so late. Too
late. You will sleep if I leave you be.” She looked up at him,
unable to tear her eyes away from his hard face as he approached
her. “You must certainly be tired. I shan’t take the painting
again...”

Joanna couldn’t continue. The words withered
on her lips, her breath caught up short as he came to a stop only a
half step away. All she could see was the span of his wide
shoulders blocking her escape. She leaned her head back against the
wall and stared up into his black eyes. A shiver coursed like a
fever through her.

“You are not leaving.”

“‘Tis late, and you...”

“Have not even started yet!”

This was a dangerous man, and she knew she
should be frightened, but somehow she wasn’t. “What do you mean by
that? About not...”

The laird ignored her question, and she found
his eyes slowly appraising her--from head to foot, and back
again.

“What is it that you are after?” she asked
hoarsely.

He paused for a long moment. “Answers.”

“And that is all you...?” Joanna bit at her
lip, embarrassment boiling beneath the skin of her face.

The laird’s full lips lifted in a smile at
her impulsive utterance, and he reached up and framed her face with
his large hands. His hands were stunningly cool on her skin, and
Joanna’s eyes fixed on the dark curls that adorned the scarred
musculature of his chest. A long moment passed, and suddenly she
realized that she was wondering what it would be like to run her
fingers through those curls, to feel them against her cheek.

“Well, lass. You’ve managed to read my mind.
There are many questions that are nagging at me. But not one of
them is interesting enough to break this spell you have cast on
me.”

“I am a ghost, m’lord, not a witch. There has
been no spell cast here,” she said softly as his fingers made a
sensual journey of the planes of her face. He was driving her mad.
Joanna reached up and took hold of his wrist. “Your own imagination
is driving you to this. ‘Tis simply a portrait that holds you.”

“So bonny you are, Joanna MacInnes,” he
whispered. “So soft, just as I imagined you would be.”

“You are mistaken. I am not she, m’lord. That
beauty sits over your hearth. But she is gone. I carry the scars
of...”

“Hush.” He lowered his head and brushed his
lips lightly over hers. Joanna’s eyes flew open in shock, and she
stared in awe as his lips hung a breath above hers. His dark,
mysterious eyes drifted over her features, caressing her face. “You
are beautiful...and real...and alive.”

Then, as if in a dream, Joanna moved her
hands from behind her and wrapped them around his neck. With a
passion that blinded her, she lifted her lips to his.

The flames, leaping up in the hearth behind
him, made the earl’s shadow stretch out like some fiend, ready to
snuff out the very existence of the young man standing against the
far wall.

“And you are certain that no one suspects
you. Even now?”

“Aye, m’lord,” David said quietly. “No one
suspects me of anything. To all of them, I am just another stable
lad. It runs in our blood--looking dim does--and my ma always
said...”

The Earl of Athol raised a hand to silence
his faithful young informer. He then started pacing the room,
pulling thoughtfully at one ear as he strode before the fire. He
stopped and looked back at the lad. “But back to what you just
said. You are certain that he survived the fire unscathed.”

“He did,” David bobbed his head. “When all
the men where gathered in the hallway right outside his door, I
sneaked behind them and watched the laird open his door. He escaped
the whole thing without a burn marking his skin. I mean, everyone
in the keep talks about the man sleeping like a corpse, but somehow
he must have managed to wake up in time to save his hide.”

Sleeping like the dead is not truly wanting
to be dead, Athol thought with a shake of his head. Gavin Kerr’s
death wish didn’t run as deep as he’d been led to believe.

“It appears the man has some fight left in
him yet!” Athol whispered, turning and staring into the flames.

***

Gavin’s response to her boldness left her
utterly dazed.

Joanna’s breath caught in her throat. The
wrappings on her palms were suddenly soaked. Her mind and her
thoughts were in shambles. She shivered in his tight embrace, and
thrilled at the feverish heat that was spreading through her.

A hungry sound emitted from Gavin’s throat as
he deepened the kiss, crushing her closer to his hard, unyielding
body. Intense longing swept over her. She could feel the heat of
his bare chest burn and caress her. Then Joanna felt his tongue
trace the edges of her lips, and she realized that he wanted her to
open her mouth to him. Tentatively, she parted her lips, and
Gavin’s tongue surged inside.

Stunned by the intimacy of the kiss, Joanna
trembled, her knees weakening. The world spun around her, and she
gripped Gavin’s shoulders very tightly, certain that she would fall
if he were to release her.

But Gavin made no move to set her free.
Instead, his bare arms tightened around her, pulling her so close
that--through the haze of desire that was clouding her mind--she
could feel the press of his manhood beneath the wool of his kilt.
Vaguely, she knew she should be alarmed by the rising danger, but
the aching of her breasts obliterated such thoughts of caution.
More than anything right now, she wanted to feel her bare skin
against his.

He shifted slightly, lifting her chin and
running his fingers along the line of her jaw. She turned a bit in
his arms, and his bare knee pressed against the inside of her
thighs. She could feel the sinewy strength in his leg against hers.
His hand caressed the skin of her throat, the top of her breast.
Joanna took in a deep breath, her body rising to his touch. His
fingers traced the wide neckline of her oversized dress and pulled
it gently downward, exposing her flesh until her breast sprang
free.

As his thumb circled her hardening nipple,
Joanna gasped. Strange feelings flowed through her--wild, turbulent
sensations--that were unlike anything she had ever known.

So this, at long last, was true passion. The
thought emerged from the shadowy recesses of her mind, and a thrill
of fiery excitement uncoiled within Joanna. She was alive--truly
alive--and being given the chance to taste this fruit of heaven
before reaching her life’s end.

With a surge of rapturous delight, she
tightened her arms around his neck, matching and returning the
pressure of Gavin’s demanding mouth.

“Joanna,” he whispered against her lips,
breaking off the kiss and moving his lips to her ear. “You
have
bewitched me.” As he suckled her earlobe, his hand made
a wider journey of her breast, kneading and caressing her firm
flesh. Then, with a low groan, Gavin slid his hand around her hip
and cupped her buttocks.

She felt him lift her body against him until
she could feel his hardening arousal pressing against the juncture
of her legs.

Joanna swayed in his arms, pleasure washing
over her with each new sensation. The world around her was becoming
fluid, dissolving with each passing heartbeat. This growing
ecstasy--this sweet hunger that she felt in his embrace--it was now
the ruling passion.

“I think the devil has possessed my soul,” he
said hoarsely into her ear. Pressing her against the wall, Gavin
took hold of her wrists and brought them down to her sides. His
voice was ragged with desire. “Tell me to stop, Joanna, before I
carry you to my bed.” His powerful hands gently cradled her face as
he tipped her head back and stared into her eyes. “You
are
flesh and blood. And for too long I have looked at you, fancied
you, dreamed of making love to you.”

Joanna stared into his chiseled face, his
black burning eyes. Desire, like dark pools of molten steel, filled
them, and she could feel the power of his control, taut and
strained, but ready to unleash his own needs.

“Then do with me what you desire,” she heard
herself whisper softly. Her body burned for him, for his touch. She
knew only in the vaguest terms what to do, what to expect, but she
also knew that she would die if he did not show her the rest of the
way. His hands once again cradled her face.

“Make me yours...now...” she added with a
whisper, turning her face and kissing the palm of his hand. “I have
not much time left to me. Grant me this one wish.”

It took only an instant for her words to sink
in, and then the hands that had only a moment earlier gently
caressed her, now inflicted pain as he took her by the shoulders in
a vise-like grip.

She stared at him in amazement. His eyes were
cold fury, and his fingers felt as if they would crush the bones
beneath her skin.

“What the devil are you talking about? What
do you mean, you have not much time left?”

The spell was broken and everything
crystallized before her eyes. The chamber that had been blurred and
dreamlike in his tender embrace, suddenly became a mass of sharply
defined lines and colors.

“Joanna,” he said, shaking her hard and
forcing her eyes to snap up to his. “Explain to me what you meant
by those words.”

This outburst of temper, as stunning in its
suddenness as in its ferocity, left her shocked and unwilling to
speak. Whatever had possessed her to say what she had, was gone
from her now, and Joanna knew it would be unwise to reveal anything
of her plans to him. She pulled up the neckline of her dress to
cover herself, and tried to gather her wits.

She fixed her gaze on the lips that were now
drawn tight. “To the world, I have been dead for months. Alone in
these caverns, I have thought a great deal of death. In my mind’s
eye, I have seen myself die numerous times. I do not fear that end.
We all must die someday--some of us sooner than others.”

“Do not talk in riddles,” he ordered harshly,
still holding her tightly. “You were not speaking of one’s destiny
or of the heaven or hell that awaits us when our time in this life
is through. You were speaking of yourself. What are you not telling
me?”