Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and Unrepentant\Return of the Prodigal Gilvry\A Traitor's Touch (32 page)

As he'd do well to remember. So did he say he was sorry, or let it go?

Given their circumstances, their close quarters and his visceral responses to her presence, it was probably best if she was annoyed. It would keep them both at a distance.

While she seated herself cross-legged on her blanket beside the fire, he proceeded to heat the snow he had collected while waiting for her outside. A bothy usually came equipped with a couple of cooking pots and a trivet. Either someone had stolen them or the landlord was discouraging the bothy's use by itinerants. Lots of people had been cleared off their ancestral lands these past years, many roaming the hills looking for somewhere to settle. No landlord worth his salt wanted squatters on his land.

He balanced his tin pot on the peat and turned his attention to his pistol. He did not want to be caught unawares and unready if the men at McRae's had followed them. Her gaze followed his every movement as he primed the pan and loaded the ball.

‘It is warming up in here already,' she said with determined cheerfulness.

An olive branch. A courageous attempt to be brave. Damp chill clung to the stone walls, making the room as cold as the grave. Still, he wasn't going to negate her courage, not when he could not help but admire it. But nor did he want to meet that clear steady gaze of hers. Every time he did, he found himself drowning in their cool depths, wanting more that he should, saying far more than he intended.

He'd already revealed more than he should about his past. Perhaps because it was the first time in a long time that anyone had shown the slightest interest.

He kept his gaze fixed on what he was doing. ‘If we can keep the fire going, we shouldn't freeze to death. There's enough peat for a night or two.'

‘A night or two?' She sounded horrified.

‘Aye. If it snows again and we canna get out.'

‘Oh, dear.'

He set the pistol aside, close to hand, pulled his knife from his boot and stirred the melting snow. ‘It might not come to that.'

‘I hope not.'

And so did he. Given the growing attraction he felt towards this woman, and not just to her physical being, but to her as a person, the next several hours would not be easy, no matter whether they stayed here or continued their journey.

The water in the pot began to steam. He tossed in some tea leaves. It would warm them through and perhaps she'd sleep for a while. And he could pretend he felt nothing.

He watched the water, waiting for it to come to a full boil, but could not help but feel her gaze upon him, or stop recalling to mind the shape of her body beneath her nightgown. There was no doubt about it. The sooner he was rid of her the better he would like it. She was too much of a temptation. No matter what his body thought, she was not the kind of woman he needed.

His mind went back to their discussions with the lawyer. ‘I have the sense yon Jones didna' like the date of your husband's death. Do you think he had a date he preferred? A date later in the month?' he asked as a distraction from his carnal thoughts. ‘I could make it whatever date he wanted if you thought it would help with the duke. I canna see that a few days here or there would make any great difference.'

She stripped off her gloves and held her hands out to the fire. They were capable-looking hands, he noticed. Hands that looked as if they knew their way around a man's body.

A wave of heat rolled through his blood. Hell and damnation, had his time in captivity made him naught but a beast? Even there, he'd had more control over his thoughts than he seemed to have now.

‘I thought he said he didn't care about the date,' she mused, seemingly unaware of his inner struggle.

‘His tongue said he didn't care. His face said otherwise.'

Her eyes sharpened. ‘Are you sure?'

‘It's hard to be sure of anything. But he definitely winced at the mention of the date, then went to a deal of trouble to deny its importance.' He shook his head. ‘It makes no sense to care about such a thing. Unless there's money in it.'

‘A loan? Something in Samuel's will?' She blew on the tips of those long slender fingers. ‘I can't make any scenario work that would tie to the date of his death.'

Nor could he. ‘But there is something.'

‘Perhaps the duke will be more forthcoming when I see him.'

A sound outside the door brought him to his feet and the pistol into his hand. He pulled Rowena to her feet and pushed her behind him.

‘What is it?' she asked in a whisper.

‘I heard something.'

‘It's them. They've found us.'

Inside, he went still, cold, listening with his body as well as his ears, becoming at one with the air to feel any small disturbance. He lifted a finger to his lips and to his relief she nodded and remained utterly silent. There were only two smugglers left, if he was right about the one he'd shot, and the night was dark. He blew out the candle. He didn't want the light behind him, making him a perfect target. Too bad he didn't have the moon to help him see whoever was outside.

He moved slowly towards the door. Reached for the latch.

A bang. The door rattled in its frame.

Rowena gasped and clutched at his coat. She'd crept along right behind him, using him for a shield. He was glad of it.

But...

Another bang. Metal on wood. Low on the door. Heavy breathing on the other side. And another metallic sound like...

What the hell? He whipped the door open, pistol cocked.

Her horse huffed out a breath and made to come in.

Air rushed from his lungs. ‘Yon beastie wants in.' He crouched and felt for her hobble. Still there. He gave her a push. ‘Sorry, lassie. People only in here.' He shut the door in the animal's face.

Rowena, behind him, was making odd little noises. Crying? She must have been terrified. He found the candle and lit it from the ashes and held it aloft.

She was leaning against the wall, doubled over, her face covered by her hands and her shoulders shaking. Sobbing.

His stomach dipped. His heart lurched. He crossed the room and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘It's all right,' he soothed, horribly aware of her body against his and the loud beating of his heart.

‘It's all right
.
It was only your horse.'

Her shoulders shook harder.

Heavens, after all she'd gone through tonight so bravely, and now she was falling apart. He turned her in his arms, pressed her face to his shoulder, held her close, felt her soft curves and sweet hollows down the length of his body, felt her warm breath on his neck and wanted to groan with frustration.

‘Please,
mo cridhe
, don't cry.'

‘Oh,' she gasped, looking up. ‘I'm not...crying.'

He looked down into her face. Her eyes had tears and her face was bright pink, but her mouth was...laughing. She was laughing?

‘It was just your...expression. When you saw the h-horse.' She dissolved into giggles.

A laugh rose in his chest, bubbling up where no laugh should be. ‘She was cold,' he said.

‘She wanted a cup of tea.'

And then he did laugh. And laugh. Holding her fast, grinning like a fool. And laughing until they were both breathless.

‘Oh, Drew, I thought we were done for.' She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth, still laughing.

He pulled her arms down from around his neck, holding her hands fast at her sides, intending to set her away, but as he gazed into eyes dancing with merriment, he found himself entranced.

And he moved his grip to her back and kissed her in return. And kissed her. Savouring the softness of her lips and the sweet way she opened her mouth and her tongue tangled with his. Nothing, not even the best
usquebaugh
, had ever tasted so good as her passion or warmed the coldness inside him so deeply.

Her hands strayed under his coat, caressing his back, while her hips arched into him in open invitation.

Deep in his bones he felt a shudder so strong he could have sworn the ground was shaking. And he didn't care if the stone walls crumbled around them, as long as she held him and stroked his chest, her thumbs teasing his nipples, her sweet soft belly grinding against his swollen shaft.

His mind was a hot dark pit of lust and torment. Yet her kiss, the dark slide of her tongue against his brought warmth to the deepest reaches of his heart, to the shivering creature that craved her heat.

The pain of it was too hard to bear.

Because somewhere at the edges of his consciousness he knew this was wrong, though he wanted her badly. He should not be doing this, taking advantage of a woman far too good for him.

On a wild groan he could not contain, he let her go and stepped back, panting and shaken. ‘Rowena,' he rasped in a voice that sounded as if it was broken.

‘Drew,' she said. ‘I want this. I want you.'

He heard the demand in her voice. An order from the past he'd been forced to obey.

Resentment flared to life. ‘I'm no' yours to command.' Not anymore. Never again. ‘If you want what I have, you'll beg for it.'

Eyes hazed by desire, she drew in a hiss of breathy pleasure. ‘Please,' she whispered. ‘Oh, please, Drew.'

Heat blazed in his veins even as he stared at her, caught up by lust and shock as her words brought his every fantasy to the fore. Had she somehow guessed at the flaw in his nature and thought to mock him? He suffered a pang of shame.

Or could she...? No, it was impossible. She did not know what she was saying, what it did to him. It was the shock of the events of the night making her ask for comfort. And heaven help him, he wasn't sure he could resist that quietly spoken plea.

She dropped her gaze. ‘Please,' she said again.

Heat blazed a trail across his skin. Desire ran rampant. ‘You'll do exactly as I say.'

‘Yes,' she murmured. ‘Anything.'

The battle was lost.

He teased the seam of her lips with his tongue and they parted on a sigh. He stroked the inside of her mouth and she moaned, arching into him, responsive to each little flick of his tongue, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders for support as she melted in his arms.

‘No touching,' he muttered. She let her hands fall away.

He slid his fingers around her nape, angling her head to deepen the kiss, and felt the thunder of her pulse at her throat. He let the other hand drop to her shoulder, glide over her back, caress the dip of her waist.

Their lips clung and their tongues tasted, and their breath mingled until he was the white heat in the centre of the flame. And the demands of his body blazed into life.

Doubts assailed him. He broke their kiss. ‘Are you sure?'

Heavy lidded, her liquid silver eyes gazed back at him. ‘Positive,' she whispered.

God help him, those words undid him. He scanned the room, the cold dirt floor, the blankets, and he wanted to howl with frustration. Then his gaze took in the table behind her. He swallowed and backed her up to its edge.

She shivered.

Cold stone. He couldn't... ‘Blanket,' he muttered, releasing her shoulders. He folded both blankets and arranged them on the table. Then he set his hands to her narrow waist and lifted her to perch on the rough wool. He kissed her again, his hips pushing between her legs, one hand pushing up under the full fabric of her skirt until it found the soft silken skin above her stocking. As his fingers stroked the delicate flesh of her inner thigh, she sighed into his mouth and shifted closer to the table's edge.

Lust hit his groin in a hot river of pulsing blood. He took her mouth in a brutal ravaging kiss, forcing her head back with his assault, and she tangled her tongue with his and made little sounds of encouragement. Urging him on with her fingers in his hair, then stroking his jaw, his scars with a feathery sweeps of her fingers. Trying to gentle him. To control him.

A feral growl ripped at his throat. The need for possession, a beast on the rampage. ‘You must do only what I tell you. Do you understand?'

She nodded.

‘Do not touch me, unless I say you may.'

She licked her lips and opened her mouth to speak.

‘Say nothing,' he warned.

Eyes wide, she gazed at him and said nothing.

One arm around her back, he lifted her, sweeping her skirts up and away until they were bunched at her waist. He gazed down at the wickedly delicious sight of her long slim thighs parted to embrace his hips and the soft dark curls at their juncture. A low groan broke free.

He fell to his knees, and she gasped. Surprise? Shock. He looked up to see her staring down at him, her lips rosy and swollen from his brutal assault on her mouth. But instead of fear in her eyes there was the heat of molten metal. And puzzlement.

Triumph settled deep in the pit of his stomach. He was not her first, but he would be the first to teach her this pleasure. He lifted her legs and hooked them over his shoulders. Her eyes widened.

Holding her gaze, he parted the soft folds of her feminine flesh with his thumbs and stroked a finger over the already swollen bud hiding deep within. Her eyelids fluttered, then drifted closed, and she moaned sweetly.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the hot centre, inhaling the deep rich scent of aroused woman, feeling the dampness on his lips.

She hissed in a breath, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as if afraid she might fall. He nuzzled deeper, using his lips and his tongue to sweep the sweet cleft of her body.

‘Oh,' she cried out as his tongue flickered over the hot little bud deep in her folds.

Oh, yes,
the beast inside him said.
Yes.

Chapter Seven

T
he delicious wickedness of his mouth made Rowena's limbs feel boneless. The quick, light flicks of his tongue against her flesh were a constant torment. The sight of that dark chestnut hair between her thighs made her insides clench tighter.

The most salacious hedonism she could have imagined held her in its thrall. How had he guessed at her secret fantasy? Her dreams of ravaging pirates and marauding sheikhs who bound her and made her submit to their every whim. Who dominated and forced her into submission. She shuddered with the power of his masculine strength.

At any moment, it would happen. The waves of pleasure, followed by a rush of heat that she'd discovered as a girl and that were so shamefully addictive.

She loved the sensations storming her body. Never had she created any so powerful from her mental images as he created with his lips and tongue.

The end hovered just out of reach. She wove her fingers in the silky waves of his hair, opening herself wider, lifting her hips, pressing into him, seeking to break the mounting tension.

He jerked away, those incredible green eyes blazing up at her, his face a mask of agony.

‘Lean back,' he ordered, his voice a low, feral growl. ‘Palms on the table. Do. Not. Move.'

The command, the threat, lashed her with hot pulses at her core. Languorous with desire, she complied, leaning back, legs spread, completely at his mercy.

With a grunt of satisfaction, he renewed his assault, licking the little tiny nub that was the source of the pleasure she sought. Such a small thing to turn her limbs to butter, she'd thought when she peeked in a mirror. Hardly impressive compared to the male of the species.

He suckled.

Her hips shot off the table. That she had not expected. She moaned her pleasure. The ache inside her increased tenfold, making her tremble. ‘Please,' she begged, seeking the tipping point just out of reach, which loomed in every dark, hot corner of her body.

‘Silence,' he ordered, ‘or I will walk away.'

She melted. Thrills chased down her spine at the power of command in the deep growl of his voice. This was her pirate. The man who prowled through her dreams, taking control of her body and soul. She closed her eyes in submission.

He eased one finger inside her and her inner walls clamped tight as he stroked within and without with his thumb. The ache intensified. Tears of joy leaked from the corners of her eyes as she let him do with her as he would.

And he lowered her legs to hang over the edge. Stepped back and left her, cold and bereft.

‘No,' she moaned. She sat up, reached for him.

His gaze dropped to the place his mouth had so recently vacated, so raw and aching, the look on his face dark and sensual. ‘Palms on the table,' he said roughly. ‘Do as I bid or I'll end this now.'

The words made her quiver and shiver as if he was still touching her with his mouth.

She gasped. Lolling back, too weak and melting to do anything else. A jerk of a nod signified his approval.

His hand went to his breeches. He unbuttoned his falls. She wanted to offer to help. To touch him as he had touched her, but the darkness in his expression kept her hands glued to the table and her breath coming in little soft pants.

He dropped his coat to the floor and dragged off his boots and stockings while she watched, fascinated. No man had ever undressed in her presence before. She hadn't even seen her husband naked. The few times he'd coupled with her, he'd always blown out the candles before he removed his banyan.

Breathless with anticipation, she watched. She licked her lips as he peeled the pantaloons down his legs, but saw only a glimpse of his thighs as his shirt, released from its confines, fell to his knees.

She made a sound of disappointment.

He went still and her gaze drifted up to his face.

‘Did you speak?' he asked in rough, hoarse tones.

She quickly shook her head.

His eyes narrowed, but his hands got busy with his shirt buttons. The placket opened to reveal a narrow strip of chest with a dusting of crisp reddish-gold hair. What would it feel like, that hair, against her skin? Her palms tingled with the desire to touch. She kept them pressed against the cold stone while he pulled the shirt off over his head.

The breath left her body in a long sigh. A Greek statue had never looked so beautiful. Arms that she had known were strong were gilded by the sun and warmed by the light of the candle and the fire. They were beautifully formed. Lovely. And she longed to touch the smooth planes, the curve of muscle. She itched to curl her fingers in the crisp hair sprinkling gold dust across his chest, to trace the hard ridges of muscle beneath his ribs.

Fear held her back. The certain knowledge that if she did, he would not be pleased, and she desperately wanted to please him. To feel desirable.

And right now, he did want her. He was aroused. His male member standing erect from a nest of crisp reddish curls, its head dark and glistening.

It stirred under her gaze and she sucked in a breath, her gaze shooting up to his face.

His eyes were hooded, his mouth sultry, yet mocking her with its slight upward tilt at one corner. Her body trembled with anticipation. Ached for what he might bring her.

He stepped between her knees and she looked down to see their hips were in perfect alignment, his shaft brushing hot against her inner thigh.

‘Wider,' he ground out through a jaw that was clenched as if he felt pain.

She inhaled a shaky breath and complied.

He clasped her hips and pulled her closer. He placed his knuckle beneath her chin, lifting her face with gentle but firm pressure. There was something in his expression she didn't quite understand. Shame?

‘Are you sure?' There was no mistaking the desire in his hard-edged voice—it sent wild shivers all the way to her core, hot little pulses of wicked pleasure. An ache tightened inside her. The need for release from the tension of longing.

She swallowed. ‘Yes,' she whispered. A shudder of anticipation rippled through her at the power he exuded. He made her feel feminine, desired and strangely—protected.

He reached between them, gazing deep into her eyes as if to gauge her response, and guided his hot hard flesh to her core, pressing against her most private place, a hot, deliciously tempting pressure as he rocked his hips.

He stilled, looking down at her, watching her as if testing her resolve.

She panted, wanting to move, to arch into him, to make him... No. He was like a wild animal—one wrong move and he would walk away and leave her with nothing but the shame of being undeserving of what most women took for granted: male desire for an attractive woman.

She shook with the effort of remaining utterly still.

He leaned forward, his body coming over her, his hands unfastening her gown then trapping hers to the table, pressing her back onto her elbows, her breasts exposed to his mouth. She let her head fall back, eyes closed, exposing her throat. Offering her surrender to his will.

A deep dark sound rose up from low in his chest, a feral sound of possession, and his hot breath scorched her cheek, before he took her mouth in a soul-searing kiss. She melted beneath his assault, her thoughts giving way to the sensation of his lips on hers, his tongue exploring her mouth, the feel of his hard body against her naked breasts and the tantalising feel of him between her thighs.

How could she not have guessed how wonderful it could be? Why had she never known?

He raised his head, leaving behind her lips to trail hot kisses down her throat and then first on one breast, then the other. Sensations chased across her skin in rapid succession. The peaks ached and tightened as he licked and nuzzled the sensitive tips. It felt wicked and wildly exciting. Though she tried, she could not stop the sounds of encouragement coming from the back of her throat.

He teased at her nipples with his tongue, with his teeth, and then he suckled.

Inside and out, her body convulsed at the painfully sharp pleasure that arrowed straight to her womb. She cried out with the shock of it.

He raised his head and the chill air across her wet breast made shivers ripple across her skin to settle low in her belly. Then he suckled at the other breast and the delicious torture started all over again.

It was perfect, wonderful, his mouth was wonderful, an instrument of pleasure that worshipped her body. She lifted her head to look at him. Sensing her movement, he glanced up. For a brief moment she thought she saw a flare of heat in his eyes, of desire. But his expression was cold, remote, as if he was only doing this to please her and sought nothing for himself. Felt nothing.

Her arms trembled with the strain of holding herself in place, but before she collapsed, one hand left hers to support her nape, while the other went between them, stroking her centre in strong, slick motions that made her gasp and cry out. Gently he parted those folds and guided himself to the entrance of her body until she felt herself opening and flesh give way. She felt his flesh enter her a fraction, intrusive, hot and delicious.

He shuddered as if under some great strain. A warm hand stroked her thigh behind her knee, lifting it, and he pressed deeper inside, stroking her inner flesh with small rocks of his hips.

She wanted more. She lifted the other leg, wrapped both of them around his hips, opening herself fully, bringing him closer to her sweetly aching centre.

Without warning, he drove forward, hard, to the hilt. Uncontrollable pleasure washed through her in a searing surge. She cried out.

A growl of warning rumbled up from his throat, a feral sound laced with torment. He nuzzled at her neck first nipping, then soothing with his tongue. He nibbled at her ear all the while driving into her. He filled her and left no room for anything but raw sensation: the rhythm of their panting breaths loud in her ears; the sound of their bodies joining; the sensations of one hand on her breast, the other holding her up so his mouth could feast on her lips, her tongue; and the slapping of his hips against her inner thighs.

Then he swirled his tongue in her ear. His hand left her breast and went to the tiny straining numb buried in the soft folds of her female flesh, expertly rubbing and pressing and...

She shattered in a fountain of heat forced up from her core that blazed along her veins like a forest fire caught by the wind. Her body went limp and she collapsed backwards on to the table.

He groaned softly and withdrew from her body. He hung over her, his hands either side of her, his breath coming in harsh, raw gasps hot against her breasts and his head hanging low. He looked like a man in the throes of terrible agony.

Because... Because he had not found his release. Her heart slowed. Where there had been heat, there was ice.

He had been unable to... She had not been enough for him. She wanted to weep.

Instead, she took a deep breath and sat up. With unsteady fingers, she eased her gown up her arms and over her shoulders, covering her breasts.

He moved away, turning his back while he hastily pulled on his trousers and fastened them over his arousal with a wince.

She pulled her skirts down over her legs. Before she could jump down from the table, he turned back and helped her, holding her up when her legs threatened to buckle.

Never had she felt so languid, so wonderfully relaxed...or so inadequate.

He brushed her hair back from her face and peered into her eyes. ‘Satisfied?' he asked in a mocking voice.

‘Yes,' she admitted, but wishing she'd been enough of a woman to bring him to completion. For breathless minutes, she had felt like a siren. Now she knew her husband had spoken the truth. As a woman, she really was a failure.

In silence, he finished dressing, picked up his coat and walked out into the night, leaving her to shiver in a blast of cold air.

* * *

What on earth had just happened? Clearly she was not the woman he wanted. He'd found her inadequate. Undesirable.

Why would she feel surprised? Or hurt? Deeply hurt. No man, not even her husband, wanted her in that way. She just wasn't the kind of woman men found appealing and she'd pushed him into doing something he hadn't wanted.

And now he was gone. Out into the night. Leaving her feeling sickened by shame.

She stared at the door.

Her heart stopped still in her chest. What if he never came back?

No. She wouldn't believe he would abandon her out here in the wilderness. He'd been angry. He'd gone to cool off. To settle his temper. To take care of his needs. Mortification washed through her that she wasn't enough.

He would come back.

He had to.

* * *

The hours of waiting passed interminably slowly, and while she had lain down beside the fire and huddled under her cloak, she didn't sleep. It was fear making the time crawl.

Finally, she gave up pretending and rose and folded the blankets. She put more peat on the fire, coaxing it into a blaze. Lit the candle, wishing there were windows that would spill light out into the night and welcome him back.

Inside she trembled.

What if he didn't come back?

He had looked so disgusted. So appalled. Even in the little light given off by the fire, and the single candle, she had seen his revulsion. As if what had happened was her fault.

She should have fought him the moment he touched her. Fought him? That was a lie. She should have fought herself. While she could still not believe the strength of her climax, something she would never forget, her heart ached for the loss of their growing friendship. He'd laughed with her. And she'd spoiled it all by throwing herself at him like some frustrated spinster.

No wonder he'd walked out with that look of disgust on his face.

She let go a shuddering breath and paced around the small room. Walking to keep warm and to dispel the fear inside her, the burgeoning panic. And as she walked she could not help looking at that door. Waiting for him to return.