Highlander in Her Bed (25 page)

"Say you?" The flaxen-haired beauty locked eyes with him, lifted a brow. "I have not even begun to please you," she purred, massaging more scented oil into his toes.

She held his gaze, pulling gently on each toe. "Good sir, if you think this is pleasing, wait until I massage… higher," she said, never breaking her rhythm, her caressing fingers working a sensual magic he'd never dreamed.

Alex swallowed, his world contracting to the wooden bathing tub, the curls of steam rising off the heated water, and the Nordic beauty's tantalizing movements.

Bran hadn't exaggerated her skill.

She was a true Valkyrie; her erotic mastery took his breath and each glide of her fingers across his skin made him feel as if a thousand sweet, soft lips were playing over his foot. All at once.

He shifted in the tub, anticipation spiking inside him. Delicious sensations streaked from his toes to his loins, hardening him. Most encouraging of all, his ache for
her
was receding. Not much, but enough to give him hope. And the little stabs of guilt Hardwick had hurled at him no longer sat quite so deep.

Flickering torchlight gilded the Norsewoman's bountiful curves and he watched her gladly, enjoying how her magnificent breasts rose and fell in time with her ministrations. "Sweet lass, you asked if the oil is warm enough," he said, catching one of her hands and placing a kiss in her palm. "Were it any warmer, I'd melt."

She smiled and dipped a hand in the steaming water, trailed dripping fingers down his chest. "Then perhaps we should move to the bed?" she suggested, her gaze following the path of her fingers as they slid lower.

"You are a well-favored man," she crooned, skimming her fingers over the thick curls at his groin. "It will be a rare pleasure to attend you."

"Soon, lass, soon," Alex breathed, her mention of the word
bed
unleashing another stinging bout of the guilt jabs.

Suppressing them, he closed his eyes, focused on her hand moving over him. She was stroking him in the same way Mara had stroked him during her dream walk. Then, when she'd reached up beneath his plaid and closed her fingers around him.

But unlike Mara's dream fingers, he could feel Lady Galiana's.

Feel them and imagine they were Mara's.

Which was exactly what he shouldn't be doing.

He frowned, bit back a groan.

He deserved to take his ease. Especially when it had been so long since a woman had touched him intimately. Between the warm water swirling around him and the practiced magic of the Norsewoman's fingers, it was only natural that he'd hardened to bursting.

Glancing up at the raftered ceiling, he drew a sharp breath, closer to the brink than he'd been in centuries.

Then her fingers dipped even lower, playfully dancing over his tightened balls, kneading and caressing them. "You could intoxicate a woman," she breathed, taking his engorged length in another firm grip and stroking.

"Have mercy!" he hissed, almost bucking out of the water.

Damn his soul for being so needy. And damn Mara MacDougall for making him burn with such raging desire that one of Bran of Barra's light-skirts almost had him spilling his seed into the bathwater.

Shame himself like a beardless squire catching his first whiff of a woman.

And it was
her
fault he was so vulnerable. Had she not enflamed him beyond all reason, he'd be the seducer here. Tireless and masterly, he'd have the Norse beauty and any other of Bran's
fancies
quivering with need and writhing beneath him, screaming their pleasure as he satisfied them one by one.

Perhaps even two at a time!

Once, in the days before Isobel MacDougall, he'd even managed three.

But now he could think only of
her
. And doing so had him about to spill before his aching shaft came even close to the flaxen-haired wench's honeypot.

A sweetness that suddenly held no interest whatsoever for him.

Even repulsed him.

Indeed, just the thought of sinking himself into any female except Mara MacDougall instantly dampened his desire, diminishing his need in a painfully visible manner.

A display even more embarrassing than had he lost control and loosed his seed too soon.

Alex scowled. His head began to pound. "Sakes alive," he ground out, clenching his hands on the rim of the bathing tub, humiliation flashing through him.

He grit his teeth and closed his eyes, unable to meet the Norsewoman's eyes. He knew she'd be troubled. Perplexed at best, mocking and scornful at worst.

And with good reason.

He was scornful with himself. Was Mara's hold over him so strong he couldn't even function with another woman? Even after centuries of monking?

A humbled glance downward through his lashes gave him his answer.

Och, aye, it was undeniably so.

No one but his flame-haired, amber-eyed minx of a MacDougall would do.

And he was stark raving mad.

Madly in love.

"Do I displease you?" the Norsewoman probed, her tone proving she already knew.

Alex sighed. "It isn't you," he said, opening his eyes and looking up at her.

To his amazement, she no longer appeared quite as beautiful as she had in the hall. Perhaps it was the torchlight, but her white-blond braid suddenly minded him more of sun-bleached straw than silken flax, the pale shade striking him as colorless compared to Mara's burnished copper tresses.

"If it isn't me, then what is it?" the Valkyrie demanded, her annoyance palpable. "Have I less charms than you are accustomed to? Or shall I display them more freely?"

Standing tall, she smoothed both hands over her full breasts, lifting and plumping them until the pale pink rims of her nipples appeared over the gold braid at the edge of her bodice. "Do you not like what you see?"

Alex hesitated. "You are lovely," he hedged, crossing his legs to hide his lack of appreciation. "Well made and… rousing. A proud woman," he added, trying to sink lower into the tub. "You would heat any man's blood."

"But not yours?" she countered, her cheeks beginning to redden.

"My heart is given," Alex spoke true, unable to pretend any longer. "And with my heart, my body as well."

Lady Galiana sniffed. "More than half the men who visit Bran's hall have wives or sweethearts elsewhere in the realm."

"I am… otherwise."

"Then prove it," she challenged, tugging down her bodice so that her bared breasts sprang into view.

Looking defiant, she plucked on her nipples, rubbing and pulling on them in ways so titillating, the sight should have made him as hard as granite.

Another man would've been stirred beyond the breaking point. She had enormous breasts, and their swollen tips begged attention. The kind of nipples a man could play with for hours, lapping and suckling at leisure, enjoying every moment.

And the Norse beauty's nipples were his for taking. Thrusting right at him, demanding his touch. Waiting. Urging him on.

The rest of her charms would be offered with equal generosity and abandonment.

Of that, he was sure.

But he didn't want her.

Nor did her huge breasts entice him. Not on closer inspection. Truth be told, they bore a strong resemblance to a milk cow's udders. And her oversized aureoles made her look worn, as if a thousand men had taken their turn suckling her.

Like as not, they had.

Even so, he couldn't look away. Nor could he speak. He'd trapped himself in a nightmare of his own making and couldn't seem to wake up.

Mortified, he hunched deeper in the wooden bathing tub and simply stared at her, wondering why he'd found her so desirable only moments before.

Now he could see the sallow tinge of her complexion, the deep lines running parallel to the lips she repeatedly pursed in at him in annoying invitation.

Why hadn't he noticed the telltale stains on her scarlet and gold gown? Obvious remnants from earlier encounters with other pleasure-seeking carousers? Truth be told, some of the soilings looked mightily fresh.

Alex swallowed, revulsion sending a shudder down his spine.

"Ahhhh, you do like what you see," she purred, clearly misinterpreting the shiver.

She stepped back a bit, her smile practiced seduction as she smoothed a hand down her abdomen, then slowly rubbed between her legs. "I knew you would prefer me to the MacDougall wench Hardwick mentioned."

"
Mara
—" Alex snapped his mouth shut, his eyes flying wide as his love's image flashed across the Norse harlot.

He blinked, his heart thundering in disbelief. But he couldn't deny it—Lady Galiana had company.

He could still see her standing there, plucking a ripe nipple with the fingers of one hand and stroking her most intimate parts with the other.

But he saw
her
, too.

Mara MacDougall.

His very own love, and she was prancing around her bedchamber wearing nothing but that tiny one-piece bit of clinging black lace.

That, and a MacDougall plaid hanging loosely about her shoulders.

He started to curse upon noting the plaid, then, much to his astonishment, discovered he didn't care.

Of much greater importance was that she was coming closer, a shadow image meshing with the Norsewoman, her sweet perfection superimposed atop Lady Galiana's hardened features.

Alex gripped the edge of the tub again, felt the room begin to spin. He tried to look away but couldn't. Beneath the fingers playing with the distended tips of Lady Galiana's enormous teats, he saw the creamy swells of Mara's breasts. When the Norsewoman suddenly yanked up her skirts, revealing a tangle of white-blond nether curls, he saw instead the lush, flame-colored triangle topping Mara's shapely thighs.

A temptation so powerful it took his breath. White-hot desire shot through him, its fierceness burning him. His loins tightened and his shaft filled with urgency, swelling and throbbing with his need to plunder those bronze curls.

"Saints of mercy!" he cried, desperation seizing him, a furious, shocking need to drag her against him and sink deep, deep inside her.

He had to have her.

Now.

Jumping to his feet, he sprang from the tub. "Mara!" he called to her, almost crashing into a standing candelabrum because the room was still spinning, whirling even faster now.

The speed made him dizzy and he hunched forward, bracing his hands on his legs, struggling to clear his pounding head.

"Lass," he tried again, straightening, searching for her in the blurring haze. "Where are you? Dinna leave me.
Please
."

But only silence answered him.

Until somewhere in the swirling madness he heard a woman's sharp intake of breath, felt soft female hands grasping at his jutting arousal.

One hand, then two, and then four…

"O-o-oh," Lady Galiana's voice reached him. "You are so large. So long and thick, so hot."

Alex
… a second voice pleaded, much fainter.
Her
voice, so beloved, but miles and centuries away, calling him fervently, luring him back to her.

Please… I need you. Want you.

Alex's heart began to thud and he clenched his fists, blinking as thick gray fog poured into the special love chamber. It swirled around him, making it difficult to see. The floor tilted, too, swaying and weaving until he lurched, struggled wildly for balance.

Still he heard the Norsewoman praising his endowments, felt her clutching at him through the mist, clinging to him in frenzied desire.

Then he caught another fleeting glimpse of his Mara.
So good, so good
, he thought she said. Though he didn't understand why she sounded so breathless, almost as if she were calling out in passion.

Then Lady Galiana loomed in front of him again, her voice rising above Mara's, her hands grasping as she fell to her knees, pressed her face against his groin. "I will make you forget her. You will see. Come, let me…"

Don't stop, please, whatever you do, don't stop…

Mara's voice swelled with strength. Golden and sweet, its pureness filled his ears, warming him as the dark mists spun faster, speeding him through the black chasm of time.

My Highlander… sooo good
… she cried, and the wonder in her voice lanced his heart.

Then her hands were all over him. Caressing and stroking even as the Norsewoman pulled on him, grasping wildly as she struggled to keep him from being swept away by the rushing winds.

"No-o-o…" the Valkyrie wailed, her voice fading.

And then he found himself alone, and there was only the familiar rush of the wind and whirling mist spiraling him through the darkness, carrying him back where he belonged.

Back to his bed.

And the woman he meant to make his.

No matter what it cost him.

"Alex!" Mara stared at him, her heart bounding. She pressed a hand to her breast, unable to trust her eyes. "My Highlander," she cried, certain she'd melt at his feet. "Are you really here?"

He stepped closer and smiled, his naked body silver gilded by moonlight. "Och, aye, lass, I am here," he confirmed, his sexy burr stealing her breath. "Just as you canna trap wind, so can nothing keep me away from you."

He looked wet. Tiny droplets of water sparkled on his shoulders and glittered in his chest hair, winking at her like a scattering of diamonds. Even as he reached for her, she knew she could only be dreaming.

The room was spinning around them, a shimmering, whirling mist blotting out everything but her bed and the two of them. Even the air pulsed in excitement, and she clung to him, clutching fast, unable to get enough.

She needed him close, skin to skin, sharing breath and sighs. Never letting go.

"Sweet minx," he breathed against her hair, the way he said the words letting her know he understood her need. "You are mine. Always and aye."

He caressed her back, his hands sliding everywhere, his touch leaving her breathless. Cascades of prickling desire spilled through her and she shivered, her need growing frantic. His kiss electrified her, each bold thrust of his tongue into her mouth sweeping her to such heights as she'd never believed existed.