Knight In My Bed (31 page)

Isolde turned to the windows and stared out at the great sweep of the night-darkened sea. MacKinnons' Isle rode low against the dark horizon.

"I know the truth," she said, a wistful note in her voice. "And I truly wish our truths were the same."

"And why do you wish that?" The words came from just above her ear.

He'd stepped closer. So near she could scarce draw a breath, so compelling was the sheer weight of his presence. He placed his hands on her shoulders and the warm contact sent a floodtide of pleasure streaming through her.

With great gentleness, he turned her to face him, but the last vestiges of her courage, all her bold seduction schemes, clung to the bank of windows, staunchly threatening to leap away into the night, traitorously joining her strength and resolve.

Both of which had taken the same escape route earlier.

Her steel wholly vanquished, she wriggled from his grasp and crossed the room to her strongbox. She fumbled with its lock, then threw open the curved, iron-banded lid. She thrust her hand inside. "Here!" she called, his jeweled brooch in her hand. “Your gold brooch."

Mayhap the return of the jewel-studded treasure would distract him, take some of the heat from his gaze, until she could summon back her nerve.

Her boldness.

The courage she needed to ask him to kiss her again.

The daring she needed to drop her gown and display her breasts.

Evelina had sworn naught stirred a man faster than a woman's bared bosom.

But when she held out the brooch, he shook his head. ”Nay, you keep it," he said. "It is of great value and shall
 
recompense you most liberally for ... for the enjoyment of your
 
company."

Isolde's eyes flew wide. She dropped the brooch as if it'd become a writhing snake. But as quickly, she snatched it up again. Holding the offending piece by the tips of her thumb and middle finger, she let the brooch fall onto the tabletop.

Bristling inside and out, she whirled to face the MacLean.

And immediately wished she hadn't.

His handsome face was unsmiling, but something unfathomable glowed deep in his eyes. A warmth that belied the cold words he'd tossed at her. "You do not want the brooch?" His voice held a peculiar thickness. "Truly not?"

Isolde shook her head, her ire swept away by the power of his stare. "I-I told you, I have no use for such frippery," she stammered.

Saints, but he could look at a woman.

The corners of his mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile. "You mean that, don't you?" he asked, and Isolde heard his astonishment.

His incredulity.

"I do not lie."

One dark brow shot upward.

She blushed. "Not about such things."

The ghost of a smile that had been playing across his mouth burst to life in a full-bodied, flashing grin of such intensity, its brightness near blinded her.

What the smile did to his eyes stole her breath.

"You please me more than you ken, Isolde of Dunmuir," he said, the soft note in his voice going straight to her heart.

Her steel returning, she wanted naught but to be pulled against his hard body, to feel his arms around her once more, and sink into the magic of his kiss.

"Come here." His remarkable dark eyes smoldered with warmth.

A longing such as she had never known filled her. His brooch forgotten, she simply looked at him, too moonstruck to move. Silvered light from the windows shimmered on his raven hair, while warmer light from the cresset lamp danced over the planes of his face and his broad shoulders.

Isolde took a deep breath, half-amazed she could, so deep were the stirrings he aroused in her. But she wasn't about to go to him. He was supposed to come to her. That had been her plan.

She' d meant to seduce him.

His smile changed, became a shade more intense.

More
compelling
.

Would that she'd found the blush of rose!

Scarlet-tinted nipples peeking at him would surely give her the advantage.

Expelling a gusty breath of pure frustration, she closed her eyes. Only briefly. Just long enough to shield herself from the wild attraction he presented.

He didn't appear similarly stricken. He stood bold and proud, legs apart, hands braced on his hips, his dark eyes flashing. And staring right at her, into her.

Into her very soul.

Her heart
.

"Come here," he repeated. "There is something I would ask you."

When she didn't move, he lifted his hands, showing her his palms. "Fairest maid, did I have my gloves at hand, I would present one to you on bended knee. A knightly tribute your grace and beauty." His courtly words came just smooth enough to impress her, and sincere enough to soften heart.

"But alas, I find myself bare-handed," he went on, his words warm and mellifluous. "Thus I must employ other knightly devices to win your favor."

But you already have
, her heart answered.

"A kiss?" the maid of steel wanted to know.

"Aye, a kiss." He extended his hand, beckoning her. "But first a simple question."

"A question?" Isolde hoped he couldn't see her disappointment.

He lowered his hand. "You desire more?" He feigned puzzlement. "More than a kiss and a few words?"

She did.

She desired ... everything
.

"Can I not answer from here?" she ventured, fingering the end of one of her braids in a feeble attempt to disguise the trembling in her hands.

And to attract his attention to her hair. Another infallible lure for unsuspecting seduction victims, Evelina had assured her.

"As you wish." He gave her a casual shrug, but the glitter in his eyes was anything but indifferent. Folding his arms, he regarded her with a penetrating look. "Why did you avoid looking at me when you came to speak with Gavin?"

Her eyes flew wide.

She could not tell him why.

"I await your answer, lady."

Isolde looked down. "I ... I..." She threw up her hands. “ `Twas your chest," snapped the steely wench, much to her dismay. “Your
 
bonnie chest.
I-It unnerved me."

His shout of laughter filled the room. She glanced at him. Horror-struck at her own tongue's brazenness.

"
Unnerved
you?" He peered at her, and for once, both of his brows shot heavenward. "You find my bare chest bonnie and that unnerves you?"

She nodded, unable to lie.

His wicked smile returned, more devastating than ever. "Then mayhap you should see it again?" Not taking his gaze off her, he divested himself of his fine leather belt and tossed it aside. He reached for the bottom of his tunic. "Aye, I believe you need to see my bonnie chest again," he said, and pulled the shirt over his head.

Isolde eyed his splendor, keenly aware of the wondrous urgings gazing upon him called forth in her.

Faith, but he was magnificent.

As he well knew.

The knowledge gleamed in his rich brown eyes. His strapping good looks and his sublime self-confidence sent eddies of feminine awe whirling through her and lit fires in all her dark and mysterious womanly places.

"And now, sweeting, I believe we shall have another lesson in
enlightenment.
"

He came forward, his each step firing a new stab of pure heated desire straight to her core. His dark allure swirled around her like a warmed, silk-lined mantle, enveloping her in his mastery until she could do naught but stand and stare at him.

His eyes crinkled in amusement. "A bonnie chest, you say?” Tilting his head to the side, he took her hands in his. The feel of his fingers closing over hers, strong and warm, her senses to reeling.

"So look upon me, Isolde of Dunmuir, until I unnerve you no more."

And she did.

The bold lass in her reveled in the wide set of his shoulders, the play of hearth fire over the hard-muscled expanse of his chest. A delicious tension spread through her, a sensation both disturbing and exhilarating.

He was gloriously handsome.

She yearned to trace her fingers along the smooth contours of his powerful arms. Her gaze dropped to his taut stomach, flat and well-honed. Iron strength and carefully restrained power emanated from every bold male inch of him.

His high looks and charm of manner proved more potent than all of Devorgilla's love concoctions combined.

Not that her potion had been blended to cull a man's favor.

Taking her leisure at studying his noble physique, she returned her attention to his face. First to the hard, firm line of his jaw, then to the full, sensual curve of his lips, the silken fall of his thick black hair, and finally his eyes.

A knight's eyes.

Heavy-lidded with desire, dark and full of ardor.

Ardor for her

A soft sigh escaped her, and she glanced away, unconsciously seeking a reprieve from the sheer headiness of just gazing at him. She needed her wits about her if she hoped to seduce him.

Thus far, 'twas he who was doing the seducing.

She who would succumb.

Her brow knitted in perturbation.

"I vow you must look some more," he said, the levity in his deep voice striking the balance she needed to offset her burgeoning ill ease at having her plans so easily wrested from her control.

He brought her hands to his lips and kissed all ten fingertips. Each kiss sent showers of tingles washing over her. "You still appear. . . unnerved."

"I-I have seen enough," she said, hating the quiver in her voice.

Releasing her hands, he spread his arms wide and turned in a slow circle. "You've no reason to be afraid," he said, coming to a stop before her. "I told you, knights admire wenches with steel in their blood."

His gentle teasing made her heart skitter wildly. Then his jollity faded, and the look of the predator returned.

Dark, stirring, determined.

The look alone would have sent a less bold lass diving under her bed.

The look made Isolde want to dive into her bed.

With him
.

Now.

"And what do knights like wenches to do?" she asked, striving for a low, sultry tone like Evelina.

She must've failed sorely, for rather than darken with desire, his eyes crinkled with renewed mirth.

He'd seen through her ploy and was laughing at her.

But then he scratched his chin, and she recognized his ploy as well. He meant to play along with her. One finger moving oh-so-slowly along his jawline, he gave her question a new twist. "What do knights like wenches to do for or to them?"

For or to them?

The possibilities, everything Evelina had taught her, landed in one great rush ... there, close by the tops of her thighs where a pulsing ache had begun.

Do such things for or to him? Mercy, but she wanted both options.

In every variant.

"Well?" He stepped so close the heady musk of his dark male scent did powerful things to her senses.

And to her fool tongue, for it seemed to have swelled to ten times its size. She couldn't speak, could only stare at him, waiting for him to relieve the unquenched stirrings he roused in her.

Waiting for his knight's kisses.

"This knight would like you to do something for him," he said, and touched his fingers to the smooth curve of her cheek.

She leaned into his touch, a brazen maid, silently urging not to take away his hand.

Not to withdraw its magic.

"Will you do something for me?" The low, huskily spoken words sank into her soul.

She nodded, not even considering denying him.

Not caring what it was he wanted.

A blush stole up her neck, for the truth was, she hoped whate'er it was, would be bold. Lascivious and daring enough to quench the fire raging in her blood.

May the saints preserve her wanton soul.

He slipped his hand around her neck, let his fingers caress her nape. "Will you do two things for me?"

She gulped, and nodded again. "If you wish," she agreed, the words an embarrassing squeak.

He looked sharply at her. "Have you imbibed more of that wretched potion?"

She started to shake her head in denial, but before she could, he'd lowered his mouth to hers. Her heart stopped, she was sure of it, so intense were the flames of desire flaring inside her, licking at her very core.

So
thrilling
to have him kiss her again.

But rather than the sweeping knight's kiss she'd hoped for, he merely flicked the tip of his tongue over her lips.

Tasted her

A soft, gentle lick, naught more. Fleeting and light as a butterfly's wing, a simple taste to see if he could detect the anti-attraction potion on her lips.