Lana and the Laird (20 page)

It was divine. The caress of the summer breeze, the soft shadows of the night, and Lachlan in her arms. He was tender, reverent as he pressed her against the cool castle wall. His kiss was delightful; the hunger roiling within her howled.

Everything about him lured her. His voice, his smile, the warmth of his body against hers. As he tipped his head to the side to deepen the kiss, she buried her fingers in his hair and then, because she couldn't resist, scored him with her nails.

He reared back and stared at her, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. She loved the way his lips tweaked up. “You are a minx,” he murmured. She wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that, but it sounded as though it pleased him, so she pulled his head back down.

This time, when his mouth covered hers, it was with more urgency.

She liked his urgency and strove to incite more. To this end, she arched closer and rubbed against him. It was a simple movement, a tentative one. She didn't expect his response. It was a growl, or something like one. And then, to her surprise, he slid his tongue between her lips.

Heat shot through her. Her belly clenched. Her mind spun.

Lord. Lord in heaven above.

Cautiously, she met his foray with one of her own. He stilled, and his hold on her tightened. His hands began to rove madly, trailing pleasure wherever he touched. Her hips, her waist, and then up to her arms. He hovered there, his thumb gently stroking in wider arcs.

Impatience and anticipation whipped through her. She knew what he was preparing to do and she burned for it.

And ah! Yes! His thumb touched her breast. Only on the side, and in a very cautious sweep, but it sent pings of excitement through her. She squirmed against him to encourage more, and he groaned.

“Oh, Lana.” A plea, although for what, she didn't know.

And then she didn't care, for he encased her breast in his palm. The warmth through the thin barrier of her nightgown was heavenly. “Yes, please, Lachlan,” she whispered. “More.”

His breath stuttered and his hold tightened, and then his thumb swept up and over her nipple. Such a simple caress. It sent shards of wanting through her. It made her wanton and wild.

As he toyed with her she explored the broad expanse of his shoulders, the bunching muscles of his back, the trim cut of his waist. She loved how hard he was, how strong. That he loomed over her, yet held her so gently.

All thoughts skittered away on the wind as he made his way over her cheek and down to her neck, where his gentle kisses quickly turned to something more. As he nibbled and nipped and drove her into a frenzy, he teased her nipple, circling it, tantalizing her until she wanted to wail.

“Yes,” she whispered in his ear, before laving his lobe. “Yes.”

A cool gust hit her calves and she realized he was raising her hem. While she wanted this, needed this, she couldn't forget the fact that they were braced against the castle walls, outside, in full view of anyone who should wander by. Granted it was deep in the night and there shouldn't be anyone passing by, but the thought still lingered. She stilled.

Sensitive to her every reaction, he stopped his enchanting torment and raised his head, shooting her a curious glance. She knew, in that moment, if she so commanded, he would drop her hem and walk away.

But she didn't want him to walk away. She wanted to know. So she smiled at him.

The relief flooding his face was nearly comical, but Lana was too bemused to be amused. Because just then, he touched her. Aye, it was only his palm. And only on her thigh, but the intimate touch sent exhilaration screaming through her.

She lapped at her lips and his gaze locked on her mouth. His features were harsh, his muscles tight. Slowly, and with great care, he eased his palm higher and higher.

Lana's breath caught. The moment hummed between them. The heat of his hand scored her as he moved closer to the aching bundle of nerves at the crux of her thighs. It was hard not to quiver as he neared. Hard not to quake.

When he skimmed the downy nest, delight danced up her spine and she whimpered. His expression darkened even more, became so intense, it nearly frightened her. But it was an exciting kind of fear. One that made her blood pump in her veins. Made her belly ache. Made her head spin.

Holding her gaze, he traced her crease. Her knees nearly gave way as he brushed a tender spot, sending showers of pleasure through her. A strange dampness flooded her body, making her boneless and weak.

Ah, but that was only the beginning.

He delved deeper and touched her fully. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, the pleasure was so intense.

“Do you like this, Lana?” he whispered. She loved that he sounded gruff, impatient.

“Och, aye.” She wanted to kiss him again, pull his head down and take his lips and suck on his tongue, but he did something that made her mindless, made her forget all resolution. He scraped her with a nail, barraging her with delicious sensations.

His eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched. His strokes intensified. To her shock, he encased her breast with his mouth and sucked on her swollen nipple through the material of her nightdress.

Lana nearly swooned. The dual torment, the tandem bliss, nearly stole her senses. It was all she could do to remember to breathe. She clutched at his shoulders and thrashed and moaned and melted to his touch as he played her, stroking, nibbling, nipping.

The storm within her rose, beginning in her belly and coiling outward in ever-arching swirls. As her muscles tightened, he increased his intensity, his fingers moving faster and faster, his lips and teeth and tongue plying her with pleasure.

She didn't understand the tempest within her, and she didn't care. It was enough to simply feel. Though the cacophony was delicious, delirious, delightful, it was woven through with ribbons of need, ribbons that wound tighter and tighter and tighter.

She had the sense she was climbing a summit, reaching for some ultimate prize, but she didn't know what it was. Still, as he worked her, she strove for it.

And ah … When she reached it … When she finally hit the peak … She knew.

This
was what she had yearned for.

The release was exquisite, washing her over with endless waves of ecstasy. Her soul seemed to launch from her body and twirl in the ether. Shudders, quivers, and quakes took her, each more wondrous than the last.

And Lachlan, bless him, kept stroking her, though more slowly, bringing her back to earth with gentle care. And all the while, he held her.

Thank God he held her, or she would have melted into a puddle on the flagstones.

When she was finally able to stand on her own, when she was finally able to breathe again, she cupped his chin and kissed him.

“That was lovely,” she murmured.

“It was.” He didn't smile. Indeed, his harsh expression didn't lighten. He stared at her, his eyes rimmed with red. “
You
are lovely.” With one last, lingering caress, he let her hem fall, and stepped away.

Lana frowned. While she was something of an innocent, she wasn't completely clueless. She knew this type of interaction was merely a prequel to something more. And she knew he wanted more. The bulge in his breeches was undeniable. Yet he stepped away. “Lachlan?”

He raked his hair. “I should not have done that.”

She couldn't hold back her chuckle. “I am verra glad you did.”

Though he tried not to—she could tell—he smiled. “I'm glad. But in future, you must remind me to keep my … hands to myself.”

“I most certainly will not.”

He blinked. “You won't?”

“I rather enjoyed that. And I would like to try … more.”

“More?”

“You know.” She sidled up against him; his body was hard and insistent against hers. His cock thrummed against her belly. She couldn't resist a wiggle.

His groan rumbled on the air. “Lana. You do test me.”

“Well, for heaven's sake. Why?”

“I told you about my vow.”

“Aye. 'Tis a silly vow”

“It most decidedly is not. I cannot take the chance of continuing my line.”

She sniffed. It was a silly vow, just as his curse was silly. But neither could keep her from claiming what she desired. She shot him an innocent look and fluttered her lashes. “I doona know a lot about the ways of men and women—”

He huffed a laugh and muttered something that sounded like, “Thank God for small favors.”

“But I do know…” She fiddled with his collar, and he allowed it.

“What?”

“Are there no' … ways to prevent conception?”

He gaped at her. “How on earth do you know about such things?”

She sighed. “I am a Scots lass.”

“It is, however, beside the point. I am a duke. I do not ravage maidens.”

Oh, how exasperating.

But Lana was a clever girl and she had much experience managing exasperating men, having grown up with Magnus Dounreay as a father. She nibbled her lip, considering her options. A brilliant idea blossomed. “I know! I could give my virginity to someone else first.”

Lachlan reared back, nostrils flared. “You will not.”

Oh, dear. Even though she'd been teasing—she would never do anything of the sort—his response was feral. Perhaps this wasn't the best tack after all. But then again, maybe it was. She liked his ferocity. She liked the hint of jealousy in his eye. Perhaps she could use this to incite him to forget his vow.

Men were like that, she'd found. They tended to forget their vows when there was something else they wanted more.

She fixed her features in a truculent arrangement. “It only makes sense.”

“It most certainly does not make sense.”

“Aye. It does. If I am no' an innocent, then you would have no qualms about ravaging me.”

“I would have plenty of qualms.”

“Nonsense. If I were no' a virgin, you wouldna be ravaging anything.” She waggled a finger at him. “Use your logic.”

“There is nothing logical about this conversation in the least.”

“The more I think on it, the better I like the idea.”

He made a sound. Something like a growl. “You are no' giving yourself to some other man.”

“I have to give myself to someone. At some point.”

“Not necessarily.” A snarl.

“Lachlan, be reasonable.”

“Me? Be reasonable?
Me?
”

Lana affected a sigh. “I would rather it was you, you know, for the first time, but I would be happy to make the sacrifice of taking another man as my first lover if it helped ease your worries.”

He gaped at her. His lips worked.”But Lana … You deserve a man far better than I.”

This declaration devastated her. Not just the words, but the tone with which he said them. So sad. So desolate. So resigned. It scuttled her impish urge to tease him more. She set her palm to his cheek and forced him to look her in the eye. “You are a fine, fine man.”

“I am no'.”

“One of the finest men I have ever met.”

“I doona know how you can say that.”

“Do you no'?” She set her hand on his. “I can say it because I know you, Lachlan. I've seen your soul.”

 

CHAPTER TEN

I've seen your soul.

Holy God.
He stared at her, his muscles tense, his mind awhirl. The aforementioned soul, heaving against its bonds.

Oh, how magnificent she was. And how wonderful to hear those words. To feel the blanket of her acceptance.

It was a pity she was deluded.

Never in his life had he known such a welling of warmth. How he wished he could sink into it. That he could be the man she thought he was. That he could have her in every way.

But he couldn't.

It took some effort, but he reminded himself of who and what he was. Of the shadow lurking on his horizon. Of the misery any assignation between them would bring down on her head.

“Lana. You doona know what you are saying.”

Her lips pursed in an intransigent pout. They absorbed his attention, that and the unholy urge to kiss her again. He could not kiss her again. Should not. This interaction had shown him just how weak his resolve was. How easily he tossed his convictions into the wind.

“I do,” she muttered. “I know more than you think.”

Did she?

Did she know what touching her, holding her, fucking stroking her had done to him? Did she know that it had been all he could manage to step away once he'd brought her to bliss? Did she have any clue what he'd wanted to do? What he still wanted to do? Could she suspect the howling beast she'd woken within him?

If she could really see him, see the aching, desperate, savage man beneath his polished veneer, she would run screaming. Any sane woman would.

“Lana, I am not the man for you.”

It killed him to say it. Nearly as much as it had scored his soul to hear her suggest she lie with another man.
Fuck.
That thought, that image, that prospect had nearly made his head explode.

He'd never thought himself a violent man, but in that moment he'd known such panic, such savage jealousy, he could have been.

He felt torn in two. On the one side was his logical mind, reminding him of the facts, the truth, the undeniable reality of his life. On the other, a hungry, ferocious beast who would do anything, be anyone, to be with her.

“Are you no'?”

“No. I am not.” Harsh. Guttural. Desolate.

“And I have no say in this?”

His heart stuttered. “It has to be this way.”

“I … understand.” It was disarming, the vulnerability with which she stared at him. Her lashes flickered and she looked away.

“What? What do you understand?”

She smiled, a wan offering. “You are a duke.”

His brow lowered. “What does that mean?”

“It means you are a duke. And I am no' of your station.”