Sisters of Colford Hall 01 - The Invasion of Falgannon Isle (32 page)

“Och, hasn’t he learned Montgomeries never listen?” Ian patted her on the shoulder. “Happy Valentine’s Day. Enjoy your present.”

She kissed them both on the cheek. “Thanks. See everyone leaves us alone, please.”

Leaning against the bedpost, she stared at Desmond. His long black hair, its waves made her itch to run her fingers through it. With delightful plans in mind, she was eager to have at it, but she could also stand and ogle him all night. Both cats jumped on the bed, headed for Desmond.

“Well, do I start at the top and work down, or begin with the socks and make my way up to that sexy mouth?” B.A. asked herself.

“B.A.?” Desmond mumbled.

“Here, Des.”
And ready,
she added silently.

“My head…”

She grinned, warming to the task ahead. “You’re shite-faced. Let’s get you out of your clothes and tucked up.”

Annie pounced upon Desmond’s foot. Dudley stretched out with a look that said,
Better thee than me
.

“Hey,” Desmond complained, as the kitten’s play became a little too spirited.

“She’s excited to see you.” B.A. sat on the bed to pull off his sweater.. His sleepy lids lifted. “Are you?”

“You have no idea.”

As she yanked off his sweater, his hands skimmed her ribcage and upward so that his thumbs brushed the tips of her breasts. Back and forth. Back and forth. B.A. nearly lost her train of thought as her body ignited. The damn bustier she had on under her robe pushed her breasts up, so every stroke was like yanking puppet strings.

His white teeth flashed. “Yeah, very excited.”

She shuddered, fighting the pull of her need for him. “Hold that delicious thought, Des, and let’s get you undressed.”

“So you can have your wicked way with me?”

“Precisely.” Tugging his t-shirt over his head, she pushed him on the back. “It’s after midnight. Valentine’s Day.”

“Is it?”

She removed his socks, then unbuckled his pants and pulled them off, stopping to laugh at the boxers. He was wearing the pair she’d given him for Christmas, with Bullwinkle the Moose taking a bath on them. Of course, Bullwinkle was slightly distorted by his pulsing erection. Ratting it, she said, “Down boy, we’ve a ways to go.”

Despite evidence of his interest, she could tell he was drifting. Fine with her. She had a few tricks up her sleeve and preferred he didn’t discover his Valentine’s present until everything was in place. She wiggled the Bullwinkle shorts off his body, then sighed at the perfection of Desmond Mershan.

“Am I lucky or what?” she said.

Opening the nightstand drawer, she removed Desmond’s gift. She uncoiled it slowly so that it didn’t jingle. Snapping one end to the ring Skylar had installed at the base of the headboard bedpost, she locked it. On the end of the chain, B.A. slipped the padded leather cuff around Desmond’s ankle, saying a little prayer it’d be as strong as Skylar promised. Somehow, she suspected Desmond would pitch a wee tizzy when he sobered. Then the fun would begin.

The cuff fit like she wanted: not tight. The small lock shut with a satisfying click. The way she looked at it, she was merely continuing an old family tradition.

She set a glass with Morag’s goop on the nightstand. She was tempted to let him sleep, but then he’d awaken with a hangover. He’d be cranky enough when he discovered the chain.

Sitting on the bed by his hips, she stroked his beautiful chest. Leaning across him, she put her head against his heart, listening to its slow, strong thudding. His arms came up, clutching her shoulders, cradling her against him. Telling her what she needed to know.

Untangling his arms, she helped him sit. “Des, drink this.” He downed half a glass, then pushed it away. She insisted. “The
whole glass,
my braw laddie.”

Morag’s brew worked without fail, outside of Dennis and Wulf, but she wasn’t sure how fast so B.A. pulled the duvet over him. Leaning close, she kissed his forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” she promised.

*

A yanking on the chain brought B.A. awake with a start. It took seconds to get her brain in gear. Desmond was awake, and the sweet man looked perturbed. Good. This wouldn’t be fun if he just accepted it.

“B.A., what the hell is this?” He held up the chain attached to his ankle.

“Rather self-evident,” she replied, getting up.

He gave several sharp pulls. “Damnit, B.A., this is a lousy joke.”

B.A. approached his side of the bed. “Skylar did a bang-on job.”

“This isn’t funny,” he snarled.

She smiled sweetly. “Speak for yourself.”

A couple more yanks only increased his temper. “B.A., unlock this bloody thing.”

“After I went to all this hard work? I think not.”

“You didn’t even leave me my shorts!”

She shrugged. “I love Bullwinkle, but dinna think he was conducive to this setting.”

He stopped jerking on the chain. “You planned this, had them get me drunk. Why?”

“I’m following the tradition started by our ancestors. I’d think Deporadh and Iain would be proud. Besides”—she held out her arms, showing off her red silk robe—“it’s Valentine’s Day. That’s why I’m in red.” She lifted the lapel of her gown an inch so she could peek down at the bustier Oona designed. “Actually, not
all
red. There’s a touch of black.”

Desmond stared. “You’re my present?”

She laughed. “Not quite—you’re mine.” She touched the cuff, then trailed her hand up the inside of his leg. “The chain’s long enough to reach the bathroom, but not to go downstairs. I warned you I’d stop you from leaving the island.”

“I never thought you’d chain me to the damn bed!”

Poor Des, his face revealed so many emotions: frustration at finding himself chained, determination… Yet his eyes kept going to her cleavage. She had him hooked as well as cuffed.

“Should I consider myself lucky you didn’t cuff my wrists, too?”

“Figured your hands might be put to good use.”

He glared at her. “What if I
refuse
to put my hands to good use?”

“Your choice.” But playing dirty, she slowly pulled on her belt until the sides of her robe parted. “Oona’s launching a new line for Falgannon Bridal Gallery.”

“Why didn’t I know?” Quirking a brow, Desmond sat back and crossed his arms.

“Your first morning on Falgannon, I brought you breakfast and had red roses on the tray? My Lady’s Passion always reminded me of red satin and black lace. You echoed my thoughts. Recall?”

“I recollect, B.A.” His eyes said he remembered every detail.

“I asked Oona to design something in that shade of red, trimmed with black lace… and ta-da.” The robe dropped from her shoulders, spilling in a pool of scarlet around her bare feet. The scarlet bustier cinched in her waist and flared over her hips, but she didn’t think Desmond noticed; his line of vision didn’t get that low. “Will the new Falgannon honeymoon line be a success?” she asked.

His smoldering eyes ruined his air of sangfroid. “It has… possibilities.”

She turned, lifting her long hair so he could see how the bustier laced up the back. “It also has tiny hooks up the front so a woman can—”

“Or a man,” he growled.

She smiled over her shoulder. “Or a man, yes. So the bustier can be undone. Oona said she wants your impressions.”

He growled. “I’m not sure I like being Oona’s lab rat.”

She turned, coming near enough to see the black ring around his pale green eyes. The flare of his nostrils reminded her of a stallion scenting a mare in season. “As I watched you rub those roses against your lips, I wanted to have something like this on. I wanted you so badly, as I’d never wanted any man. Only, you see I’m a coward. I lost everything. I hid on this island, afraid of being hurt again. You wouldn’t let me hide. You made me risk all. So I’m taking one final gamble. You’ve lost your bid for revenge. But can you leave me, Des? Really walk away from me? I won’t let you.”

B.A. leaned forward, brushing her mouth against his. She savored his taste, which made her dizzy, so she failed to anticipate his spring. Desmond’s hands suddenly grabbed her about the waist, lifted her with ease and tossed her diagonally across the bed. On his hands and knees, he loomed over her; his eyes devoured her.

“What am I to do with you, B.A.?”

The woman in her reveled in the pure male power surging through him. She reached up and stroked both his cheeks with her thumbs.
“Love
me, Des, just love me.”

He turned to kiss the inside of her left hand, then her right. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his face against her palm. A tear slid across it. She nearly flinched, not wanting to cause Desmond hurt, but she’d be damned if she’d make any escape easy for him.

Then he was kissing her—not a gentle kiss, but one speaking his violent need. It’d been a while since he last shaved, so his whiskers were rough. That didn’t stop her from responding in full measure. She held nothing back, pouring her love into her passion, letting her body speak so eloquently those words he didn’t want to hear.

Ripping her black thong, he entered her in one hard plunge. It was as though he sought to bring this to a brutal physical level rather than one of love. He stretched her arms over her head, then laced his fingers with hers, and he drove himself into her again and again. Determined not to let him have total control, she arched, meeting each fierce thrust.

A climax came, splintering her into a thousand red-hot shards. But instead of relaxing and allowing himself ecstasy, he increased his pace, driving onward, not giving any retreat.

“Again, B.A.”

She purred, “Yes, Des, again.” Wrapping her legs about his waist, she increased the angle and let the emotional storm sweep through them.

Desmond held a key between two his fingers: the key to his freedom.

Or was it?

He’d awoken an hour ago, jerked up, covered in sweat, fighting to escape a nightmare. His heart hurt worse than ever before. It felt as if a fist gripped it, squeezed.

He glanced at B.A., who was sleeping soundly. Small wonder. Saturday and Sunday they’d barely slept. They’d made love with a relentless, lashing passion; B.A. trying to convince him he couldn’t leave her, he hungrily soaking up every moment to carry away with him.

His exhaustion had allowed the dream to come. His father’s death. Yet, for the first time, instead of seeing it up close, there was an odd distance, as though he looked through the wrong end of a telescope. The heartbreaking memories, the pain he carried, his mother… feeling he should’ve done something
more
to make it easier for her… Even the shame, that though he was one of the richest men in the world, he hadn’t been able to make her happy. Oddly, he’d viewed it all with detachment. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t get closer. Gray mist swirled about him. If he could push his way through the fog, he’d find… something. He had to hurry or he’d never unearth the elusive piece.

The key to saving himself.

He stared at the key in his fingers, wondering if he was headed for a heart attack or silently going mad. The answer was just out of reach.

He’d figured out B.A.‘s hiding place. She’d taped the key to the bottom of the snow globe LynneAnne gave her for Christmas. The globe had a huge white rose in it, and behind that, a castle. With the snow swirling, the fortress resembled Falgannon. A special gift, it was her sister’s promise of what could be. How fitting that B.A. would choose to hide the key there.

Resolute, he knew he couldn’t stay. He unlocked the cuff around his ankle, smiling at the lass’s audacity. Her imagination. Her love. Few women would go all out to convince a man of their feelings. That B.A. loved him, he had no doubt. Even after all he’d done. And with all the destructive emotions swirling within, that was why he had to go. He feared he might lash out and hurt her.

Desmond stalked to the window, staring into the pale dawn. He tilted his head back against the emotion threatening to swamp him. “I wish you hadn’t done this. It’s not making it any easier on me, B.A.”

Her voice breaking, she replied from the shadows, “I
don’t want
to make it easy, Des.”

He spun, surprised she was awake. “B.A., don’t you see I can’t stay? I’ll hurt you.”

B.A. came up behind him, sliding her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. “The only way you’ll hurt me is if you leave.”

B.A. leaned her head against Desmond, fighting tears. She felt his thudding heart. Hard. Too hard. The aftereffects of another nightmare.

If he could only open that heart…

He turned, his hands taking hold of her arms. “Come with me,” he whispered, a tinge of desperation eking through the words. “Maybe away from Falgannon we could find a life together.”

“Maybe?” she echoed hollowly.

Her eyes searched his face, drowned in those beautiful eyes. It’d be so easy to say yes. He was a man she’d follow through hell and back. Only, giving in to him would see a slow death in their relationship take hold. A woman could accept a lot from the man she loves; they had since the dawn of time. But not to watch their love die. No matter how strong a woman was, she couldn’t go through that crucible and survive. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” he growled through gritted teeth.

“Either… both.” She trembled.

“Damn you.” His eyes were full of fury, full of pain. “Damn me…”

He pushed her to the bed, his mouth taking hers. He kissed her until reason fled and only the consuming flames of passion remained. He devoured her with the hunger of a man seeking dominance or salvation. He pulled B.A. under him, his weight bearing down to pin her in place as if he feared her resisting him. As if she ever would.

She knew she waged a losing battle, and it’d likely see her gutted in the end. Time was running out. Desmond was too long in planning his revenge, and too wrapped up in grief; he couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t see what he’d done when he stood before Lady Rock.
Forever.
Worse, he failed to recognize the end result would leave him empty and hating himself.

Yet denying him would never cross her mind.

This was their last battlefield. She
had
to reach him, to cradle his wounded soul with her love and pray it was enough. If not, he’d destroy them both. She poured out every ounce of her love, her need, into her kiss, trying to show him there was something beyond cold vengeance, old promises, childhood pain. She held back nothing, giving everything he demanded, more than he asked. For this was nothing short of war, and she’d fight with every weapon she had, push him as hard as he pushed her. Maybe the conflagration would burn away his hatred, the anguish of the child who never healed inside him, destroy the scar tissue so something wonderful could take seed. They said wildfires that destroyed forests cleansed away decay and choking vines. More importantly, it was only through purging fire that pinecone seeds opened and created seedlings. Witch that she was, B.A. knew this fire would do the same: create a life within her. She prayed with every fiber of her being that love could vanquish the memories strangling Desmond, replace the destructive bent with a bright promise of hope and happiness… with her and the child they’d create.