Some Like It Scot (27 page)

“Is it okay, really?” she asked, dropping the teasing banter and asking him honestly.

“It's only because it does seem okay, very okay, that I can even imagine asking you to. It's no' just because I know you're used to fine things, Katie. It's that I see you as deserving of being kept in that manner and much more.”

“Well, we both know I'm no longer a kept woman, by my family, or by you. If you're inviting me to stay as your guest because it's me, personally, not some image of me…that you'd like to have—”

That's as far as she got.

Graham lifted her directly off her feet, and up against his chest, wrapped in his arms, face to face, where he took her mouth with his with the kind of focused intensity she'd been trying to describe about his work lab.

He made her feel nothing like a lab specimen, and everything like a desirable woman who was about to be thoroughly ravished.

She was definitely happy with that particular plan.

So she kissed him back.

G
raham had so many thoughts and feelings running through him as he'd watched Katie look at his home, his life, himself, really, for the first time, he didn't know how to begin processing it all. He'd worried, on the whole trip out, about having her there. What had he been thinking? He should have booked them into a room in town.

But he didn't want to share her, that first time of being in one place, his home. In the village, there would have been no peace. Quite the opposite, it would have been like conducting his courtship of her on a grand stage, with everyone watching and giving advice. So, in that respect, his home was perfect.

But it was the only thing he'd felt was perfect, the closer they got.

Then she'd come inside, and been more perfectly suited and beautifully accepting of his world, and him, than he could have ever hoped for. She'd humbled him, well and truly, with her sincere enthusiasm and honest need for the very real life he conducted there. Every chaotic, messy, crammed-full-of-crap inch of it.

She was there. And it mattered. So much more than he'd thought it would.

He'd wanted her in his arms almost from the moment she'd first spun around and taken it all in with such obvious joy. Then he'd wondered, worried, if being there would transport them again, if they tried to…do anything.

By the end of her introduction to his home, he simply hadn't cared. She was there. And for a while, she was his. He intended to see they had whatever time it took to find out what happened next.

He turned and backed her against the nearest bookshelf, pulling her legs up around his hips, so she could wrap them around his waist as he kept her pinned there with his body, freeing his hands to cup her cheeks, and take their kiss deeper still.

“How is it I've missed you so much,” she said against his mouth, “when I've never had you. And never left you. I mean—”

“I know what you mean,” he said. He was dying for her, to feel her under him, over him, to be inside her. He felt starved for it, as if deprived for eons, and yet it was to be their first time.

“Hold on,” he told her. He swung her away and carried her to his bed. “I'd thought to shower, to tidy up, to—”

“Take me to bed, Graham MacLeod,” she whispered against his throat, her voice so tight with need, the rest, all of it, simply vanished from his thoughts.

He kicked boots from his path and held her to him with one arm while he ripped the bedspread from his bed, taking assorted and sundry clothes along with it. The one decadence he had allowed himself was the bed. It wasn't an heirloom. There hadn't been beds big enough in his accumulated family history to comfortably suit him. He had had it made for him using parts and bits of heirlooms that had otherwise fallen to ruin. It was sturdy, and would likely become an heirloom if the place were to hold up for a few centuries more. The bed most certainly would.

He followed her down onto the thick, feather-stuffed mattress, sending pillows flying as he moved her up the bed, so their bodies aligned more perfectly.

He groaned, or maybe it was Katie, as their hips met and legs entwined. She was already pulling at his tartan as he was her blouse. “Allow me,” he said, moving her hands, and removing the clan crest with shaky hands, so he could unwrap himself from the rest.

“My turn,” she said, and tackled the front of his white linen, so limp and crumpled from his travels, there wasn't much fine left to it. She didn't seem to mind as her nimble fingers made fast work of the fastenings.

She pushed it aside and moaned softly as she finally put her hands on his bare chest. “A scientist with the body of a god. It's like winning the lottery.”

He laughed and felt the back of his neck burn at the same time. “Field work,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Who knew making little seedlings grow could bring about such delightful results,” she murmured, as she lifted her head to press her lips to the center of his chest. “You are…” She let her lips, and her tongue, continue that thought for her.

Graham groaned, as every muscle fiber in his body began to twitch under her very thorough exploration. When he could take it no longer, he reared back and straddled her hips, careful to keep the weight from crushing her, while pinning her hands to the bed.

“Clever hands,” he said, “but I'd like a turn at it as well.” He didn't make fast work with her blouse buttons, mostly because unveiling her slowly was the best kind of torture—for them both, if her slowly writhing hips were any gauge. He peeled back the exquisitely tailored shirt fronts to uncover the most delectable looking scrap of white lace. “Now that's what I call a delightful result.” He scooted down, so he could bring his mouth in line with those lovely, plump nipples of hers, pressing up hard against the silk. He braced himself on his elbows, then took his turn with slow, thorough exploration. He suckled her through the expensive silk, making her arch off the bed, then alternately tugged and nipped, each motion gentle enough to bring pleasure, but just taught enough to make her gasp and begin to writhe in earnest.

So responsive, his Katie. “I believe I've found a new field of study,” he said, as he slid one hand behind her, unfastened the hooks, then slid the bra from her so he could return to his earlier ministrations, with no barrier between them.

Her gasps became shallow pants, as he drove her higher, and higher still. “In fact,” he said, between kisses as he left one damp nipple, and worked his way slowly over to the other. “It could take me years of field work to document all the ways I can make you—” His mouth closed over her and tugged just hard enough that she arched violently off the bed. Her fingers were in his hair, her nails digging into his scalp, holding him there, while he marveled at the reality that she was actually going to climax just from that kind of stimulation.

“Graham, just keep—oh…
oh
!” With her hips pistoning under him, he found he was rapidly losing what little control he had.

He slid down and unsnapped her trousers, sliding them down legs that were as delectably creamy as the rest of her. They would have to wait until a later time to be given their own due. His kilt and linen shirt slid to the floor along with her trousers and shoes.

He climbed back over her lovely, luscious form. “What was it you were saying about discovering riches?” he asked. “Because I am a very wealthy man right now.”

He watched her eyes widen as she ran her gaze over him…all of him.

“Graham, I'm not sure—”

“I'm no' goin' to hurt ye,” he said, knowing her stature and frame were much smaller and narrower than his. He gentled his touch and slid an arm under her waist to lift her up to his body. “Relax, we'll take it slowly and—”

She grabbed his hips and pulled him to her, lifting her legs at the same time so he pushed into her. “To hell with slow,” she said, and dug her heels into his back.

The stunning feel of her wrapped fully, tightly around him, was so abrupt, so perfect. “God…oh, God.” Control snapped, and she did little to help him regain it.

She moved under him, writhing like a woman seeking one thing and one thing only.

He was happy to oblige. His hips were moving, thrusting him deep, then deeper still.

It was as if she were made just for him. She arched, they both groaned, she took him, held him, and oh did she squeeze—“Katie, darlin', I'm no' so sure ye should be doin' that if you dinnae want me to—”

“Oh, but I do want you to,” she said, almost on a growl.

“Well, in that case,” he said, and simply gave himself completely over to her. “Never let it be said I didnae give you everything you want.”

From that point on, the air was filled with moans and gasps, growls and sighs. He wasn't sure who was thrusting most against whom and he wasn't certain he cared.

There was nothing remotely civil or even thoughtful about that rutting match between them. They both reveled in the sheer animal intensity of it. He'd never thought to find someone so earthy, raw, and elemental. He certainly hadn't expected it from one so finely made as his Katie. She was a boundless well of surprises, and none were so happily discovered as that one.

Her nails raked his back as she screamed her way through her climax, which had the very lovely result of yanking him fast and hard over the edge. He was fairly certain the twinkly lights in his range of vision truly were stars, as he'd easily been catapulted into the cosmos by the primal union such as theirs was.

His muscles had not a whit of strength left in them after he'd finished pulsing himself into her. He rolled away to keep from collapsing on top of her, earning him a little mewing sound of despair, but neither had enough energy or strength left to do much about it.

“I'd collapse on ye,” he grunted, struggling to get his heart rate down before it simply pumped right through his chest wall.

“What a way to go,” she breathed, and he could hear the absolute joy threading through the exhaustion. “That was…” She sighed with gusto. “I have no words.”

“The sigh told me enough,” he said, realizing he had quite the Cheshire smile of his own curving his sweaty mug.

“Good. Because there's more where that came from.”

He simply lay there and kept grinning, happier than he could recall being. Ever. The physical release was just one part of it, albeit a damned brilliant one. “So,” he said, at length, “welcome home.”

She laughed. It was more of a giggle, a joyful bubble of sound that made him happy—deep in places he hadn't known he had to fill. And that, he realized, was what was truly brilliant. She fit. She fit him, she fit here. She fit.

He rolled to his side, as she did the same. Their bodies, still slicked with sweat, collided chest to shoulders, and they both laughed. He braced her so she wouldn't fall against him, but apparently she didn't so much mind slick skin and heated embraces, because she slipped right into his embrace, much as she had the night before in Castlebay.

He pulled her close, marveling again at the way their bodies, so disparate in size, could move so naturally together as they did. “Why is it that every twenty-four-hour span of time with you feels much, much longer? It's no' possible to me, that it was only early, early this morning that we were in Castlebay.”

“And only two days ago, that you sat beside me in a beautiful church garden, and explained why it was you'd come to get me and take me home.”

He was silent then, for a long moment, but held her close when she tried to lean back enough to look at him.

“I wasn't trying to ruin the mood,” she said, quietly, kissing that spot in the center of his chest that made him weak in the knees, each and every time she did it. “In fact…” she started, then trailed off. Then she, too, fell silent.

“In fact,” he prodded. “What? What is on your mind, Katie?” He pushed back enough to tip her face up to his. He brushed the tangle of spun silk that was her hair from her face. Her eyes he thought to be sparkling blue, were nothing short of brilliant. “One of the things I most enjoy about us, is that we speak our minds.”

“How many days did you say you had until you had to be married to a McAuley, or lose your leadership here?”

He had no idea what she'd been about to ask him, but that caught him off guard. “Dinnae worry about—”

“I'm not worrying. I'm asking. How many days?”

“'Twas forty when I went to America.”

“And if Iain marries before then? He wins?”

“No, that is no' how it works. I have until the end of the autumnal equinox. After that, 'tis whoever takes a bride first. So if he finds someone willing, he has only to wait until then to make it official. He can marry at midnight that night, and Kinloch will be his to rule.”

“How long, being brutally honest, do you think it will take to convince everyone here that abolishing the Pact is the smarter way to go? How many holdouts do you think you'll have?”

“The percentage will no' be low. Not at first. I am going to sit down with Roan and Shay this evening, and we'll start formalizing a strategy that will put the idea forth in the best possible light.”

“And then what? I mean, with no law, how will future leaders be decided?”

“As they always have been. By birth. If I have no rightful heir by the time of my passing, with no siblings, the leadership passes to the current McAuley. And so forth. We will simply cease to require the inter-clan bond of marriage. Unless they wish to, of course, but it wouldn't be grounds for removal from power.”

“Hmm,” was all she said.

“Why do you ask?” he finally asked.

She nudged him to his back, then sprawled half across his chest, propping her chin up on her folded hands. It was that very ease she had with him that bowled him over, time and time again. He hoped he never tired of it. Couldn't imagine doing so.

“What if…” She closed her eyes.

“Katie,” he said, alarm creeping in, despite the absolute languor filling his every body part.

She flashed her eyes open. “Sorry, no, I didn't mean to make you think I'd gone…you know, off.”

He pulled her up and kissed her on the forehead, the tip of her nose, and her mouth. “I suppose we should be grateful it didn't happen here. Now.”

“I know. But…you know what, it's funny.”

“It is?”

She smiled and bussed him on the mouth, before pushing him back on the bed, and resuming her place, chin propped on his chest. He fervently hoped they conducted every meeting they ever had, just like this.

“It didn't feel like
that other
was out there, on the fringes, waiting in the wings. It has felt like that—like it was always there—but it doesn't feel like it's there now. What we did felt…separate from that. Like it was its own moment.”

He let his head relax into the pillows. “Perhaps. I don't know.”