The Great Scot (15 page)

“Oh, but I think we can, and quite brilliantly, if I'm not mistaken.” He nipped at her neck, forcibly stomping his conscience flat, unwilling to bring this wild ride to a premature end yet again. He was over-complicating things. This was just good, old-fashioned fun. He traced his tongue along the throbbing vein he found there, deeply gratified when he felt her shudder in response. He moved between her legs.

She whimpered in response, making him harden to the point of pain. She clutched his shirt, pulling him closer even as she said, “Dylan, I can't—”

“Won't.”

“I didn't come in here to get all tangled up with you again.”

He finally lifted his head and looked down into her eyes. “And yet here we are, tangled up in the very nicest of ways, though there's a bit too much clothing involved for my tastes.” His lips twitched to a grin. He hoped it wasn't too feral. He was feeling quite…primitive at the moment. “That can be remedied. She's an auld pile to be certain, but there are locks on the doors, and a nice pile of rugs in front of that fireplace. We dinna have to go at it like two rutting beasts, up against a wall.” He moved slowly between her legs, feeling her thighs tighten instinctively to hold him right where she needed him. “Although you'd have gotten no complaints from me.”

She let out a soft little gasp and her chin dipped slightly as he settled his teeth gently along her collarbone, making her shudder again. “This is crazy,” she managed, barely more than a whisper.

“I dinna pretend to understand it, either, Erin. But I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't interested in figuring it out.”

“I—I know,” she said, the words tight, short now, as he continued having his way with her. “Me, too.”

“Perhaps we shouldna ask so many questions, then,” he said, leaning back just enough so that he noticed the way her nipples had become two tight little points, thrusting at the confines of her bra and thin shirt, and how badly, oh how very badly he wanted to free them. Lay claim to them, capture them, taste them. Take them.

He shifted her up a bit higher, propping her against the shelves so he could push her shirt up. Intent now on laying siege. His ancestors' blood flowed in his veins, did it not? He tugged at the hem of her cotton shirt. “I want to taste you.” No matter what words were coming out of her mouth—and there were none at the moment—there was no masking what he saw in her eyes. She wanted this every bit as badly as he did. “I'm a fair man, Erin, that I am.” He pushed her shirt up over her bra. Thin, white, uninspired cotton cups were all that lay between him and sweet bliss. And yet he didn't think he'd ever seen anything quite as sexy as Erin MacGregor, hair in wild spikes about her head, in full dishabille of plain old cotton and khaki. “When I'm through, I'll let you have your way with me, too.”

She groaned even as she let out a short laugh. “And here when I first met you I thought you were sober and humorless,” she managed, somewhat hoarsely. “Boy, was I wrong.”

It was the first of the old Erin he'd heard since they'd entered the room, and his blood sang with pleasure. “Shall I show ye some other bits of me you may have overlooked, then?” He brushed his tongue across one cotton covered nipple. She jerked against him, so he teased her again, just a light flick. “So sweet. I want to taste you, Erin.” He ran his tongue along the slight swell filling the bottom of the cup, nudging at the soft elastic edge.

She was grinding against him now, her thighs clenched so tightly around his hips that he no longer needed to support her weight, freeing his hands to be as adventurous as his mouth. Her eyes had drifted shut, her breath coming in short little gasps, and she was no longer denying him anything as he pushed her bra up, freeing her breasts to his avid ministrations. They were neither large nor small, quite average really, as were her little pink nipples. Nothing to send him waltzing so close to the edge of reason. And yet there he danced.

When he didn't immediately touch her, her eyes blinked open. And for the first time he saw a real flash of vulnerability. “I'm—I know I'm not exactly—”

“You're exquisite,” he said, and found he meant it. He captured one tight little bud between his lips and was instantly rewarded with that sound that started somewhere deep in her throat, and was almost a growl by the time it came out.

The thought flickered through his mind that while she knew of his somewhat monkish existence, he knew little of her private life. For all he knew, she bedded a new man every week. He hadn't gotten around to delving into her past. Yet.

She's hot and willing, man, and yours for the taking. Don't concern yourself with the rest. Enjoy yourself, but don't lose your mind.

She wriggled against him as he traced his tongue around one rigid tip, then suckled her again, knowing it was far too late for that. He couldn't seem to separate the woman from the act. Nor was he particularly keen to do so. Dangerous path, oh so dangerous, indeed. And yet here he was, nigh to skipping merrily down it. Possibly right to his own destruction.

Well. He'd survived worse, hadn't he?

“Hold on,” he instructed, sliding his hands around and up the smooth skin of her back as he spun her away from the bookcase. He wanted more, needed more, and didn't want any constraints getting in his way. He cursed his ancestors for favoring hard, understuffed settees, and highback chairs that were far too narrow for tucking in knees and straddling hips. The carpet won out. This time. It was that or make the dramatic gesture and clear the desk with a broad sweep of his arm. In that split second of indecision, apparently he gave Erin enough of a moment to gather her wits about her.

“Dylan,” she said, this time straightening and putting her hands against his shoulders. “Give me a second.” Her voice was still rough, a bit reedy with want, but when he caught her gaze he knew reason had reared its ugly, untimely head. “I swear, I'm not a tease, I just—you have this way of—and it makes me so—but I really can't. I want to, don't get me wrong, but there's something—we need to talk.”

He paused next to the desk, then finally sat her on the edge and let her unlock her legs from around his waist. She wriggled her bra down. And with more regret than he thought a man was capable of feeling after such a short period of knowing a woman, he did the gentlemanly thing and helped her smooth her shirt into place. Though he had enough rogue in him to stay put between her thighs, if no longer in intimate contact. He wasn't ready to relinquish his entire proximity to her just yet. A man's needs should be allowed to abate a bit, after all. He'd been on quite a ride there. Was enough to make even the sturdiest of blokes a bit weedy.

He allowed her an overly long moment to smooth her clothes back into place and settle her rioting emotions as well. He hadn't been the only one affected there. Finally, however, she did look up into his eyes, and while desire lingered there, he saw that his woman of determination had made her return. Funny thing was, it didn't abate his desire for her one whit. If anything, it kept him rather rigid.

“I'm sorry,” she said, holding his gaze directly now, clearly sincere. “I really am.” That pronouncement was followed by a dry little laugh. “The opportunity doesn't come along often enough for me to thoughtlessly toy with it, trust me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said. “Meaning, I can't imagine you not making an opportunity whenever you wanted. You're a very determined sort.”

She cocked her head slightly. “I'll take that as a compliment, I think.”

He nodded. “As it was intended. As to the other, have no fear. I'm no' a callow schoolboy who canno' contain himself.” His lips twitched at one corner. “Though you made me feel pretty damn close to it.”

She smiled a little then, too. “I—thanks. I shouldn't have let it get out of hand, or led you to believe that I—”

“That you wanted me as much as I wanted you? Was that no' true then?” He knew it was, but wanted her to confirm it, for both their sakes. There would be no guilty recriminations, no regrets, for acting human.

“You know I did. The difference was, I knew that I couldn't—that we couldn't—do…” She gestured between them.

“Why? We're both free and unencumbered.” His gaze narrowed. “You are unencumbered, are you no'?”

“Of course. I'd never do something like this if I weren't.”

“I believe you,” he said truthfully. There was no subterfuge or artifice with her. She struck him as the type who would have no patience with that in others, either. Which was why he got straight to the point. “You sound very definite about this, when you obviously wish it could be otherwise. So you'll have to pardon me if I'm a wee bit confused. What is it then? Your boss frowns on your fraternizing with the annoying Scot?”

“Tommy doesn't know anything about…this.” She said that last word as if she wasn't quite sure what “this” was.

Well, that made two of them. The only difference was, at the moment, he was quite willing to continue onward until they figured that out. Clearly she was not. Perhaps she was being the wiser of the two. He wished he was more enthusiastic about that.

He shifted back slightly, knowing he should move completely away, put some much needed distance between them until they completely cooled off, but there was something he needed to know first. “If your boss isn't hounding you on this, and we're discreet, and I promise not to completely derail your hectic schedule—although, in my defense, can I say that keeping me preoccupied will make everyone else here quite happy—”

Her gaze narrowed. “You said you'd come to terms with the prep work and made peace with the crew.”

“I wasn't sure you heard that. You've been somewhat distracted since our meeting again. Although, might I add, I was quite enjoying that last bit of distraction.” When her pupils flared a bit, it took enormous restraint not to take hold of her again, plant his mouth on hers and kiss her until she realized that whatever flimsy obstacle she'd erected wouldn't withstand this kind of heat and need. So why not just cave in to the inevitability of it all?

Her words, however, didn't match the look in her eyes. “I assumed that meant you'd be leaving them to their work and wouldn't require further intervention.”

He tried a shrug and what he hoped was a charming smile. “A bloke could hope. I rather liked the way you intervened this last time.”

He could see she was fighting to maintain some semblance of seriousness, so he rather enjoyed the way the corners of her mouth twitched as she fought the urge to smile. Och, he'd get through to her eventually, that he would.

“Filming starts soon,” she was saying, “so you won't be able to wander freely over there, anyway. Besides, you've apparently done enough of that already, or we wouldn't be in this fix.”

“What ‘fix' is that? And what
we
? What have
we
done to put anything in a fix?”

And suddenly she wasn't looking at him again.
Oh, for god's sake.
How bad could it be? He gripped her chin gently, but firmly enough to tip her gaze upward to meet his own. “It's no' like you to duck an issue.”

She lifted an eyebrow as if to question how he felt qualified to make such an assessment. He merely lifted a brow back until she capitulated. He was right and they both knew it. “Out with it.”

She held his gaze for a moment, likely just to prove she could, then surprised him by heaving a rather defeated sigh. “Maybe we should have a seat.”

“Maybe you should stop beating about the proverbial bush. Your forthrightness was one of the first things I admired about you.”

“Tommy wants you to be the next Prince Charming. There. How's that for direct?”

He saw her mouth moving, heard the words that had come out, but surely somewhere in there he'd lost track. Because surely…no. He stepped back from her completely then, leaving her to grip the edge of the desk, before sliding off and finally standing on her own two feet.

“I know,” she said, sympathetically. “That expression you're wearing probably matched mine when he told me.” She shook her head slightly. “That's quite a sales technique I have, huh?” She looked like she was going to take a step toward him, to do what he had no idea. Instead she turned and wandered over to the settee and sank down, burying her head in her hands. “I'm so going to lose my job over this. I should have stayed in London. There are plenty of locations in London. But nooo, I had to prove I could be more creative, shake things up, pump some fresh life into this show.” She was muttering to herself, which he found quite endearing.

Or would have, if he wasn't still frozen to the spot, trying to absorb this latest turn of events, and what to say to her. Because it was plainly obvious to them both that hell would freeze over before he'd ever agree to such a ridiculous thing.

A certainty she apparently hadn't shared with her boss. Or if she had, he'd threatened her into asking anyway. Threatened her with her job, it sounded like. Bloody hell. How he had gotten himself in this tangle, he had no idea. And to think he'd believed his life complicated before she'd strolled into it.