The Laird Who Loved Me (22 page)

He frowned.
Good God, next I’ll be wondering how she’d like the gardens!

She turned a page, her lips moving slightly as she read. Alexander instantly wanted to capture them with his own, to steal her attention from the book with bold, greedy kisses and a passionate touch. Yet even with the opportunity before him, he hesitated.

He wasn’t the sort of man who had to prove his virility by conquering every bit of muslin who danced by. He preferred women who held their own, sophisticated women who knew the rules of the game and expected nothing but mutual pleasure in return. Women like Georgiana.

Yet he was reluctantly beginning to appreciate Caitlyn’s fiery independence and spirit. She simply enjoyed life, living the challenges thrown her way with unflinching enthusiasm, just as she enjoyed the delicious dishes prepared by Georgiana’s chef. In so many ways, Caitlyn’s unfettered joy in even the simplest of things was damned appealing.

Unfortunately, it was equally obvious that she wasn’t the sort of woman to accept a halfway anything—neither a friendship nor a relationship. From their flirtation in London, he knew she was all-or-nothing. Once she began something, she didn’t stop until she reached the conclusion, good or bad.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was a hairbreadth from developing a case of pure, hot lust for the demure Miss Caitlyn. He rather wondered if perhaps it hadn’t already happened.

She shifted on the sofa, and her trim foot and ankle slipped from under her skirt. He’d seen plenty of women’s ankles, but this was the most of Caitlyn Hurst he’d ever seen. Her gowns, while fashionable, were tantalizingly conservative. Where other women might lower their neckline to expose the curve of their breasts, Caitlyn’s were always neatly covered
with rows of lace and ribbons. Seeing just an ankle made his body heat as if she were naked.

Damn it, why couldn’t he feel this flicker of heat for an older, wiser, less … less
virginal
woman?

Before, he’d been certain her innocent air was false and that he’d fallen for it like the biggest lunk. Now, having spent some time with Caitlyn, he had to admit he’d been wrong. Innocence filled every movement she made; every guileless statement, every unguarded pout of her full lips. It was genuine—which wouldn’t have been an issue if it didn’t also drive him mad with desire.

So where did that leave him when he won the wager? Could he really take an innocent woman as a mistress? Looking at the slender, graceful foot encased in a silk stocking, he was afraid that he could.

She turned a page, one slender finger following the text down the page. The sunlight warmed her cheek and traced the delicate line of her throat. His throat tightened when he thought of tracing that line with his lips, of tasting her sweet skin and—

Hell, why was he standing here, just thinking about it? She was here, and they were alone. For both their sakes, he needed to convince little Miss Perfect Hurst how dangerous he truly was. The sooner she realized that and took more care
not
to be caught alone, the better it would be for both of them.

He moved forward until he stood at the very end of the settee. Her head remained down, her gaze moving across the page, and he waited for her to feel his
presence the way he felt hers. It was an almost physical tug, as if a thousand heated strands tied them together, tightening more the longer they remained in the room together.

She lifted her head a bit. She blinked once, slowly. Then, her cheeks pink, she turned her head and lifted her gaze to his.

He’d had a quip ready, but on meeting her gaze, his words vanished. Everything melted away except her. Her soft, soft lips and big brown eyes, so beautiful that a man could easily drown in them.

She flushed, a soft blush of pink that crept through her skin and made him curl his fingers into his palms to keep from reaching for her. His body hummed, so aware of her that it hurt. She felt something as well, for her full breasts were rising and falling with her quick breaths under her modest blue gown.

He opened his hands and realized they would just span her waist. Once he had her against him, he would slide his hands to her rounded hips. His fingers curled when he thought of cupping her full bottom through her gown.

His body reacted swiftly, his cock swelling to a full erection.

Her lips parted as she, too, seemed to fight for breath. Her gaze flickered over him, touching his mouth, his shoulders, then down to his riding breeches. He knew she could see his reaction, and he waited for her to look away or express dismay of some sort, which
would keep them both safe from the lust that surged between them.

But she didn’t. Her gaze widened in sensual fascination.

Alexander could stand no more; he dropped onto the settee.

Eager, Caitlyn’s brown eyes sparkled, her lips parted, and she dropped the book, letting it tumble to the floor as she reached for him.

Dinna be thinkin’ that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. That’s no’ the organ men think with.

O
LD
W
OMAN
N
ORA FROM
L
OCH
L
OMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

With one smooth movement, she grasped his lapels, pulled herself to her knees, and pressed her mouth against his.

He’d thought they’d talk, but there was no talking with Caitlyn Hurst. Not today. Stunned, he simply accepted her embrace as her hot mouth urged him on. He wrapped his arms about her and kissed her back with all of the passion built up inside him.

Her mouth opened beneath his and her tongue hesitantly brushed his lip. He moaned and deepened the kiss, pulling her more firmly into his lap. Her arms tightened about his neck, and his hands roamed over her, feeling the smooth line of her back, the gentle swell of her hips, the way the curve of her ass fit his hand.

He was afire, his body so racked with passion that he ached even as he held her.

The damn pillows on the settee were getting in the way. He stood, lifting her with him, kissing her madly, passionately, until neither of them could breathe. These were the kisses they’d once shared so clandestinely; kisses as forbidden as they were unexpected.

She rubbed against him, unconsciously rocking her hips and sending ripples of heat across his body. He nipped at her lush bottom lip before plundering her mouth anew. He couldn’t get enough of those sweet kisses, so artlessly passionate, so generously given.

Damn, but she was a hot piece, eager and playful, and delightfully urgent. He slid his hands up her sides, allowing his thumbs to graze her nipples. She gasped against his mouth and arched fiercely, hotly passionate.

He cupped her breast, savoring the fullness, his thumb circling a nipple. She shivered in his arms, her breath catching as he increased the pressure. Her eyes closed and a moan escaped as she pressed against him with obvious delight. She grasped his shoulders and rocked her hips against his, tormenting even as she pleasured.

Unable to stand another moment, he lifted her up and carried her the few steps to the heavy display table. He set her upon the open books to keep her from rubbing against him and causing him to lose control. Heedless of anything but the need to keep her
here, within his arms, he cupped her face between his hands and worshipped her warm mouth.

She slipped her hands about his waist and pulled herself forward, locking a heel around one of his legs.

Alexander stood stock-still and found himself staring directly into Caitlyn’s wide brown eyes. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her other leg and hooked her heel about his other leg until they were in the most intimate position imaginable, her legs splayed about his hips, her skirts rucked about her waist.

He’d never envisioned himself as the type to lust after an innocent, virginal, too-stubborn-for-her-own-good slip of a woman. And woman she was, for all that she looked like a schoolroom miss. A girl would simper and flutter every time a man looked at her. Caitlyn Hurst didn’t flutter—ever.

She didn’t even flutter when a prudent woman
should
. She calmly accepted heated glances from Dervishton, puerile flattery from Falkland, and definitive threats on her virtue. Those last were Alexander’s forte, and if she had any common sense, she’d be afraid.
Very
afraid. She definitely wouldn’t be perched on the edge of the display table in the library, her legs wrapped about his hips.

He wasn’t used to walking away from such temptation, and she had little control over her impulses. She didn’t seem to realize that the more time they spent together, the more danger she and her damned virtue were in.

But did it matter? Did anything matter, other than the feel of her against him?

Done with trying to understand her, he lifted her skirts by the handful, pulling them up, up, so that he could touch her warmed skin through her thin chemise and—

Outside, the sound of a group of horses approaching the house penetrated his fog of passion. The other guests were returning.

Alexander dropped his forehead to hers and held her tight, his mind slowly clearing. Damn it, what were they thinking? They had to stop this, had to fight it. But looking into Caitlyn’s passion-drugged eyes, Alexander knew it was up to him. Though it was physically painful, he released her and stepped back.

“MacLean, wha—”

“No.” It was all he could manage. His heart thundered, his skin burned as if her touch had scalded him, his cock ached with unreleased passion.

Caitlyn blinked rapidly, as if waking from a deep sleep, then slipped off the table, her skirts tumbling back into place. “MacLean, what—”

“The others are arriving. I heard their horses as they rode past to the stables.”

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I didn’t even hear them. I— Good God, I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“We weren’t.” He couldn’t stand the wounded look in her eyes. “This passion is what caused us such
problems to begin with. It will sink us again, unless we control it.”

Her face pale, she nodded. Then, her gaze averted, she walked to a mirror on the wall and began putting her hair to rights, her hands shaking.

The silence grew long. Alexander rubbed his face. He’d come so close to losing control, and he
never
lost control. It was a luxury he couldn’t afford as a MacLean. Since Callum’s death, Alexander had never, not once, allowed his passions to get the better of him.

Until today.

For a few glorious, blindingly exquisite moments, he hadn’t been in control of anything. He ran a hand over his face.
Good God, what did I almost allow to happen?

Caitlyn returned to the settee and retrieved the fallen book. “Well, that was a very pleasant interlude.”

He frowned.
“Pleasant?”

“More than pleasant.” Her cheeks were still flushed. “We had planned to talk, and now is a good time, before the riding party reaches the house. Have you decided on my next challenge? I have decided on yours.”

Alexander didn’t know what to say. He’d been certain she would berate him for attempting to seduce her; instead, she’d calmly accepted part of the responsibility and moved on.

He realized she was still looking at him, a question
in her eyes, and he forced himself to find his voice. “One task Culhwch performed was to convince a reluctant visitor to come to a dinner party. Do you remember that part?”

She tapped the book with a slender finger. “Yes . . . there was something about a guest who’d declared he’d never set foot within the castle, and Culhwch had to convince him?”

“Which Culhwch did by completing errands for the guest, although I’m not convinced that ruse will work in this instance.”

Caitlyn shot MacLean a glance from beneath her lashes. “So I’m to convince—”

“Lord Dingwall.” He smiled, and it wasn’t a nice smile, either.

“Who is that?”

“His estate borders this one.

“So I am to invite Lord Dingwall to attend a dinner here at Balloch Castle?”

Alexander nodded.

She frowned. “And I assume that he dislikes the duchess?”

“Why not the duke?”

“The duke is too self-absorbed to get into an argument. The duchess seems to relish that sort of encounter.”

MacLean’s lips twitched. “Point conceded.”

“If I convince this Lord Dingwall to come to dinner, how do I know the duchess will allow him in?”

Alexander shrugged, arrogantly self-confident. “She’ll do it if I ask her. She knows him well; his property is attached to hers in the west, his house almost visible from the largest curve in the drive.”

“And they dislike one another.”

“I’d use the word
detest
. According to Georgiana, Dingwall once called her an ‘empty-headed piece of decorated fluff,’ and she returned the favor by calling him a ‘pompous relic.’”

Lovely, Caitlyn thought. She was to play nursemaid to a pair of squabbling adults. “What started their argument?”

His green eyes alight with amusement, he replied, “I’m sure Georgiana told me at some point, but I didn’t listen.”