The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (59 page)

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Braham smoothed her sleep-snarled hair back from her face, one curly strand at a time. “It couldn’t be helped.” He shifted, easing them into a comfortable position with her head in the curve of his shoulder. His fingers traced the nobs of her spine, one bone at a time, from her neck all the way down to her sacrum, massaging her gently. Her thigh pressed against him, and her smaller leg molded to the hard length of his.

“You’re here?” she said in groggy inquiry. It didn’t matter if he was an hour late or a day, he was in her arms now, redolent with the fresh, clean scent of soap. He had stoked the fire, and a log cracked, sending a spray of fiery sparks up the chimney. The firelight filled the room with a warm, golden glow limning his tired but smiling face. “Did you get something to eat?”

“Aye, a bite.” He kissed her forehead and cheeks, chin and lips. “This isn’t how I wanted to begin our getaway.”

Her hand stroked the taut skin and smooth mat of blond hair covering the warm muscle defining the broad expanse of his chest. Beneath her fingers, his heart beat steady and strong. “Since I missed it, tell me what you’d planned to do.”

He laughed with a low masculine rumble. “I’ll surprise you tomorrow.”

“Hmm. So this is merely a warm-up act for the real performance?” Her hand slid down his abdomen, coming into contact with his arousal. She squeezed gently. “If this is a warm-up, I can hardly wait for the real thing.”

“I wanted to seduce you with music and wine.”

“You seduce me with your eyes every time you gaze at me. I don’t need music and wine.”

“Good, since I have neither with me now.”

His full lips sipped at hers possessively, and their tongues danced in an irresistible and erotic rhythm. His hands slipped under her shirt, and then he flipped her over onto her back. He raised up and stared down at her. “I’ve wanted to strip these ugly garments off of you since the first time I saw you in them.” He gathered the top of her scrub shirt and pulled it over her head. She lifted her arms, but after he had tugged the top off of her, he held her wrists in one of his hands, and stared at her breasts. “My God, you’re beautiful.”

Her chest turned into a solid sheet of gooseflesh.

He cupped one breast and then the other. “Perfect.” And then he eyed her suspiciously. “Are these enhanced?”

She forced her hands out of his and playfully shoved him away. “How could you ask such a thing? How many breasts have you seen? Dozens? How many enhanced breasts have you seen? None? Well, you’re still batting zero. Which means—”

“I get the gist,” he said, but his puzzled look remained. “I thought women of your century were proud of enhanced breasts. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“You didn’t. I’m teasing you. I can hear Jack in your questions. He’s—”

“Jaded me is what you said before?” Braham dropped down on one forearm and cupped her again.

“Okay. Here’s the secret, so you’ll never have to ask a woman again. Enhanced breasts don’t move the same way when a woman lies on her back. Usually they stay front and center. Real breasts flatten as they fall naturally to the sides.”

He squeezed her breasts one at a time, moving them up and around; then he kissed each nipple. “I like yours fine.”

His hand moved down her abdomen and untied the drawstring of the scrubs. Her muscles clenched involuntarily at a touch so soft he could have been using feathers. He pushed down the sides of the pants, then reached beneath her. “Lift your hips.” She did, and he bunched the scrub pants down her legs far enough for her to kick them aside. His fingers began a slow exploration, lingering over her most sensitive flesh, teasing her in a delicious way. He was playing her, with the care and skill worthy of a finely tuned instrument. But if he played much longer, her strings would snap from overwhelming tension.

“
Please
, don’t make me wait.” Her hips undulated for emphasis.

He lifted himself over her and paused. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” She reached under the pillow for a condom. And paused. Yes, this was what she wanted… and not merely for tonight, but for the rest of her life. She was accustomed to making quick decisions. Living without
him
, but being able to cherish a part of him, would be the consequence of this decision. Her fingers relaxed, and the condom slipped from her hand.

Her body merged with his, into the feel of his skin under her hands and the play of his muscles. His mouth roamed at will, no longer gentle. He devoured her, kissing the smooth curve of her throat and the soft flesh of her earlobe. With his powerful arms, he jerked her close, consuming her with his tongue and lips. He cupped her hip, her breast, and between her legs branding her body with his sensual exploration. Then he lowered himself and placed his mouth where his hand had been. He drew up one of her knees, opening her wider, then slipped a finger inside her. She gasped as her body shivered from the double invasion—almost painfully alive with sensations unlike any she’d ever experienced before.

She raised her hips to evade the exquisite teasing, but moving only enhanced his tender ravishing. His hands gripped her bottom to steady her undulating hips, which had been moving in a rolling, wave-like motion as she drew closer to the edge of sweet release. She dug her fingers into his damp hair, urging him on. But he needed no encouragement, for he knew exactly what to do to please her. Pleasure crashed around her, inside her, and all the way through her as passion took control of her mind and body. She pulled him up on top of her. She wanted him with an incomprehensible ferocity, an instinctual craving.

His thumb slid over the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, stopping at her mouth, looking into her with intensity and focus. He made her world spin. A moan slipped past her lips, husky with need.

She welcomed him into the depth of her being. All the wonder, warmth, and strength she identified with him were in his embrace as he entered her. She had never known such tenderness. His lips found hers, molding shape against shape, and then a burst of hunger. His tongue moved farther into her mouth, writing the definition of intimacy and perfect harmony in a flowing script. His lips trembled against hers.

One long, searing thrust sent her reeling with ecstatic sensations. Her body moved fluidly against his as he pulled back and thrust again and again, sinking into her each time with a guttural groan and binding their souls more closely with each stroke. A gasp tore from her throat as she convulsed in helpless ecstasy. He threw back his head, muscles straining in his neck, and gave himself over to her. Bound body and soul, their release washed them over the precipice and tumbled them into a roiling sea of blinding sensation.

66

Georgetown, April, 1865

C
harlotte lay still,
listening to Braham’s soft breathing. Moonlit particles drifted in a beam of light which shone through the partially closed drapes and graced the handsome planes of his face. She’d cupped her hand along his slightly bristled cheek, one leg lay across his muscular thighs, and her head lay nestled in the hollow of his shoulder. Their limbs and arms were entwined like magical, multi-colored threads. She purred with contentment and snuggled, protected from the chill in a sensuous nest of warmth. The scent of sex, so carnal and tantalizing, surrounded them, permeating the sheets and pillows and her imagination.

She shifted slightly, and his hand slipped loosely to her hips. “I hear you thinking,” he whispered, his voice drowsy and sleep-deprived. “What’s worrying you?”

A prickle of sweat gleamed among the curly hairs of his chest where her arm had rested, and she wiped it away. “Nothing really, except I’m thirsty.”

His eyelids fluttered, and he pulled her over on top of him, holding her closer still. “You’re probably hungry, too. I’ll go see what I can find.”

She kissed him and rubbed against his erection. “Hmm…don’t go.”

He smacked her lightly on the butt. “Keep this up and you’ll die of thirst.” He flipped her over, trapping her body beneath his and kissed her soundly. “I won’t be gone long enough for you to miss me.” He slipped out of bed and tucked the covers up to her chin. “Stay warm.”

Sighing, she rolled up into the fetal position, already missing his warmth. What they had shared over the last few hours was unique in her experience, and spoke to her on multiple levels. She wasn’t a sexual neophyte by any means. But none of her lovers had ever made love to her the way Braham had. He didn’t simply have sex with her. He had created an electric atmosphere and conducted an orchestra whose music still filled her mind and heart.

She was smiling, reveling in the ravishing experience, when he returned a few minutes later carrying a silver tray with a bottle of wine and a plate of bread and cheese. Before he opened the bottle, he stoked the fire, which sent out warm heat and the sweet scent of hickory. Every so often the flame popped and sparked when it found a pocket of resin. The fire quickly removed the chill, so she pushed back the covers and sat up, propping pillows behind her back.

Braham dropped his robe on a chair and stood naked by the bed, opening the bottle. She looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes, leisurely studying the solidness of his superbly conditioned body, and the molded contours of chin and hip and thigh. His incision was still pink, but
no one
, other than a surgeon, would ever take time to notice such a minor imperfection. Her muscles tightened in exquisite anticipation and pure, raw desire, which warmed her thoroughly.

He handed her a glass of vibrant ruby wine with touches of orange around the edges. “This is from my vineyards.” He lifted the glass to his nose and sniffed. “Gentle, yet striking. Tell me what you think.”

She gave the glass an open-air, freestyle swirl, observing the legs of wine as they ran down the sides of the goblet. Her mouth watered. As her nose hovered above the rim, she gave several quick, short sniffs, and then she sipped. “Hmm. Fresh aromas of lime, grapefruit, and earth. Delicious.”

His face split into a huge grin, and his eyes, dark and penetrating, fell on her with an appreciative light. He stacked his pillows before climbing back into bed and pulling her into the curve of his arm. Once settled, he picked up the food and placed the plate on his lap.

She nibbled on a slice of cheese while he combed her hair—now wild and curly and tangled—with his fingers. She tilted her head to look into his eyes. “I read a quote once which said something like: ‘Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.’ It’s how I feel about you. You’ve always been a part of me and always will.”

He gently traced the curve of her cheek and chin with the look of an artist studying her before creating a masterpiece. He set her glass aside and picked up a small box from the tray he’d carried into the room. “I have something for you.”

He removed a ring from the box, took her hand, and slipped it on her right-hand ring finger. “This belonged to my grandmother.” Longing suffused his voice.

A brilliant sapphire came alive in a flash of firelight, twinkling and dazzling. Charlotte stared at her hand, speechless, the implications unclear at the moment. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t accept it. It’s a family heirloom.”

He set the box aside and refilled his glass. “Of course you can,” he said lightly. “It’s mine to give.”

“But it’s not mine to accept,” she said, turning to face him with clear irritation in her voice. “This is for your future wife. Unless…” She trembled as a soft, stirring, hopeful desire unrolled from a secret place inside her, then curled upward, spiraling like a candle flame. “Are you asking me to…to
marry you
?”

He raised his eyebrow in a silent question, and his pursed lips curved into what might have been the shadow of a smile.

“Because if you are, I’d marry you this minute, but only if you intend to return to the twenty-first century.”

His eyes pinned hers, and he said, “And if I’m not?”

She glanced at the ring and tugged at it. “I can’t accept this.”

He stilled her hand and held her fingers closed. “Wear it for now.”

She slapped his hand away and slipped the ring off over her knuckle, surprised by how perfectly it fit her finger. “No, I won’t. And you can’t buy me with a sapphire.”

He quickly banked a flash of anger. “I’m
not
trying to buy you.”

“It looks like it to me. I’m a bottom-line person. Unless you want to go home with me, we have no future. And I refuse to accept a ring which should belong to your wife.”

He stared off into the stream of light now peeking through the drapes, his chest heaving. “Then what we shared means nothing to you.”

Oh, God. How did this get so twisted?

The turmoil in her stomach turned into a whirlwind, and her head became weightless. Blinking, she tried to see through the forming tears. “Of course it does, and I’m in love with you, but…”

He came to his feet, knocking over the plate of cheese, which crashed to the floor, shards pinging against the wall. “No buts, Charlotte.”

Time washed over her as if she was nothing more than a woman made of sand who would dissolve in the ever-changing flow of life, her life. “I can’t stay here. This isn’t where I belong.”