The Seduction of Elliot McBride (Mackenzies Series) (5 page)

He rested his hand on the bedpost, leaned down, and brushed a soft kiss to the dimple at the corner of her mouth.

Juliana’s eyes flew open. She looked at him with no trace of sleep in her eyes. “Is young Hamish all right?”

Elliot straightened up, his hand still on the bedpost. “He will be.”

“I hope he wasn’t too frightened.”

“He’s recovered.” Elliot tried to move from his fixed stance and found he couldn’t.

Juliana’s color deepened, and she cleared her throat. “Are you coming to bed, Elliot?”

Her high-necked nightgown was prim, but this was the first time Elliot had seen her without the barricade of stays, bustles, skirts, and tightly buttoned bodices.

Elliot finally let go of the bedpost to untie his dressing gown and let it fall from him. He watched her gaze go to his bare torso, then drop to the silk drawers that rode low on his hips, a drawstring holding them closed. The underbreeches reached his calves, leaving the rest of his legs bare.

“An unusual garment,” she said, her voice soft.

“They’re Indian. I prefer them to English clothes.”

“Do you? Why?”

“Much more comfortable.” The cool air from the window touched his skin. “More practical in a hot climate.”

“I can imagine.”

Elliot remained rigidly beside the bed. He wanted her with a desire so hard it gripped him, but still he couldn’t move.

Juliana cleared her throat again. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it? To think, tonight I was to a have been in a hotel in Edinburgh, with…”

She pressed her hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. Moonlight glittered on the tears that slid down her cheeks.

“With…” Her voice caught on a sob.

With Grant Barclay, damn him, the blithering fool who’d decided to improve himself with piano lessons. Elliot wanted to strangle the man, first for trying to steal Juliana from him, then for making her cry about him while she lay in Elliot’s bed.

And Elliot knew how to. Exactly how to get a man’s throat under his hands, where to press to cut off the air, to make sure Grant Barclay never breathed again…

Juliana tried to wipe away her tears. Elliot unfroze, lifted the covers, and swarmed into the bed beside her.

Chapter 5

Juliana hadn’t meant to cry, but she’d suddenly realized that she could be lying in a hotel bed with Grant tonight, instead of far from home in a run-down fairy-tale castle next to the strong warmth of Elliot McBride. What a lucky, blessed escape.

Elliot’s lips touched her cheeks, kisses taking away the tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

His kisses moved to her lips. Strong, sure kisses, brushing the pad of her lower lip, tracing the curve of the upper. It was warm in the close room, warmer under the covers, and Elliot’s body in the bed drew sweat.

He licked the perspiration from beneath her lip, scraping her hair back with a strong hand. Something primal beat through Juliana’s body, erasing all Gemma’s instructions for her first coupling. This was to have been a dutiful night with Mr. Barclay—now she was with Elliot, the man she’d loved from girlhood and never dreamed she’d be with.

His lips caressed hers open, tongue sweeping into her mouth. Elliot closed his eyes as he kissed her, cradling her head with fingers, thumb caressing her temple.

The button at the top of her nightgown loosened, the placket parting. Elliot slid his hand inside, moving across her damp skin to close over her breast. Juliana arched to meet the cup of his hand, all the while kissing him, their lips parting and touching.

Elliot swept his tongue inside her mouth again, more insistent this time. He nudged her into response, making her lick across the warm friction of his tongue.

A lover’s kiss. Elliot McBride, her lover.

He closed his callused hand around her breast, caressing, kneading. Two fingers caught her nipple between them and gave it a little tug. Sensations Juliana had never experienced before spiraled around the areola, the point rising, hardening.

She couldn’t breathe. The bed was too warm, Elliot’s mouth on hers pressing her down into it. He tugged her nipple, building the sensations to fire.

Fire built from there to her heart. The collar of the nightgown grew wet with her perspiration, and she was going to die.

Juliana pushed against him. Elliot’s tongue filled her mouth, and she couldn’t speak. She tried to close her lips, but he wouldn’t let her.

She pushed again, both hands on his chest. Elliot at last broke the kiss, his lips hovering close to hers.

His half-closed eyes were dark in the moonlight, the silver gray glinting through. One droplet of sweat trickled down his throat.

“I can’t breathe,” Juliana whispered.

Elliot said nothing. He took his warm, wonderful hand from inside her nightgown, unbuttoned the rest of her placket, and loosened and opened the nightgown to her waist.

Sliding down her body, Elliot lowered his head and
closed his mouth over the breast he’d stroked to life with his hand.

Breath rushed into her lungs. Here was the air she missed, but now she had too much of it. Heat raced down her body, incandescent at the beautiful point of Elliot’s mouth on her breast.

He suckled her, eyes closed in concentration. He gently squeezed her breast with his callused fingers to make the nipple rise higher, then pursed his mouth to suck and tease, nibble and tug.

Juliana squirmed under him, her heart pounding. Between her legs was a point of white-hot fire, a yearning to rub that place against him.

“Elliot, what are you doing to me?”

Elliot didn’t stop to answer. His mouth moved more insistently, making her ache, the opening between her legs widening and heating.

“I need…” Juliana bit back the words. She had no idea what she needed.

Elliot released her breast and played the tip of his tongue over the nipple. Juliana rose to him, seeking his mouth, but he lifted away, and she made a noise of disappointment.

But then Elliot slid his hand down her body to glide two fingers between her legs. Juliana sucked in a breath, her eyes widening as he touched her hottest place.

As Elliot sank his fingers into her moisture, he closed his eyes again and drew a long breath. He could scent her longing for him, honey in the darkness.

In this bed, enclosed in her heat, Elliot was safe. The empty blackness, the cold, the stifling airlessness, were gone. They couldn’t touch him here. Juliana was all that was safety, light, and warmth.

She was also a woman longing for the touch of a man, and not understanding her longing. Elliot would teach her. Whether it took a year or ten years, he’d teach her everything.

He gently thrust a finger into her. Juliana bucked against Elliot’s hand, and he closed his palm over the berry that was tightening with her need.

“What are you…?” Juliana’s words ended on a sob.

“Getting you ready.” Elliot didn’t know what endearments women liked, or how to soothe her. He only knew how to touch her, her body and his communicating in silence.

Her wiry hair curled against his hand, the depths of her hot and moist. She’d never done this before—he knew by the way she started in surprise when he began stroking her. This was a new sensation for Juliana, and it was new to Elliot, because it was
her
.

I’ve waited for you all my life.

In the darkness and through the hunger, he’d dreamed of her, but his dreams had been incomplete. Elliot hadn’t known the full scent of her, the warmth of her skin, the feel of her beneath him.

He withdrew his fingers and touched them to his tongue. He hadn’t known the taste of her either. Sweet nectar. He needed more.

Elliot licked between her breasts, tasting salt, then he kissed his way down her belly, yanked open the nightgown the rest of the way, and pressed a burning kiss to the join of her legs.

As she drew in a sharp breath, he tasted her, licking where he’d touched, his tongue entering where his finger had.

Beautiful, sweet honey. Elliot licked and drank, the tightness in his body easing.

Feast on her, drink of her.
If I have enough of her, I will never be afraid again.

Juliana’s hands went to his hair, furrowing as he licked. Her little cries drove him wild. His body started to move, hips to roll with the rhythm of his tasting, his hardness digging into the mattress.

“Elliot!”

As her cry rang out, he felt the little pulses in her sheath, the female need, the headiest pleasure of all.

She was a virgin, and Elliot knew it would hurt going in. But she was wet and open, her body already releasing.

Elliot would love to lie here and lick her while she came into his mouth, then bring her to readiness again. And again. All night.

But his own body cried out for release, his cock so tight it ached. Elliot took his mouth from her beautiful place, untied and wriggled out of his silken breeches, and slid up her body.

He had one instant of enjoying the softness of her under him, and then he thrust inside her.

Her eyes widened, beautiful Juliana, her cry turning almost to a wail. But not in pain. She closed over him, wanting him, her passage so slick that the barrier vanished with one push.

Crazed with need, Elliot took one, two, three strokes inside her, before his seed released, and his shouts mixed with hers.

He kept pumping, hips moving, needing her, unable to have enough of her. Wind slapped at the window, sending the old casement banging open, and a gust of wind poured over the bed.

It cooled Elliot’s skin and made Juliana shiver. Elliot’s thrusts slowed, and he curved protectively over her.

Always protect her. Juliana was his. She’d stood in the church today and declared that she belonged to him. Forever.

The sun rose early in high summer this far into the Highlands. Juliana opened her eyes as sunshine poured in through the eastern window and brushed the body of her husband beside her.

Juliana felt odd—exhausted and exhilarated, and yet at
the same time pliant and relaxed. Gemma had explained what a woman was expected to do on her wedding night—lie back, breathe deeply, and remain calm.

She’d not mentioned a man licking, exploring, touching, and drinking. Gemma had said that the first time hurt. And it had, but in a wild, need-filled way that hadn’t been pain at all.

And yet, Juliana was sore, and she knew without doubt that she could no longer be called a maiden.

Elliot slept facedown next to her, his cheek crushed against the mattress, nowhere near a pillow. His long legs poured out the bottom of the bed, the covers thrown halfway off in his sleep.

His hair was half folded, half sticking up, the light brown burnished with gold from the sun. His lashes were golden too, resting against a face that had been Scottish fair before tropical sun had burned it brown.

One broad hand lay near his face, his bent arm showing her thick muscles that came from hard work. A design had been inked on his right bicep, a flowing vine that wrapped all the way around his arm.

Juliana stared at the tattoo, fascinated. She’d never seen anything like it. She’d heard of sailors being tattooed on their voyages to faraway places but had never seen a gentleman with one.

Then again, Juliana had never seen a man without his coat, waistcoat, shirt, high collar, and cravat, not even her own father. Athletes stripped to shirtsleeves or short sleeves to run, row, or play ball games, or so she’d heard tell, but Juliana had never attended a sporting exhibition. Quite a lot of gentlemen might have tattoos in places a lady would never see.

Part of Elliot’s backside was exposed, his knee hooked over the quilt. Juliana studied his tight hip, letting her gaze move to the wiry hair that traced down his leg.

He was a well-formed man. God had quite nicely put him together.

Elliot had scars on his back, random white lines from long cuts, similar to those on his face. He’d hurt, those scars told her; he’d bled. The cuts had been made deliberately, by someone who’d wanted to hurt him.

Juliana put out her finger and traced one of the scars that snaked to his shoulder. The skin was smooth where it had been cut, and she glided her touch over it, then down his arm to the delicate leaves of the tattoo.

She expected Elliot to wake at her touch. He’d open his gray eyes and smile at her, and perhaps—her heart beat faster—he would roll her onto her back and continue kissing and tasting her. The marriage bed was a fine place indeed.

Elliot didn’t stir. Not to be surprised—yesterday had been excessive.

Juliana leaned down and pressed a kiss to the vine on his arm, then another, and another. Her hair tumbled forward, loosened from its braid, brushing Elliot’s back, and still he did not wake.

Juliana lifted her hair out of the way, leaned to Elliot’s cheek, and kissed it. Then his lips.

She wanted him to open his eyes, to smile, as he had when he’d come to Juliana’s debut ball and stolen a kiss from her on the terrace. That young Elliot had been laughing, teasing, a man with whom she’d talked and danced for hours.

This Elliot was quiet, his smiles gone, with a tattoo on his arm and knife scars on his face and back. She kissed the scars.

Elliot still didn’t move. Juliana sat up and looked at him.

The covers fell from her bare body. Elliot slept on, his breathing quiet and shallow, no snoring.
All
men snored, Gemma had assured her.

“Elliot?” Juliana gently shook him. His skin was hot, his body limp, and he didn’t wake.