Chapter Five
The MacLean curse is an old one, placed upon the family in the times of Robert the Bruce by the infamous White Witch. She resides in the forest outside of Muir da Og. They say she’s as lovely as a sunrise, and her only pleasure is in eating the hearts of the human men she’s spurned.
OLDWOMANNORA OFLOCHLOMOND
TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT
Fiona awoke, aware before she opened her eyes that she was not alone.
Stretching, she turned to her side and saw Jack sitting beside the fireplace, the flames casting shadows over his face. His cravat was untied, his coat thrown across a chair, his shirtsleeves rolled back from powerful forearms. He held a glass of amber liquid as he gazed unseeingly into the flickering flames.
Fiona rolled to one elbow and pushed her hair from her eyes. “Well? What did your solicitor say?”
Jack did not even turn to look at her. “You know damn well what he said. It would take an act of Parliament to get the marriage annulled, unless you agreed to say I’d not touched you.” His lips twisted. “You wouldn’t, would you?”
“No.”
He never looked away from the fire. The flames cracked and popped, a faint warmth reaching the bed.
Fiona was glad for the heat. She’d fumed when he’d left, but the cold of the room had made her seek shelter in the huge bed. She’d taken off her pelisse and attempted to untie her boots, but the laces had knotted and her cold fingers had been unable to loosen them. She’d finally climbed between the sheets fully dressed, buried her head in a pillow, and fallen asleep almost immediately.
From his chair, Jack now regarded her stonily, his glass held tightly in one hand, his gaze hard.
She plucked at the heavily hemmed edge of the sheet. “I daresay you’re tired. Perhaps you should sleep—”
He slammed his glass onto the side table, his blazing glare silencing her. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me! I am stuck with this marriage, but I do not have to put up with the mewing of a wife I never wanted!”
Fiona gripped the sheet with both hands. “Very well,” she said in a reasonably steady voice. “I will never again inquire after your well-being. But do not think I will accept poor behavior. We can at least be pleasant to each other until we have the child. After that, I will move back to Scotland.”
“And the child?”
She frowned. “He will stay with me.”
“Fine. So long as you leave me in peace.”
His words should have had no power to wound her, for they were exactly what she expected.
Jack stood and pulled off his untied cravat, tossing it to one side. He paused long enough to refill his glass and take another drink, wavering a bit as he did so.
He was drunk. Fiona’s heart sank a bit lower. He would come to her bed now and do his duty, and she…what would she do? Her body and mind seemed strangely divorced, and she dreaded the coming moments. Dreaded what had once been the most amazing event of her life.
Her memories were deeply colored by their passion, but now it would not be the same. Gone was the concern, the caring. All that was left was anger and distrust.
Jack yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Within moments, his breeches followed suit, and he stood before her, naked.
The firelight flickered over his body, tracing the ridges of his chest, caressing the flatness of his stomach, limning the powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders. He was beautiful. She’d forgotten how just the sight of him could warm her with anticipation, even now.
“Why are you still dressed?” he asked harshly.
“I was cold.”
His lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. “If we are to make a child, you will have to make sacrifices.”
She managed to nod. “Of course.” She reached up and untied her gown, her gaze still fixed upon him. There was something intent about him, something coiled. His eyes were dark, his body tense, as if he were about to pounce.
Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, she decided, looking up into his blue, blue eyes and noting the thick curl of his lashes. He would pounce, and it would feel ever so wonderful. She knew that already. He was a heartbreaker, exquisitely skilled in bed and ready to take his pleasure by giving it.
She bit her lip to fight a shiver. She wanted to throw her arms around Jack and kiss him mindlessly, encourage him to continue with this seduction.
She wanted to put a hand to his cheek and rub her palm over his shadow beard, letting the stubble rasp against her skin.
She wanted to twine her arms around his neck more tightly and pull his mouth to hers and taste once again that hot, smoky passion that simmered between them.
Oh, God, this is really it.They were alone in his bedroom, they were married, there was nothing stopping them from consummating their union. Nothing at all.
She gave a nervous glance around. “Ah, this is a lovely room.”
His gaze never wavered from her. “Lovely, indeed.”
Cheeks hot, Fiona tried to find something to distract her unruly thoughts long enough for her to regain control of herself. “It’s an exquisite chamber. Is the rug an Aubusson?”
“Yes.” Jack walked across that very rug toward the bed, his movements fluid and deadly. “The rug is Aubusson.”
“And the clock is—”
“Ormolu.” He paused beside the bed. “The chairs are Hepplewhite. The table is a Pembroke, and the painting over the mantel is by Rubens. Anything else you wish to know?”
“You certainly know your furnishings. I don’t believe my brothers even notice ours.” Fiona sent Jack a curious look. “Why do you know the names of all this?”
“Because it is mine.”
“And yet…you didn’t bother with the name of my footman?”
“Footmen, like all people, come and go. This house will be here as long as I am.”
She forced herself not to look at him, standing so beautiful and naked beside the bed. Ah! The picture above the fireplace. “Th-that is a lovely painting.” It depicted a red-haired lady looking into the face of her lover, her expression one of sensual longing. “She’s, ah…naked.”
“As all beautiful women should be.” The bed sagged where he sat on the edge, his hip now against her leg.
She tried to move away, but the sheets held her in place.
He placed his hand over her knee. Fiona sat stock—still, her heart pounding so loudly she wondered if he could hear it. “Jack, perhaps…perhaps we should wait a bit, until—”
“No. You wanted this marriage, MacLean. You wanted it so badly you took my freedom to get it. And now you’ve got it.”
She glared up at him, anger burning away some of her trepidation. “I didn’t want to be tossed onto the bed and—” She tried to calm her quavering voice. “Jack, there is no reason we cannot at least proceed with civility.”
“Civility? Was it civil when you had me abducted and dragged to the altar like a sack of potatoes?”
She hated it when he was right. Really,really hated it. She took a deep breath and tried again. “Look, Jack—”
“If I am to do this, then it will be onmy terms.”
He gave her no choice. She only wished he would not argue with her while he was naked; it was difficult to make a coherent point with such a distraction. “What are your terms?”
He leaned forward. “When you are in my home, you will stay in my bed.”
She couldn’t swallow. Or breathe. Or even make a sound. She could only nod.
“Furthermore,” he continued, his gaze traveling down to her lips, “you will do so with appropriate enthusiasm.”
She found her voice. “You would have me pretend to feel something I do not?”
His hand cupped her breast, and Fiona jerked, her skin aflame, her breathing ragged as pure lust shot through her.
He smiled, a satisfied look on his face. “You won’t have to pretend with me, love.”
Fiona wished she could le
ave, run away as fast as she could and never look back. But if she returned home without Jack, her brothers would be furious. She would never make them believe that she’d walked away of her own free will; they’d think Jack had left her, which would be an unforgivable insult.
She took a deep breath. “Very well. You are right that we cannot do this halfway. We—we must do this with ‘enthusiasm.’”
The fire crackled and popped. Jack cupped her chin in his large, warm hand and turned her face to his. She almost gasped at the burning expression in his eyes; if she was aflame, he was afire. He wanted her, desired her passionately.
Fiona’s body quivered with answered need.
He slowly lowered his lips to hers, and Fiona was lost in a flood of heat and sensation. Without another thought, she gave herself over to the passion that Jack’s kiss stirred.
He felt her body soften into his, and he slid his hands up and down her body, cupping her to him, pressing his manhood to her.
He burned with lust and passion, seasoned with the faintest hint of anger. Distasteful as it was, marriage was now his lot in life. But if he had to be married, he might as well get something from it.
He ran his hand down her back to her hip, then her thigh. She moved restlessly, pressing against him, her mouth seeking his with increasing desperation. “Is this what you want?” he murmured against her lips. He pressed his hand between her thighs. “Or this?”
She moaned, shuddering with need, and Jack’s body tightened in response. He wanted her so badly, ached with a lust that burned so hotly and so deeply, he feared it might destroy them both.
She was fumbling with her gown. “Let me,” he said, his voice thick even to his own ears.
She nodded, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from their kiss. He quickly undid the remaining ties. He wanted to see her naked, her hair spread about her, her arms and legs open for him—him and no one else.
The thought gave him pause. He was not given to possessiveness; his liaisons were entertainments to be taken as they came, enjoyed, and then left. The freedom of the encounters gave spice to it all.
But with Fiona, it was different. Perhaps it was because she was the only woman he’d ever lost before he’d tired of her. Perhaps it was because she was the only woman who’d ever sent him away. Or perhaps it was something as simple as ownership. She was hiswife. The word sent a possessive thrill through him. His chest expanded at the thought, his body quickening.
The last tie of her gown came free.
With a simple tug at her neckline, Fiona loosened her gown, pushed it wide, and it slid down to her waist, a discarded froth of lace and silk and innocence. She shimmied a bit, kicking away the sheets as she pulled the gown free, and tossed it off the bed.
All she wore was a thin chemise, and the rosebud circles of her breasts pressed wantonly against the material and made his mouth water.
She sat upright and reached down to undo her boot laces, her chemise pulling lushly over her rounded ass.
Jack admired the curve, his fingers curling at the thought of cupping her to him.
“The laces are knotted,” she muttered, bending down farther to examine the problem. Her hair fell to one shoulder, pins pinging to the floor as the heavy strands fell loose. She sighed with exasperation, then took out the remaining pins and tucked her hair behind her ears.
Jack watched, his heart pounding a bit harder. Her hair was silken and thick, gleaming rich sable in the firelight. He wanted to slide his hands through her hair, sink into the clinging softness.
God, she was beautiful.
Unaware of his barely held control, she pulled and tugged on the knot. “Blast it!” she fumed. “I can’t untie them; the laces are in knots.”
He caught her wrist. “Leave them. I cannot wait.” He pulled her against him hard and took her mouth once more, kissing her deeply as he slid her chemise from her shoulders, pushing it down her arms, to her waist, and over her boots.
A lace caught on a heel, and he yanked it free, ignoring the tearing sound. Jack slid his arm around Fiona’s waist and lifted her to the center of the bed, where she lay clothed only in her pale skin, glossy hair, silk stockings, and dark blue leather half boots.
Jack stepped back to enjoy the sight before him. There was something about the contrast of her wanton body and the prim boots that stirred him even more. Something about the way her stockings rose from those boots to caress her pale skin and travel up her legs to the middle of her bare, rounded thighs.
Her creamy skin contrasted vividly with the long sable hair fanned over his pillows and the tight curls that hid the secrets between her thighs.
Never had Jack seen anything so enticing, so lovely. She lifted her arms and pulled him to her, her naked chest against his. Jack sank into her embrace, soaking in her sweetness. He tasted her lips, her cheeks, pressing kisses to her slender throat and shoulders. Every inch of her fascinated and intrigued him. Every kiss drew a gasp from her lips and urged him on.
He found her lips again and kissed her deeply, caressing her, exploring her, inhaling her.
She moaned against his mouth, and with that one, primal sound, Jack finally lost control.
He pressed against her, her legs parting beneath his, her hands tugging at him, pulling him closer.
She was intensely aroused; he could see it, smell it, taste it. So turgid he ached, he hooked his hand beneath one of her knees and pulled it high to his waist, his manhood pressing against her soft, damp opening.
Fiona gasped, her head thrown back, her eyes closing. “Yes!” she said between panting breaths. “Please!”
Still, he held back. As crazed as he was to be inside her, he wanted her to want him even more.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he pressed himself into her, gritting his teeth as her tight wetness encircled him with the firmness of a gloved hand.
Her lips parted, and she gasped loudly, her eyes flying open to meet his. “Jack.”
She pressed against him, encouraging him to move faster, her hands tight on his shoulders.
He increased his movements, captured by the pure pleasure of her expression.
“Yes,” she gasped.
Jack moved faster, consumed with the feel of her. She stretched about him, deliciously warm and wet, gasping his name, writhing beneath him, her heels pushing against his ass, pressing him forward. Sensations spiraled through him at the touch of hard leather, at the sounds of her gasps of pleasure, at the scent of her mingled with lilac.
He hovered on the razor-sharp edge of control.
“God, yes,” she said, pressing him forward, straining to take even more of him.
One of her leather boots rubbed against his hip, and he groaned at the shock of sensation, erotic pleasure flooding him. As he took her with renewed passion, she arched against him, clinging tightly.
“Jack!” she gasped.
The sight of her face, the pleasure that suffused her skin with a flush of pink, forced him to grit his teeth and hold back.
She clutched at his shoulders, lifting her hips, pressing against him, gasping for him to go faster.
In all his life, Jack had never had to fight for control the way he fought now. He’d never before flamed with such passion, desired anyone more. It was as if she’d cast a spell on him, making him hers with each touch and gasp.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he twined his hands in her hair, clenching his fists about the softness.
Her moans increased, and she moved frantically. He caught her shoulders and pressed deeply into her, holding himself rigidly in place.
Her eyes flew open. Her breath caught. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Suddenly, she thrust her hips forward, her heels pressing into the backs of his thighs as she came, her waves of tightening pleasure grasping at him, tugging him, making him crazed with lust as she gasped his name over and over.
Yet she did not stop. Her orgasm over, she bucked against him again, pulling him closer with her booted heels, spurring him on.
Jack thrust forward, sinking deeply into her and sending her over the edge once more. With a cry, she arched against him, clamping her legs around his hips as wave after wave of tightness clenched him.
He fell over the pinnacle with her, falling through a tumult of ecstasy, rasping out her name as he finally allowed himself release.
Gasping, he collapsed over her, keeping his weight on his elbows. She quivered below him, her eyes closed, her mouth parted, her face flushed with passion.
Jack rolled to his side, pulling her with him, and they lay in a tangle of legs and damp skin, hearts thundering, souls reeling.
Karen Hawkins - MacLean 1 How to Abduct a Highland Lord Page 6
