There was more?
Bracing himself on his other hand, he held his weight off of her, bending his head to treat her nipple to the same bliss that other part of her had enjoyed. Her hands glided over his shoulders, the prickly wool still covering them, and she frowned.
“I want to touch you.”
Rocking back until he sat on his heels, Connor stared down at her. Eyes blazing, hair mussed. He’d never looked more handsome. After a brief hesitation, he stripped off his jacket. Practically popping the buttons of his shirt before he flung it to the side. Eager to help, Piper reached for the buttons of his trousers, however, he stayed her hands and guided them to his chest.
He was as smooth and solid as he’d been in her fantasies. As hot, too. She stroked his chest, then slid her eager hands down his sides to his hips. Across the dip and rise of the muscles rippling his abdomen. Up to his shoulders, where those muscles coiled and bunched, and down his arms with the prickle of fine hairs tickling at her palms. Drawing herself up, she tasted him, damp, and salty, her lips grazing his flat nipple much as his had hers. Another moan shook his chest and she followed it up to the base of his neck, sucking lightly.
Connor caught her hands and descended over her, pinning her arms above her head. His lips swallowed her protest, kissing her with fervent insistence that renewed that dizziness. As did the erotic glide of chest against chest, flesh against flesh. This time it was her moan that shook them both.
His arms shook. She wrapped hers around his shoulders, realizing that his entire body was quaking much as hers had before he’d driven her to the edge of oblivion.
Hadn’t he…?
Remembering what he’d said about having her legs wrapped around him, Piper did just that. The effort made room for him to settle deeper between her thighs. The turgid bulge of his trousers nestled tightly against her and an animalistic groan resonated through him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and tried to pull back. She locked her legs at the ankle to keep him there. Bring him down to her. With a growl, he rocked his hips against her, spurring a rapacious thrill in her and she knew there was much more, indeed.
Something fine and good. Glory and light. There need never again be darkness.
She reached for the buttons on his trousers and he stalled her effort. “I’m nae done wi’ ye yet, lass.”
There was fierce desire in his eyes and obstinacy, too. Let him have his way. She’d have hers soon enough.
What followed revealed another level of sensuality. Of carnality. There was not an inch of her body neglected by his touch, his kiss. He worshipped her from head to toe. Rousing, then soothing. Fondling, then stroking. Stoking fires and banking them. Enchanting and frustrating. It wasn’t until she begged for mercy that his talented fingers returned to her molten core, taunting and thrusting until that moment of exaltation caught her in its grasp. The pinnacle of rapture awaited once more.
Chapter 18
For the first time in a long time, I feel as if all is right in the world. My future isn’t merely an expanse of days extended before me any longer. It is bright.
~ from the diary of Piper Brudenall, September 1895
Connor held Piper in his arms, her well-sated body draped over his chest. Would that he were as replete. The ache of unfulfilled lust gnawed at him. His rampant member throbbed insistently with the need to be buried deep within her willing body.
He’d not allow himself that satisfaction but could take some measure of gratification in the ecstatic sighs of pleasure and cries he’d drawn from her. It would have to be enough.
Slipping out of the bed, he left undeniable temptation sleeping soundly and walked out into the parlor. An oil lamp on the table next to the settee still burned low, casting its light upon the neglected tea tray. Another unslaked hunger reared its head, and he took one of the quartet of scones arranged next to the teapot.
Sweet and tart, just like his bonny lass.
He ate the rest of them before going to the kitchen in search of more. A nearly full plate of them on a wooden worktable was his reward, along with a leftover wedge of meat pie topped with a thick, flaky crust. Finding a fork, he dug into it. Though cold, it was delicious. Tender bits of steak and a hint of dark ale and onion. His lass did know how to cook.
With undue relish, he leaned his hips back against the table and devoured it straight from the dish with all the appetite he would have liked to have given to making love to Piper.
He wouldn’t take her. Couldn’t. She was an innocent. Perhaps not as innocent as before, though officially chaste and he vowed to keep it that way no matter how it pained him.
The remainder of her virtue would be her husband’s to take. The pain in his groin journeyed upward to clench at his heart. The thought of her belonging to another someday—nay, any day—brought a pang of jealousy with it.
Nearly choking on his final bite of pie, he set the pan aside and rifled through the kitchen until he found a half empty bottle of red wine. Ale would have been better, whisky best. He’d take what he could get to drown his woes.
How could he see her off to the hands of another when it was his hands eager to hold her lush breasts again? When he wanted nothing more than to worship and adore her? Over and over, for the rest of his days?
He shook his head and drank straight from the bottle, too flustered to hunt for a glass. The rest of his days? Bugger it, it was nothing more than thwarted lust that roused such thoughts. If he were to have her, quench his thirst for her, such an idea would seem as ridiculous in thought as it was in truth.
Even as the notion came to mind, he swept it away.
From the start, he’d known that Piper’s lure was greater than any he’d ever known. Different from the rest. While her luscious body kindled a magnitude of passion in him beyond any he’d dared imagine, she stirred much more than that. A need to protect and defend, shelter and console. He wanted to laugh with her, fight with her.
Was this how it began? Unlike most of his brothers, Connor hadn’t been old enough to bear the trauma his eldest brother’s first wife had played upon the others. Cheating, conniving, she’d trained them all to be distrustful of women. Indomitable when it came to matters of the heart.
The four oldest had suffered most from the lesson she’d taught them. Only in the last few years had they, one by one, been shown the flip side of the coin. The trust and affection. Even Jamie—often considered a bounder and far happier in a hell than a ballroom—had fallen to Cupid’s arrow, if his most recent letters were any indication.
To the last, they’d fought it while Connor had frequently been there to witness its inception. To watch it bloom, confound, and grow. He’d never been one to eschew love, scoff at it, or run from it. No, he’d simply never thought he’d be so fortunate as to discover the same bond of companionship, intimacy, and contentment that they had.
Had he? Had he somehow happened upon a budding promise of ardor about to bloom into something more?
“What are you doing?”
Piper appeared at the door wrapped in a faded, quilted robe, rubbing her eyes tiredly. Her inky locks hung in loose tangles around her flushed face. His heart contracted at the sight.
Was this it then? Connor hesitated in pinning that all-encompassing word to what was blossoming between them. They hadn’t known each other long. Surely not long enough to ascribe a particular label and future upon it.
Ascribed timelines notwithstanding, his oldest brother, Francis, always said that, for him, it had happened in an instant. A heartbeat. A single, magical moment that he’d carried with him through long years before he reunited with his beloved Eve.
As Connor had cradled his first, too-brief meeting with Piper in his heart for months.
“Ye left me wi’ a fierce hunger, lass.”
The most honest truth.
She took in the nearly empty plate. “Did you leave some for me?”
“It’s all yers.”
Another truth.
She came to
him and snuggled close, kissing his lips. “Was it good?”
“Delectable.” Setting the bottle aside, he wrapped his arms around her and brushed his lips across the top of her head.
The rest of his days.
It sounded bloody good at the moment. With Piper by his side, far away from Dinton Grange, from its threat. A new life to be shared.
Aye, for the rest of his days.
“Are ye entirely opposed to marriage?”
“What?” She didn’t tense in his arms so much as stilled.
It was hardly a subject he intended to introduce at this particular moment, but once spoken, he forged forward. “Ye said the other day that marriage to this merchant’s son was something ye would avoid at all costs.”
Piper considered him curiously. No doubt it seemed an odd subject to broach given what had occurred between them. “I did say that. Are you asking for my hand?”
Her frown offered no encouragement, yet he couldn’t help but ask, “Would ye like me to?”
“No,” she responded with insulting haste. A blush suffused her cheeks. “That is, there is no need for you to feel obligated to ask. I am an adult and quite aware of and responsible for my own actions. Nor do I need any disproportionate display of sympathy or coddling.”
Blast, if that was the way her thoughts leaned, he’d have more work than he’d expected in ensuring that she came around to his way of thinking.
And he intended to do precisely that.
In that moment, it struck him that marriage wasn’t solely something she should contemplate. It might be the solution to all of her problems.
“Och, lass. Have ye no’ considered that the easiest way to circumvent being forced into marriage is to wed of yer own free will?”
* * *
Piper stared at Connor, stupefied by the question. Marriage had become an evil word to her after what had happened. The institution equally vile. Thinking about it now in the terms Connor presented, it became something of a revelation.
Her mother couldn’t coerce her into marriage if she were already wed. More importantly, she’d be free of Rutledge forever. All the darkness and woe set behind her in favor of a brighter future.
Married.
Safely married.
Piper slipped from his embrace and absently considered the food on the table, choosing a scon. Taking a nibble, she thought about it. Why hadn’t she considered it before? She’d passed the age of consent according to British law. She couldn’t inherit yet, but she could marry where she pleased without anyone’s permission.
The answer was obvious. At seventeen, while well-learned, she hadn’t been worldly. Moreover, it hadn’t been logic that had driven her actions. It had been a mere lick of common sense akin to that a person might experience in a burning building.
Flee. Save yourself.
When she dreamt of love and companionship, or imagined that bright future with someone to love at her side, marriage never entered her mind. The institution, in and of itself, had been indelibly linked to her ordeal with Rutledge. Equated with consenting to liberties that long roused horror.
Even when she’d suspected the pleasure of a physical union…even when Connor had proven the joys of ardent passion, she’d never contemplated the possibility.
Now, there was more than the gratification to be found in the arrangement to consider.
There was salvation.
“Have I shocked ye into silence?” he teased, though his voice was oddly strained. “It isnae a terribly farfetched idea, is it?”
Piper glanced over her shoulder and found her voice. “In the sense that I’d never pondered it before, yes. However, the idea does hold some merit.”
“Only some?” He sauntered toward her in slow steps, a devastating grin on his lips. “No’ great merit?”
Shaking her head, she brushed the crumbs from her fingers, gasping in surprise when his arms slid around her to cup her breasts. The length of his body melded to her back. The solid beat of his heart rocked her. His growing erection nudged her bottom, and Piper froze.
He nuzzled her neck, and opened the belt of her robe, pushing it to the side. Caressing her bare bottom, he bowed against her until she was bent over the table.
A jolt of panic struck. She straightened abruptly, slamming the back of her head into his chin. “No!” She calmed herself. “I want to see you.”
Turning, she wrapped her arms around his neck, fusing her nearly naked body with his. This. This was what she wanted. Connor and no other.
She drew his head down, expressing the depth of that desire. Urging him to show his. He squeezed her so tight it took her breath, as did his kiss. Deep, devouring. Tasting both tart and savory.
“Will you make love to me now?” she asked. “All of it?”
“Aye, lass,” he crooned. “I will make ye mine.”
His. She liked the sound of that. Regrettably, it couldn’t be him she wed. He was Harry’s brother-in-law, after all. Even if they ran away together, someday he’d want to come back to his family. There’d be no hiding from her brother then, but what would it matter? She’d be safely marr—
“Oh,” she gasped as his clever fingers slipped between her legs driving out all logical thought.
Connor grinned inwardly as she cried out. Head thrown back, she clung to his shoulders. He took advantage, burying his face in the crook of her neck and biting gently.
She yelped sweetly, his vocal lass. By God, she was gorgeous in her passion. Embracing it fully. Never denying a moment of it no matter how far he pushed her. He slid his fingers between her wet folds, teasing her silken flesh, while she gasped and whimpered in his ear. With his free hand, he cupped her breast, kneading gently. Then rolled her taut nipple between his fingers. She called his name, her nails digging into his back.
Each wanton cry laid him bare, each needy thrust of her lithe body fed his lust until he throbbed with an urgency of own. The sound of his own harsh breaths drowned her out.
“Oh, God.”
She was close, bloody close. As was he. She writhed against him, hands gripping the edge of the table. Scooting her bottom up on it to spread her thighs wide. Inviting him to take her.
And he would. He needed her. Had to have her.
Take the gift meant for her future. Meant for him.
She was his. Forever.
His beguiling, bonny lass.
He scooped her into his arms, her bereft moan protesting the action. Regardless, he’d be damned if he took her for the first time on the kitchen table. They’d have time enough to explore every piece of furniture in the house. First, he’d have her in a blasted bed.
He carried her back to the bed and dropped her on top of it. In short order, he shed his shoes, trousers, and small clothes before climbing over her and between her welcoming thighs. Connor settled there, determined to be gentle, but lust—along with the urgent grip of her long legs around his hips—spurred him on. Without pause, he drove into her with a passionate shout of his own.
“My God, Piper,” he gasped into her hair, trying to regain his breath. His rational thought. Hot, tight, her body begged him to ravish her. “Tell me I dinnae hurt ye, lass.”
“I’ll hurt you if you don’t carry on,” she whispered in his ear, wringing a chuckle from him.
He began to move, Piper clinging to him with a gasp of her own. “Oh, Connor. This is so…I cannot…more.”
“Aye. More.”
All he had to give. All he was.
Cupping her bottom in his hands, he lifted her hips and took her with long, powerful strokes. She clenched him tight, held him. She was paradise. Her soft hands glided down his back to clutch his arse as she strained against him. Searching, Seeking. He showed her the way, searing friction spiraling then coiling. Her legs quivered. She tensed, body bowed as she threw her head back with a throaty cry.
Connor thrust hard one last time and let go his savage desire, an eruption of body and soul taking all that he had. She convulsed around him
, hugging his hard length. Collapsing on top of her, he kissed her damp neck. Her cheeks were wet with tears, proving she’d been as shaken by their union as he. He kissed them away, sharing a smile with her.
“Tha mi gu bràth na mo bheatha, mo chridhe,” he told her in a harsh whisper. The ancient language of the Scots carried a promise she might not yet accept. She was his. His heart. Forever. “Sleep now.”
Chapter 19
I must escape this ghastly insanity. I have just two more days until my choices may no longer be up to Harry. Or me.
~ from the diary of Piper Brudenall, January 1893
Midmorning had come and gone before Connor left his room. Normally, he was an early riser. This morning he was wrung out and too tired even to rouse his head from his pillow when someone knocked on his door. He’d earned his rest, he thought with a grin.
After a short nap, he and Piper had stayed up most of the night. They’d sat cross-legged on the worktable in the kitchen sharing the rest of the meat pie and scones, along with another bottle of wine. Talking about nothing in particular for hours. Light banter punctuated by moments of serious conversation. They’d made love there and another time in bed before he’d left her at dawn, well-sated and blissfully asleep.
He loved her smiles, from mild to the fullest when her dimple would appear. She’d mentioned not having smiled thus as long as she could remember. Such a sorrowful admission to his ears, and he determined to keep her face wreathed in them for the rest of her days.
The rest of their days.
To begin immediately. He’d allow a day for her to pack her things and say her goodbyes. On the morrow, they would depart Dinton Grange and leave her troubled past behind for good. Donning his work clothes—he did have a project to finish, after all—he left his room and strode down the hall, eager to see her before he joined the others in the field.
A Question for the Ages (Questions for a Highlander Book 7) Page 17
