The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress

by Anna Campbell

  "Aye, I will at that, lassie." She’d already noticed that when his feelings were engaged, traces of a beguiling Scottish brogue emerged. "But not so fast. We have some unfinished business first."

  Puzzled, she turned back. "Unfinished business?"

  "Aye."

  Laughter lit his eyes. Laughter and desire. Another rush of excitement sizzled through her.

  He tugged her back into his arms. "This."

  Brock kissed her with a heated determination that made her quake. She responded with all the fervent passion burning inside her.

  When he lifted his head, he looked as shaken as she felt. "My God, Selina, I have an almighty hunger for you. I hope you know what you’re inviting."

  She gave a throaty laugh. "I don’t. That’s what makes this week such an adventure."

  After another brief kiss, he drew her toward the door. "Heaven is waiting for us, my darling. Let’s go and find it."

  Chapter 4

  "Did you mean what you said at the inn?" Brock leaned back against the red leather seat of his luxurious coach, as it rolled through the flat Essex countryside. Outside, it was cold but clear, although senses honed during his Scottish childhood told him there would be snow before tomorrow morning.

  Tomorrow morning when he’d wake up in his hunting box with a new and bewitching mistress in his arms.

  Selina turned from looking out the window at the beautiful, if bleak landscape.

  The light shone stark gray on her delicate features. It still astonished him that even with her unassuming manner, people missed how lovely she was. Of course, she dressed like a damned Quaker. If only he could keep her for more than a week. He’d show her off as she deserved to be shown off, in rich colors and extravagant fabrics. Dressed to draw attention, she’d set the world on its ear.

  Steady, laddie. There’s no point wishing for more than she’s giving you. That way lies nothing but frustration and misery.

  Nonetheless it seemed like a bloody waste that this sensual creature meant to consign herself to a blundering jackanapes like Cecil Canley-Smythe.

  "What did I say?" she asked.

  "That we shouldn’t waste a minute."

  Her answer was unhesitating. "Yes."

  A slow, pleased smile stretched his lips. "We have a couple of hours before we reach the hunting box."

  Her velvety brown eyes rounded, and her gloved hands clenched in her olive green skirts. Olive green! When she was born for peacock blue and crimson and emerald. The first time he saw her in her Quakerish gray gown, he’d thought of a queen disguised as a beggar maid. "You want to…begin now?"

  He shrugged, although any appearance of ease was manufactured. "Not if you find the idea distasteful."

  She gave a huff of self-deprecating laughter. "You must know I don’t."

  "I hope. But you seem so eager to sit over there on your own, I can’t be sure."

  She made a helpless gesture. "Are you saying you’d like me to cuddle up to you?"

  "For a start."

  "Forgive me. I’m such a rank beginner at this."

  That damned tenderness surged again. "I suppose you’ve only ever done it in bed."

  "Yes. Under cover of darkness. And not for years. When I realized Roderick was so…indiscriminate, I locked him out of my room."

  Dear God, how she’d been shortchanged when it came to the men in her life. "Bloody fool, to seek his pleasure elsewhere when he had paradise waiting at home."

  Another of those wry little exhalations of amusement. "He didn’t see it like that. He said I was about as exciting as a plank of wood." She frowned. "I hope you won’t feel that way."

  Brock laughed, even as he wished he’d had the chance to punch the vile Roderick in the nose. "I promise I won’t."

  "You might need to be patient, all the same." She went back to looking troubled. "I’m not very experienced."

  He gave a long-suffering sigh. "I can see I’ve taken on a huge responsibility to womankind. I hope I’m up to it."

  Up to it? He was half-aroused already. He reached across to pull down the blinds, plunging them into a twilit world. In the confined space, Selina’s jasmine scent tinged the air with the promise of bliss.

  "What do I need to do?" She sounded nervous as she crossed to sit beside him.

  "Only what you feel like."

  "I feel like running away back to London."

  When he caught her fluttering hand, it trembled in his grip. "Do you really?"

  "No." The word was a breath of sound.

  Anticipation rushed through him. "Good. Will you sit on my lap?"

  "Yes."

  He raised his head and stared into her eyes. This close, even in the dim light, he saw flecks of green and gold in the rich brown. "First this can go."

  Carefully, as though one rash move might scare her away, he untied the ribbons under her chin that held her bonnet in place. He tossed the plain straw monstrosity onto the other seat.

  "Are you…are you going to undress me?"

  "It’s too cold." He removed his leather gloves and shoved them into his pocket, then taking his time, he slid her gloves from her slender hands. He lifted each hand to his lips, then turned them over and kissed her palms.

  She made a faint sound of pleasure. How the hell had her husband failed to give her satisfaction? She was the most responsive woman he’d ever known.

  Selina’s unwavering stare betrayed fear and dawning excitement. He kissed her palm again, circling his tongue, relishing the taste of her skin. She shifted against the seat as arousal stirred.

  "Are you ready?" he murmured.

  She cast him an uncertain glance. "No."

  He smiled. "Are you sure?"

  The smile she gave him in return was tremulous. "No."

  With a cautious movement, she reached for his shoulder. Working with the swaying carriage, she wriggled around and placed her luscious rump on his knees. The soft heat of her, so close to his cock, made him swell and harden. He released a strangled sound as his arms encircled her, holding her safe against the rocking.

  "Are you all right?" she asked unsteadily.

  "Aye, I’m just a little overheated."

  "I’m glad. It makes me feel less at a disadvantage to know that you’re on edge, too."

  A grunt of amusement escaped him. "On edge? I’m a breath away from insanity."

  "Is that bad?"

  He bit back another groan as a bump rubbed her against him. "It is when I want to give you pleasure."

  "Knowing you want me gives me pleasure."

  It was his turn to be lost for words. "Selina…"

  "Kiss me, Brock," she whispered, tilting her face toward his and sliding her hand along his shoulder to the nape of his neck. "I love it when you kiss me."

  How could he resist? This time when he kissed her, she displayed none of last night’s hesitation. She opened her mouth, and the kiss soon turned hot and voracious. By the time he pulled back, they were both panting.

  With avid hands, he hauled up her skirts to reveal a froth of petticoats and long, beautiful legs. Sheer linen drawers covered her to the knees, where sky-blue garters held up white stockings.

  He ran his finger around the silk ribbon. "Pretty."

  Much prettier than anything else he’d seen her wear, in fact. This glimpse into a hidden sensuality was intriguing.

  He glanced up at her intent face. "You keep surprising me."

  She raked her fingers through his hair as if she stroked a big cat. "Nobody can see to disapprove."

  "I can see, and I approve very much." He slid one hand under the loose leg of her drawers, and they both gasped when his hand met bare flesh.

  He caressed her gently, venturing higher with each touch, until the linen rucked up and he cupped the damp heat of her mound. She released an audible explosion of breath, as his hand crept into her cleft and teased the heated flesh. She was slick and satiny to his touch, and when he curled his thumb over the center of her pleasure, he heard one of tho
se hums of pleasure he loved.

  He turned his head and nuzzled her soft blond hair. "May I take off your drawers?"

  "Yes," she said on a long hiss, as he increased the pressure on the pearl of flesh that stiffened under his caresses.

  "Thank you." He glanced a kiss across her ear and felt her shiver as his breath brushed the sensitive skin.

  He was in an agony of desire, hard and aching. He’d like to rip her drawers away, but he forced his shaking hands to do their best to undo the tapes. Not since he was a raw boy had a lover made him tremble. Selina Martin possessed a magic that beggared his sophistication.

  "These knots are an infernal nuisance," he grated out.

  She reached down and with embarrassing ease, undid the ties. Then she wriggled some more to get the damned rag off. He wished he had torn her drawers away. As she shifted about on his lap, he suffered an agony of frustration and delight. After what felt like an eternity, the frail linen garment slipped to the floor.

  The carriage’s jolting made his torment worse – or better. Every time she bumped his aching cock, he came close to spilling. He ground his teeth and told himself he must wait, but he wanted her too much. He, the great master of sensuality, fell victim to his primitive urges.

  He caught a glimpse of white thighs and a nest of light brown curls as she tortured him with more sliding and bobbing. Brock pressed back against the seat, so she had room to place her bent knees on either side of his hips. The scent of female excitement was more intoxicating than the finest French brandy.

  "Like this?" she asked.

  "Aye. And hold onto my shoulders."

  Brock reached down, his knuckles skimming her glistening pubic hair, and ripped at the buttons on his breeches. He was in a frenzy to plunge inside her.

  His dick sprang free and over the pounding of his heart, he heard her gasp. "You’re so much bigger than…"

  Than her late husband. "Touch me."

  "It’s permitted?"

  Her uncertainty made him smile. "It’s required."

  She gave a shaky giggle. Then shock shuddered through him as she released his shoulder and reached down to curl an unsteady hand around him.

  He suffered her clumsy caresses until stars exploded in his head. "Selina…stop now," he growled, catching her hand and pulling it away.

  Wide brown eyes met his. "You don’t like me touching you?"

  "I like it too much." Hands rough with urgency, he caught her hips. "Take me."

  He’d expected her to balk when the moment came, but she showed no reluctance. She gripped his shoulders and after some heart-stopping wiggling, she positioned herself over him at last.

  With a voluptuous sigh of pleasure that would echo in his dreams, she sank over him. He closed his eyes as he basked in the tight, wet grip. He was a large man, but she took all of him.

  For one reverberant moment, she sagged into his body and he felt her trembling reaction. Then she straightened and shifted upward. Another long glide of sexual pleasure. His balls tightened, and he was already teetering on the brink.

  "Hell and damnation," he growled as she descended again. Lightning raged behind his eyes, but somehow he remembered that he’d promised to save her from getting with child.

  "Selina, don’t take me inside you after this," he said on a gust of breath. He suffered another glide of her body, then twisted, until her back hit the leather seat. "Hold your skirts up."

  With shaking hands, she obeyed. He kneeled over her, one hand gripping the back of the seat to keep his balance. With his other hand, he grabbed his dick, as his heart crashed into his ribs with dizzying force. He pressed down, his cock pumping onto her bare stomach. The sway of the carriage added another rich note to the glorious release.

  A glorious release that he was mortified to acknowledge was a one-sided event.

  Brock sat up and swore, running an unsteady hand through his hair. "I’m sorry, my darling."

  He wanted to tell her that this had never happened to him before, but it sounded too much like a lying excuse.

  Flushed, ruffled, beautiful, she sprawled half-sitting against the side of the carriage. Her gaze was dark and confused as she stared at him. His seed shone wet on her stomach. He dug in his pocket for his handkerchief and began to clean her up.

  "You want me that much?" she asked in a husky voice, as she lay still beneath his ministrations.

  "Aye," he said, crumpling the square of white linen and shoving it back in his pocket. "Can you forgive me?"

  To his surprise, a delighted smile curved her lips. "That you want me beyond reason? Yes, I think I might find it in my heart to forgive you."

  Shocked, he stared at her. "You’re damned tolerant."

  Selina sat up and touched his cheek. The small gesture of comfort eased his raging self-disgust, and he believed she really did forgive him. As she smoothed her skirts, she afforded him another view of those spectacular legs. "You can do better next time."

  He gave a rueful laugh. "I can. I will."

  Brock studied her. Her bodice remained buttoned to the neck, all demure modesty. His hands curled into fists on his lap, as the need to see her breasts surged through him. When he got her into bed, he’d keep her there and climaxing until today’s disappointment became a dim memory.

  In fact, why wait for the hunting lodge? "Right now," he said.

  "Now?" She waved a hand toward where his prick spilled from his open breeches. "Don’t you need time to…"

  "There’s more than one way to skin a cat, sweetheart."

  To his surprise, sensible, proper Mrs. Martin burst into a fit of enchanting giggles.

  ***

  Selina gained control of her amusement in time to watch her devilish lover tuck himself back into his breeches with a leisurely lack of self-consciousness. Brock was built on impressive lines. She’d known he would be.

  When she’d taken him inside her body, she felt like he filled every lonely space in her heart and soul. The effect had been extraordinary. He stretched her more than Roderick ever had, and in a way she couldn’t explain, that powerful claiming had reached beyond the physical realm. Even with the disappointing finish, Brock’s possession offered an emotional sustenance she’d never known before.

  She knew he was piqued at losing himself before she found her pleasure. But even that was appealing. Roderick had never cared. Early in their marriage, she’d retained the vague hope that the conjugal act might offer more than a brief and messy penetration. But her husband had been quick to inform her that no wife of his would act the whore. She’d often wondered if Roderick expected his doxies to lie like a log while he grunted and heaved over them.

  How would Cecil use her body? Would he show as little genuine interest in her as Roderick had? Some deep feminine instinct warned her that he wanted more than occasional compliance. She hid a shudder at the thought.

  "What’s wrong?"

  She wasn’t used to a man – to anyone – paying attention to her. "Nothing."

  Brock was frowning. "You went from laughing to looking like you contemplated your own hanging."

  He wasn’t far wrong. Sometimes she felt like her approaching marriage wasn’t much of an improvement over an execution. But Selina refused to let grim thoughts intrude on this short affair. She had the rest of her life to come to terms with an incompatible husband. "I let my thoughts stray where they shouldn’t."

  Brock ran his hand through his hair. "You must be cursing me as a damned impetuous boy, but I really can do better. It’s just that you make me so wild with wanting you. I’m never a greedy lover – but I’m greedy for you. Have you ever had a man’s mouth on your quim?"

  "Your mouth?" she stammered, carnal images invading her mind. Her womb clenched as if he already kissed her…down there.

  His lips curled in a wolfish smile that made her shiver with anticipation. "Let me make up for my sins against you."

  In such a way? She couldn’t imagine it. But his kisses and hands had already stirred her des
ire to a hectic pitch. When he lost himself on her stomach, she’d barely retreated from the brink. She still wanted a climax.

  When his control shattered, he’d awoken a vast tenderness. Brock always seemed a superhuman figure, above the frailties of mere mortals. Knowing that she could destroy the rake’s restraint made her marvel. And preen.

  So she found the courage to accept what was about to happen. "What would you like me to do?"

  "Sit back and accept the pleasure." The smile intensified. "It’s the least I owe you."

  "Should I stay where I am?"

  When he considered her with such concentration, her yearning flowered until she trembled. He spoke in a deliberate, thoughtful voice. "Easiest, I think, and no doubt safer, if you balance on the edge of the bench and spread your legs. I’ll kneel in front of you."

  Without hesitation, she wriggled around to place her feet flat on the floor of the bumping carriage. She was sinfully conscious that beneath her skirts, she was bare.

  Her heart pounded with anticipation as she watched Brock settle on his knees before her. Anticipation and nerves. She’d never considered this as a sensual variation. It seemed bizarre. Bizarre, but breathtakingly exciting. She was mere hours into her descent to ruin. She’d ridden on a man’s lap, and now her lover’s mouth would explore her sex.

  Gently Brock pushed up her skirts to reveal her thighs and stomach. A stomach that felt tight and heavy with burgeoning arousal. When he bent to kiss her thighs, the heat of his lips shuddered through her like an explosion. She stared down at his thick dark hair, disheveled after she’d run her hands through it when he thrust inside her.

  "Hold your skirts up for me," he murmured.

  She fumbled to obey as he pushed her knees apart, his eyes glued to the secret hollows of her body. She told herself that once she’d accepted Brock’s invitation to become his lover, modesty had no place. But she couldn’t silence twenty-seven years of virtue so easily. Right now, she was frantic to cover herself.

  "I’m making you nervous," he said without looking up.

  More of that perception. Again it surprised her.

  "Yes," she admitted.