The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress

by Anna Campbell

  Brock shed his waistcoat and shirt in a hurry. When he stood before her bare-chested, she released a voluptuous sigh of appreciation. "You’re a beautiful man, Lord Bruard."

  For years, women had told him he was handsome, but the sheer wonder in Selina’s tone had him blushing. That hadn’t happened since he was a boy in the Highlands, chasing his first lassies. "Thank you," he said gruffly.

  She raised her hand in a languid gesture. "My pleasure."

  He chuckled. "That sounds like an invitation."

  That luscious mouth with its full lower lip curled in a wicked smile that a day ago he’d never have imagined he’d see on prim Mrs. Selina Martin’s face.

  "Clever as well as decorative. What a lucky girl I am." She must have seen he was on the verge of jumping on her – hell, he was so ready for her, he was close to coming. Only the memory of this afternoon’s wretched overexcitement and its result held him back. "But not yet."

  "You’re torturing me," he groaned.

  The smug little cat laughed. "You’ll live." When her attention sharpened below his waist, the results were predictable. "More."

  Brock dropped into the chair she’d used to such devastating effect when she’d removed her shoes and stockings. He couldn’t imagine he looked half so appealing as he tugged off his boots and stood to shed his breeches.

  She shifted to rest upon the pillows piled high against the headboard. Her gaze fastened on his rampant cock. He’d thought he was already as hard as he could get, but unbelievably he experienced a fresh rush of arousal.

  The silence extended.

  "Selina?"

  When she licked her lips, he groaned again. Still she didn’t speak.

  After a bristling interval, he asked, "Have I shocked you into a trance?"

  To his relief, her intense expression eased. "Did I say you’re beautiful? I was wrong."

  "You were?"

  "Oh, yes." He was sure now that whatever her reaction to his nakedness, disappointment wasn’t the problem. "I think splendid is a much better word."

  "Selina…"

  She smiled and held out a hand remarkable for its steadiness. "Now come here and do splendid things to me before I die of wanting you."

  Chapter 7

  Selina watched vivid excitement flood Brock’s dark features. She didn’t exaggerate when she called him splendid. All that masculine strength. All that masculine potency. How could she resist?

  "My darling girl…" In two strides, he reached the bed and came down over her. She framed his narrow hips between her legs and curled her arms around his supple back. His muscles tautened beneath her touch.

  She starved for him to thrust into her. He was starving, too. She could smell his need on his skin.

  "You’re as hot as a fire," she said in wonder, stroking down his spine to clasp his firm male buttocks with eager hands.

  "You make me burn."

  She believed it. His eyes glittered with desire, and his rod was an insistent presence against her soft belly.

  He kissed her hard, if too briefly, but she forgave him when he began to nip and nuzzle at her neck. Roderick had never kissed her there. Roderick had been interested in accomplishing the deed without undue effort. She’d had no idea that such a universe of pleasure awaited in another man’s arms. With every scrape of Brock’s teeth, every brush of Brock’s lips, thrills sizzled through her and the pulsing, needy weight between her legs grew more urgent.

  She arched up with a broken moan, a silent plea for more. When he’d pushed inside her in the carriage, she felt complete for the first time in her life. She couldn’t wait to experience that glory again. The shift in position brushed the aching tips of her breasts across the light covering of dark hair on his chest, and the tickling friction set her aquiver with arousal.

  "Brock, please…" she said, unable to put into words what she wanted.

  He raised his head from where he tormented her to madness and stared down into her face. His green eyes were as dark as a forest pond. "I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you, Selina."

  A warm rush of pleasure washed over her, heightening her desire. "I want you now," she rasped out.

  His lips curled with the hint of teasing that always made her melt. She’d never imagined that the act of love could encompass light as well as darkness. Brock had promised her joy. With him, she discovered joy had many faces, beyond the cataclysm of sexual climax.

  "Soon."

  Despite her urgency, she smiled back. "You’re a tormenting beggar."

  "I want to taste your breasts first. They’ve fueled my dreams, too."

  His honesty drew a confession from her. "I’ve often imagined your hands on me."

  His soft, surprised laugh bumped her deeper into the mattress beneath her back. "Have you indeed, you naughty lass?"

  "I…I imagined you doing a lot of things to me."

  "My darling…" He bent his head and traced a path of fire across her shoulder and down the slope of her breast. Her nipples tightened to the point of pain, and she bowed up in wordless encouragement.

  He shifted and caught her breasts in his hands, drawing a hiss of pleasure from her as he squeezed. Then overpowering sensation vanquished her ability to breathe, as he drew one yearning nipple between his lips and brushed his thumb across the other.

  Roderick had been rough, tugging on her nipples with painful enthusiasm. Brock’s touch was much more subtle. Gentle suckling on the tip made her sigh, and his hands were careful. Soon gentleness faded, and the wash of delight transformed into restless longing that had her gasping and writhing. She buried her hands in the rumpled silk of his hair and stretched up for more of that fiendish delight. His tongue laved her nipple, then she started as his teeth scraped over the sensitive flesh. A ribbon of flame licked down from her breast to her constricting womb.

  By the time he raised his head, she was quaking as if she had a fever. Her vision was misty with almost unbearable arousal.

  "You have beautiful breasts, Selina. My dreams didn’t do you justice."

  "My dreams didn’t do you justice either," she admitted, running her hand down the side of his face. He’d shaved before dinner, but now soft whiskers prickled her palm. "Please, I need you inside me. Don’t wait any longer. I ache for you."

  His smile this time was tender. "Let me ease your need."

  "You do," she said on an exhalation, angling her hips in unabashed demand. "I crave you."

  He lifted himself on his elbows until he could see her face. His gaze unwavering, he pushed forward with a smoothness that still astonished her. This was their first day as lovers, yet there was no awkwardness, no jostling to find their connection. Instead, there was this transcendent closeness, as though every time Brock joined with her, he claimed her soul.

  Her overstimulated body clenched into immediate climax, closing hard around him. As she rode out the turbulent waves, she cried out again and dug her fingernails into his shoulders.

  Brock groaned and buried his head in the curve of her neck, grazing her with his teeth. She was shuddering with reaction when Brock began to move, the powerful possession stoking her wild rapture.

  Selina was breathless and trembling as she drifted down from the heights. Then to her amazement, response flickered to life once more, as Brock set up a deep, driving rhythm that crushed her into the bed. After such a climax, she would have thought rising to another so swiftly was impossible, but soon she was shaking. He kept moving within her, penetrating so deep that she felt he took ownership of every inch of her.

  The next time, her womb contracted before she even recovered from the previous ascent. She rose to meet him, kissing him with all the passion she felt.

  At last, his superhuman control showed signs of shredding. He groaned again and caught her hips, tilting her. The new angle fired off a fresh volley of fireworks. She moaned and clutched tight to Brock’s shoulders, slick with sweat.

  As his movements grew choppy, she toppled over to take another flight
among the stars. Through the raging oceans in her ears, she was vaguely aware of a deep, guttural sound coming from his throat.

  He ripped himself away, shaking and sweating, and his body jerked over and over as he pumped his seed onto her bare stomach. She shivered with wanton excitement, as hot semen splattered across her skin.

  Brock rolled to the side and collapsed beside her with a lengthy, broken groan that conveyed both weariness and completion. She slumped back against the rumpled sheets, boneless with exhaustion.

  Selina supposed she should get up and wash. But she was as limp as a piece of wet string. She felt as if she’d flown into the center of the sun and dissolved into blinding light.

  "I had no idea you could do that to me," she said in a croaky voice, once she’d recovered breath enough to speak. "I had no idea anyone could do that to me."

  He flung one arm over his eyes, and his chest heaved as he struggled to fill his lungs. Had what they’d just done tested his limits, too? Surely not. "But you knew about pleasure."

  The ecstatic daze receded, and she stiffened with wariness. "I…"

  He lowered his arm and turned his head until he could see her. "You said Roderick had no idea how to give you a climax."

  A grim smile turned down her lips. "He might have had some idea. But if he did, he never exerted himself to prove it." She paused as she thought back to those uncomfortable, disheartening encounters with her husband. "I wonder if he did know. The women he paid for sexual congress wouldn’t demand any particular consideration, I suspect."

  "Yet he’s been the only man in your bed."

  Selina frowned up at the stars and moons embroidered on the tester above the bed. "I told you he was." All of a sudden, she felt awkward. "Don’t you believe me?"

  He rolled onto his side and rose on one elbow. "If you succumbed to temptation, I’m in no position to point a finger. In fact, I’d rather admire you if you did. That oaf Roderick deserved some of his own medicine."

  When Brock was buried between her thighs and she moaned and twisted in the throes of pleasure, she hadn’t felt self-conscious. Right now, she was ready to die of embarrassment. Her cheeks were hot, and she was agonizingly aware of her nakedness and the sticky mess drying on her stomach.

  With a shaking hand, she grabbed for the sheet. "I told you that I never betrayed my vows. That was the truth. I had a son to consider. A notorious mother could do him harm."

  Brock reached to catch her wrist, stopping her from hauling the sheet up to hide her mortification. "I’m not judging you, Selina."

  She avoided his eyes and tried to pull free. "It sounds like you are."

  "I’m curious. Damn it, I want to know everything about you. It’s absurd, but I want to encompass a whole lifetime with you in the space of one short week. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You owe me nothing. We come together by free will, and I have no right to compel you. But I’m puzzled. I hadn’t expected you to understand what a climax is."

  "I’ve never known pleasure at a man’s hand until you," she mumbled. She wasn’t comfortable with his questions, although the bewildered desperation in his tone mollified her a little. This ferocious need that flowered between them left her reeling. She was gratified to know that the worldly roué also found himself at a loss.

  "I believe you." When he drew her hand to his lips to place a kiss on the knuckles, she didn’t resist. "Let me clean you up."

  "I can look after myself." Her voice retained that tart edge.

  "Let me," he said softly, and the glow in his eyes vanquished her brief umbrage. "I want to cherish you."

  Cherish… What a lovely word. One she couldn’t apply to the way either Roderick or Cecil treated her. "Very well."

  Brock’s kiss was gentle. He swung out of bed, utterly at ease with his nudity. With deep feminine pleasure, she watched him walk to the washstand, admiring the long horseman’s thighs and the way the tight buttocks flexed as he strode across the carpet. The flickering candlelight turned his smooth olive skin to gold.

  "I scratched you," she said in horror, as her attention fastened on the jagged red marks marring that supple back.

  Without turning, he lifted the jug and splashed some water into the bowl. "I know."

  "I’m sorry."

  "I’m not. I like to wear your mark."

  Pleasure made her curl her toes against the sheets. How could she defend herself against him when he kept saying these things that set her heart cartwheeling?

  Defying the way her tired muscles objected, she pushed herself higher against the pillows and watched as he washed with quick efficiency. There was something thrilling about sharing such an intimate moment with him.

  Watching him wash his member brought back memories of having him deep inside her. A shiver of profound pleasure rippled through her. Already she wanted him again. He turned her into a glutton for his body.

  After he’d dried himself, he emptied the bowl, then filled it again and carried it across to the bed. "At least I can do a better job this time than I managed in the carriage."

  "You don’t have to act my servant."

  The tenderness tinging his smile made her want to cry. Which was mad, after the most joyous experience of her life. But she knew Brock well enough to recognize that while passion was nothing new to him, perhaps this poignant sweetness was.

  "Let me care for you."

  She stretched out against the crumpled sheets. "I’m not used to people seeking my comfort."

  His features darkened, and those expressive black brows lowered over his arrogant blade of a nose. Another surge of emotion overwhelmed her. She wasn’t used to people being angry on her behalf either.

  "While you’re with me, you’re my priority."

  He dipped the flannel into the bowl and began to wipe her stomach. While the water was only lukewarm, it felt glorious on her skin. Or perhaps it felt glorious because Brock did the honors.

  "I hate that life is such a lonely fight for you, Selina," he murmured, concentrating on washing her. "I’d change that if I could."

  Brock cut straight to her core, so deep and with such ease. She blinked back foolish tears. She had no idea he’d guessed so much about her life without him.

  Oh, dear. With every moment, the bond between them strengthened, defied her claim that this affair was a matter of physical attraction alone. She was in such trouble here. And she had no idea how to fix it.

  At Derwent Hall, she’d spoken so blithely about choosing a lover who wouldn’t fall in love with her. But what if she fell in love herself? She didn’t want to leave Essex with a broken heart. After a mere day in Brock’s company, she feared it might already be too late to save herself.

  As if he hadn’t changed her world in a few simple words, he rinsed the flannel and began to run it over her breasts. His tender care thrilled her to her soul.

  "Things…things aren’t so bad as that," she stammered.

  Amusement kicked up one corner of the thin mouth that she’d once thought rather cruel. She didn’t think that now. "Liar."

  She didn’t argue, because what could she say when dreary duty was all that life had offered her? Except for Gerald. "I find happiness in my son. It’s something."

  Brock’s lips flattened. He lifted one arm and washed that, too, paying attention to her hands and fingers. Nobody had washed her since she was a child. This didn’t feel at all like that. "Not enough."

  "It has to be." A world of regret burdened her words. "Now at least I’ll have the memories of a week in a rake’s arms."

  He lifted her other arm and ran the damp flannel from shoulder to wrist. "I wish…"

  No, she couldn’t bear to hear him say it. If she let herself wish for more, it would crush her. She couldn’t even let him say the words. More tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. After Wednesday, she’d have plenty of time to cry. A lifetime.

  She reached over and caught his hand. "Don’t."

  "I’m sorry." He shook his head
. "It’s just…"

  "I know," she said in a choked voice and closed eyes that ached with the weight of moisture dammed behind the lids.

  She heard him rinse the cloth again, the splash of the water a soft counterpoint to her uneven breathing. She felt the damp cloth on her thighs, before Brock parted her legs and began to wash her sex.

  "You leave me no modesty," she muttered.

  Selina opened her eyes to see him smiling again. It seemed a less convincing effort than usual, but she appreciated that he drew back from talking about the end of their affair. Already she was too aware of how short their time together was. More reason not to poison their few days with fretting about the ending that sped toward them.

  "Modesty is overrated."

  He wasn’t touching her with any hint of lechery, yet her oversensitive flesh sent messages of sexual pleasure leaping through her. By the time he finished, she was trembling.

  He dropped the flannel into the bowl and bent to kiss her just above the damp curls covering her mound. More tenderness. The stomach beneath this tribute clenched in an agony of longing.

  Brock shifted away to set the bowl on the washstand and returned holding a linen towel. As he dried her with an attention and thoroughness that roused more of that painful need, she sought some distraction from her wicked longings.

  She asked him something she’d wondered about since she first saw him. "What were you like as a boy?"

  Another of those intriguing half-smiles. Heaven help her, he was a handsome man. Selina was always aware of his surpassing physical attractions, but sometimes, like now, his beauty pierced her sharp as an arrow. The softness in the face she’d once thought hard and ruthless made him look younger, more approachable. The tumble of dark hair, the glow in his eyes, and the powerful, long-limbed body stole her breath.

  He returned to hang the towel on its rail. "I was a little horror."

  She could imagine he’d been spoiled. He was a beautiful man. He would have been a gorgeous child. What mother could resist smothering him with love and attention and gifts?

  "Full of mischief, no doubt."