by C. J. Bahr
Laurel landed, cushioned by the soft, downy comforter covering the four-poster bed. Opening her eyes, she found him standing beside the bed’s edge staring hungrily down at her. Mesmerized by his gaze she waited with anticipation as he slowly leaned forward. His knee pressed onto the mattress between her legs, and his hands tugged at her shirt, moving it out of his way. Warm hands grasped bare skin at her waist. They stroked up her ribcage raising chills as Simon reclaimed her mouth, this time slow and languid, but equally passionate. Was this happening? It wasn’t like her, yet with Simon, it felt right, oh so right. She let go of her doubts and plunged herself into feeling. His warmth enfolded her, the bold strokes of his tongue, as he tasted her and she him. His flavor was purely masculine, heady, and addictive.
His hands moved and cupped her breasts, and she heard his growl of frustration upon finding them covered. He rose up breaking their kiss and stealing the warmth of his body. She shivered as much from Simon’s hungry gaze as the night’s chill. One hand gripped her T-shirt while the other reached for her bra, he yanked, and the clasp to her bra popped opened as both offending articles were dragged over her head. She lifted her arms and the garments came free to be flung carelessly away.
Their gazes locked for a moment, before Simon’s gaze slid away, pausing briefly at her swollen, well-kissed lips, to travel downward. She watched him inhale and hold his breath as he stared at her uncovered breasts. His hands once again were at her waist, pressed upward until he cupped her breasts, gently squeezing. Each thumb moved across her tightened nipples sending waves of heat downward.
He leaned forward, his hair fell concealing his face, and she arched upward in anticipation. First the caress of silken hair, followed by his warm breath, then his hot mouth closed over her breast. Laurel’s gasp turned into a low-throated moan when his tongue swirled around her aching nipple, followed by a light grazing of his teeth. Once again she buried her hands in his hair.
One of Simon’s hands went roaming when he switched his attention to her other breast. Her stomach concaved as his hand stroked downward. Reaching her jeans, he deftly popped the button and lowered the zipper. Thank God he was familiar with modern clothes. He teased her first by cupping her outside her underwear, pressing the heel of his hand to her mound. She raised her knee and placed her foot flat on the bed, giving her added leverage to push back against the sweet pressure his touch built inside her.
Simon chuckled and released her breast, capturing her again with his gaze.
“Greedy.” His accent thick, making the single word long and drawn out. Staring intently at her, his finger slipped past the elastic of her panties to teasingly touch her, finding her wet and needy. There was no way to hide or deny her attraction to him.
Whispering, “Simon,” she barely recognized her own voice. She wanted more. Now. For once she’d allow herself to live in the moment, no second thoughts, no guilt, just indulgence.
He stood in one fluid and dexterous movement and stripped off both her jeans and panties. Her socks and shoes lost long ago that evening helped to speed things along. She should have been shocked, even embarrassed, laid bare before him, but just the opposite happened. She felt beautiful. How couldn’t she when Simon gazed upon her with such hungry eyes? His expression and his body told her everything he didn’t verbalize. Standing bold before her, his erection stiff and bulging behind denim, his eyes devouring her. Any awkwardness vanished as she stretched her arms toward him, slightly rising from the bed as her hands greedily reached for the snap on his jeans. She wanted to touch, to feel, to return the pleasure he gave her.
A slight smile curved his mouth, as he shook his head and gently grasped her seeking hands. He leaned forward, using his body to press her deeper into the mattress and stretched her arms above her head. His lips caressed her forehead, and he kissed his way to her ear and whispered, “not just yet, lass.” His hot breath tickled her lobe.
“I’ll be needing you good and ready.” His graveled words held an erotic promise.
Simon released her and stood between her legs. His hands gripped her thighs as he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed. In seconds, her legs were draped over his shoulders. A squeak of surprise escaped her throat. His mouth pressed an intimate kiss to her inner thigh as agile fingers caressed upwards, reaching where she most needed him. He trailed kisses upward, until his mouth replaced fingers in the most carnal of kisses.
Laurel didn’t want him anywhere else but there. The man knew what he was doing. Apparently this art form had been around a long time. He teased and tantalized her with his tongue. Her hips twisted and his hands moved from her thighs to cup her bottom, lifting her, trapping her against him. A whimper escaped her as she tried to move, her body wanted to answer the ancient rhythm instilled deep in her DNA, but he wouldn’t let her.
His tongue passed her swollen folds and pierced her. Her hips bucked within his tight hold. When he sucked her nub into his mouth Laurel moaned. She clutched the comforter with both hands. Her breaths came short and fast, and she felt a familiar pressure begin to build.
Finally Simon released his tight grip, and she could move her hips, grinding and pressing, desperately seeking her release. He added his finger as he continued to suckle, and she exploded.
She shouted as the orgasm threatened to pull her under, and she arched up off the bed, hips bucking. White lights glittered behind tightly closed eyelids. He kept her there, spiraling in the heavens until she thought her heart would burst.
Laurel collapsed onto the bed, eyes closed, panting. That had been the most amazing orgasm of her life, and he hadn’t even been inside her. All her muscles loose and warm, she didn’t think she’d be able to move any time soon. Any thoughts of Derek or Alex were wiped clean from her mind. Simon was all that remained. She could see herself falling in love with him. Hard on the heels of that thought, she realized the danger she was in. How much further could this go? He was a ghost. She heard his quiet chuckle and felt the soft caress of his hands, pass her hips and down her thighs, leaving her when he reached her knees which draped limply off the bed.
“Simon.” She needed to talk with him. Her breathing slowed and she shivered when a brush of cold air stroked her legs and canvassed the rest of her naked body.
What should she say to him? That she was in love with him? That this could go no further? Laurel wanted him, but it was impossible in her mind. She didn’t know what to do. And he stood there without saying a word.
“Simon?” She struggled up onto her elbows and finally opened her eyes.
The room was empty. Simon had disappeared.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sinclair House
July 1809
Simon was done with games. Deciding on the direct approach, he rode to Sinclair House to confront Fiona. The threatening notes and harassing crimes had gone on long enough, especially now with the last threat’s deadline less than a week away. If his betrothed held the identity of his mysterious tormentor, he would get it out of her. Enough was enough.
Cantering to the stables, he pulled his horse up and dismounted in a single fluid motion. Before he could take a step, Billy, the stable lad, was at his side taking hold of the reins.
“Will you be staying long, my lord?” The young boy’s question squeaked out.
“Unsure,” he replied.
With a quick nod, Billy led the horse into the stable, leaving him standing outside, alone.
“Simon?”
Hearing his name, he turned toward the house and saw Dougal Sinclair. Fiona’s older brother strode down the stone path heading in his direction. It was once a rare sight to see Dougal by himself, but since his twin, Byron married last year, it was now a common occurrence.
“Aye, Dougie.”
“Byron’s arrived. He and wee Catherine got in last night. Are you here for a visit?” Dougal asked reaching his side.
“Nay. I’m looking for your sister. Do you know where Fi’s at?”
Dougal glanced aw
ay. “Ah…not sure. Both Byron and Cat mentioned this morning about going to Cleitmuir to visit. You’re here now, why not come in the house?”
Simon’s inner alarm went off. Dougie was never a good liar, it was Byron who had the gift. “I need to see, Fiona.”
“Umm,” his friend trailed off. “Really, you should just come in.”
“Dougal.”
His friend’s face filled with guilt. Simon waited him out, silently.
“Simon, you don’t need to see her right now,” Dougal evaded.
“Aye, I do. Quit havering and tell me what’s going on. Spit it out, man.”
Dougal shook his head, then met his gaze straight on. “She’s in the garden. I’m sorry Simon, she’s not alone.”
He quirked an eyebrow as he watched Dougal brush his hair off his face, clearly uncomfortable.
“Alastair MacKenzie.”
MacKenzie? Fiona wasn’t fond of him.
“How long?” Anger tinged his question. It wasn’t from being cuckold, but more about MacKenzie. It didn’t fit. Was Alastair behind it all? Had he been responsible for his da’s death? Anger boiled into rage.
“About when your da disappeared… Fi was heartbroken. And when they found the Earl’s body, well, you weren’t here were you?” Dougal’s arrow struck home.
Aye, he’d been off fighting someone else’s war, doing everything in his power to avoid the issues with his father. Well, he got his wish. He’d never have to confront his da again, and Simon hadn’t been there for his remaining family or friends. Guilt washed through him.
He shook his head, needing to focus. He couldn’t change the past, but he could do something about the future. Protecting his family was paramount, and if Fiona was being used, whether she liked it or not, he would protect her as well. He needed to find out if MacKenzie was guilty. It was an easier idea than Fiona plotting alone against his family. Simon spun on his boot heel and strode off to the garden.
He only made it few steps before Dougal grabbed his arm.
“Simon, stop. You can’t go charging in there. She’s my sister. Please don’t shame her. I know she should have told you, but—”
“Enough.” He turned and faced his friend. “Do ye think me a monster?”
“Just don’t…hurt her,” Dougal pleaded.
He stared at his friend in disbelief. Did Dougal really think him capable of such action? Had he changed that much since his time on the Continent and his father’s murder? There were moments he felt he had, war changes a man, especially when he went off as a lad with an ego too big for his body. He had grown up while fighting Napoleon, it had taught him the lessons his da had tried to instill in him. His thoughts went back to that fateful Halloween night, and all the times he had been foolhardy and rebellious up to then, and realized just how childish he had acted. Regret rode Simon like a constant companion. He met his friend’s worried gaze.
“Don’t fash yourself. I’ll not hurt her. I just…” He shrugged. He didn’t know what he’d do—only that he needed answers and to stop the threat to his family. It’d be easier if MacKenzie were to blame. He’d never liked the dandy Highlander.
Dougal dropped his hand away from Simon’s arm with a sigh, and nodded. Simon turned from his friend and went to the garden hoping his answers lay within.
What he found wasn’t what he expected. Silently, he slipped behind a hedge affording him a clear view of the couple, but hid him from their sight. He stared as emptiness consumed him.
MacKenzie gazed down at Fiona with adoration and love. Two emotions he dinnae think the man owned. Alastair genuinely looked besotted. Fiona sat on a stone bench while MacKenzie stood by her side. Simon couldn’t hear what they discussed, but Fiona’s agitation was clear by her wringing hands and the frown marring her pretty face. Words were exchanged, then MacKenzie opened his arms, and Fiona leapt to her feet and into his embrace. A sharp blade twisted in Simon’s guts. Would he ever have this kind of love? Watching the two lovers, he felt the agony of his loneliness pierce right through him.
He must have made some sound or unconscious movement, because next, he was meeting MacKenzie’s sharp blue gaze. Fiona looked up from Alastair’s embrace and gasped.
“Simon?” Fiona stepped out of the man’s arms, but not before Simon noticed the possessive reluctance on MacKenzie’s part to release her. He was clearly staking his claim.
Having nothing to lose at this point and only information to gain, he strode the gravel path to stop in front of the couple. “Fiona,” he greeted, and then nodded to MacKenzie. “Alastair.”
“Oh, Simon,” Fiona’s hand rose to cover her mouth. Both guilt and sorrow glittered in her green gaze. “I…never—”
“Hush, Fi,” MacKenzie interrupted. “This is for the best.” He wrapped an arm around Fiona’s shoulder and tugged her close. “It’s time this was in the open.”
Simon studied the couple. He noticed Alistair’s fierceness, but more, he took in Fiona’s slight trembling and watched as she leaned into MacKenzie for support. A support Simon had never given her, never even offered to her, a support that should have been hers for the taking. He felt disgusted with himself. He should have treated her better, never thinking twice about jilting her, or how she would feel. He had been such a bounder, and oh so selfish.
Ignoring MacKenzie, he asked, “Do you care for him, Fi?”
She swallowed hard, but the inner strength of a Highland lass came through as she straightened her spine and stared him dead in the eyes. “Yes, Simon. I do. I love him.”
Her words slammed into him. Would a lass ever say those words to him? He pushed his hair off his forehead with a frustrated sigh. “Fi, you could have told me. I would—”
“When?” Her redheaded temper struck. “When you first arrived, almost a month after your da died? Or when you locked yourself away in your study? I know!” She exclaimed as if discovering a brilliant idea. “I could have spoken to you on any of our outings.” She flung up her hands in disgust. “Oh, wait, ye cancelled most of those. When Simon? Ye no’ been there to speak to.”
It didn’t surprise him to see the smug expression on MacKenzie’s face, but it made Simon uneasy when the mask of concern dropped easily in place when Fiona turned to MacKenzie for support. Games within games? His gaze narrowed in suspicion.
“You’ll release Fiona from the betrothal, MacKay,” Alastair stated. “Find ye honor. Take the blame and break your engagement. Leave no mark upon her.”
Fiona’s pleading gaze met his eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Simon.”
That was the hook. She hadn’t hurt him. At least not in the manner she thought. She hadn’t left him broken-hearted. He hadn’t loved her, and she hadn’t loved him. Simon cared for her deeply, like a sister. It was obvious now. That’s why it hurt him to look upon the couple so clearly in love.
“And I, didn’t mean to hurt you, Fi—” It was Simon’s turn to open his arms. She came to him gladly, and he held her. Softly, for her ears only he whispered, “Do you really love him?”
She nodded her head against his chest. “Then my answer’s easy. You’re free to go, free to choose.” A realization tore within him. Had he but tried, perhaps, Fiona would have loved him as she did MacKenzie. He had never made the effort. Was something broken inside him? Or was it just not meant to be? Loneliness cut through him. He gave her a hug and pulled her slightly away to drop a kiss upon her head. “If you need me for anything, know I’ll be there for you. Always.”
Simon looked up and glanced past her shoulder to MacKenzie who wore a contemplative expression, his eyes, calculating.
“Fiona,” MacKenzie called.
She left his side to return to Alastair’s.
“If you hurt her, MacKenzie, you’re dead,” he warned.
The man chuckled. “I won’t, unlike what you have already done.”
“Alastair,” Fiona admonished.
MacKenzie gave a kiss to her hand he held. “Hush, Fi. We’re only marking our terr
itory.”
“Men!”
MacKenzie laughed again and pulled Fiona tight against him, before turning them away to stroll further into the gardens, but not before he shot a menacing glare at Simon.
Simon stared after the couple, thoughts churning. He didn’t like MacKenzie, the weaselly cur, but if he made Fi happy he’d stay out of the way. However, if he were using her to get to him or his family, nothing would stand in Simon’s way of taking his revenge.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Outside Cleitmuir Manor
July, Present Day
Simon watched in his ghostly form, as history repeated itself. Laurel and the modern day MacKenzie walked hand in hand. However, this time he was more invested than in the past. While he had cared for Fiona, loved her as sister, Laurel had somehow gotten under his skin. Ironic, since currently he was a ghost with no flesh. He was drawn to her, quickly becoming obsessed by her. He vividly remembered the feel of Laurel in his arms, her taste, the comfort she had afforded him, even in their arguments.
Had it all been a ruse? Was she playing him as Fiona had?
“Will you be at the festival’s brunch?” Laurel asked as she walked next to MacKenzie.
MacKenzie smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “I don’t think so, I have a meeting. But I’ll make the sailing. Have you been out on the water yet?”
“No.”
“Well, then,” MacKenzie replied as he stopped next to his white Mercedes SLS AMG.
It was an ostentatious vehicle for an ass of a man, the doors didn’t even open properly. They opened upwards, like wings flapping on a bird. The car looked fast though, Simon thought. It was one thing this century had over his, he envied the new version of horsepower.
“You’ll find our Scottish waters bonnie indeed. I look forward to sharing the experience with you.” He pulled Laurel close, one hand on her hip and the other cupped behind her head. He leaned in and kissed her. Long and lingering.
Simon’s muscles tensed, and he had the sudden urge to materialize and yank the devil away from his woman and beat him to a bloody pulp. He grimaced. History wasn’t going to repeat itself. This time he wouldn’t let a MacKenzie take what was his. He’d fight for her. It had taken centuries to feel this way about a woman, and he wasn’t about to lose something he’d never thought he’d feel. Laurel was his.
