by Brenda Joyce
She inhaled. “No. I’m really not into sex.”
He smiled, as if he knew something she did not.
“I’m really hard to please.”
“I dinna think so,” he said softly.
He reached for the vee neckline of the tunic. Tabby watched his hands and her heart stopped. The tunic vanished over his head and fell to the floor.
Her body exploded. She looked at his huge, sculpted chest, then at his six-pack—and the hollow below it.
She went still. He was massive and hard.
“Do ye still wish to leave?” he murmured.
Medieval or not, he was the sexiest man alive—ever.
Maybe he was right. Maybe she wouldn’t have to pretend to be the kind of woman she was supposed to be in bed. Maybe she wouldn’t have to fake it to please her partner. Maybe her hormones would take over and she’d have a good time.
She finally looked up. She meant to look into his eyes, but he was reflected in all of the bathroom’s mirrors. His beautiful face and powerful body were everywhere.
She wanted him. She had never felt this way before. Her body was a mass of swollen, hurting flesh. But she didn’t love him and she never would. She wasn’t a liberated woman. If she gave in now, it would be the most sordid act of her life—and in the morning, she would hate herself.
“I dinna think so,” he murmured. “In the morn, ye’ll be verra pleased.”
He was still reading her mind. “Don’t,” Tabby whispered, but she had the awful feeling that he might be right.
He suddenly reached out, took her hand and reeled her in.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TABBY CRIED OUT as she found herself in his embrace. He was naked, she was dressed, and she felt every inch of his huge, hard and very naked body pressing against her. His power, masculinity and heat made her feel dizzy and faint. Instinctively she pressed her hands on his chest, and the moment she did so, she went still, giving up.
His hands closed on her waist, pulling her up tightly against him. “Ye willna have any regrets,” he said roughly.
His loins strained against her. Tabby felt herself move against him in response. She cried out, meeting his searing eyes. How could she be doing this? But she was trembling wildly now, every nerve she had begging for release. Instead of protesting, she slid her hands up his chest to his shoulders, using her nails to dig hard into his flesh as she did so. His mouth curled in triumph.
“Damn it,” she said, breathing hard. She caught his shoulders and held him fiercely, his skin catching under her fingernails, and she moved her thigh up, over his.
He laughed. The sound was smug and triumphant. She didn’t care. Clawing him, she tried to climb up him, not even realizing what she was doing. When she did, she was horrified, but only in her mind. Because her body was determined to ride his.
She wrapped her calf around his hip, digging her nails in deep. As she did so, their eyes locked.
He caught her hair, using it as a leash, and twisted her head backward. Then he whirled her around, until her back hit the door. He shoved his huge thigh between hers, and Tabby moaned, throbbing wildly all over him. Still holding her hair, anchoring her so she couldn’t move, pressing his leg into her, he brought his mouth down on hers.
His lips were hard and aggressive, possessive. He forced her lips open, took them over, moved his tongue deep. Tabby felt all those new pulse points explode and she surrendered. She let him kiss her so hard he was probably drawing her blood. It didn’t matter. She was in a vortex, spinning toward that usually elusive brink, shaking wildly in his arms, her blood roaring in her veins, her brain. Every inch of her was on fire. Now, she clung and begged. “Oh, God, hurry.”
He wrenched down her track pants, ripped apart her panties. With one hand he lifted her leg and pushed his huge throbbing length hard and deep inside her. Then he paused.
Tabby gasped, the wave of rapture beginning. He strained inside her, filling her impossibly, almost painfully, so much so that she couldn’t move, not this way. It was too much to take—he was too much to take. He wasn’t moving, but she felt him pulsing inside her, every single drop of hot blood roaring in his phallus, in her. She was vaguely aware that he was watching her, but she didn’t give a damn. She was about to break apart and she wanted to go there, as she’d never wanted anything before.
He began to move, slowly, sensually, once, twice, three times.
Tabby broke. She shattered, clinging to him, as he drove hard now, brutally, intently, and she clawed him, demanding more. She wept in more pleasure than she’d dreamed possible. Her back found the hard floor. He suddenly went still, buried deep inside her.
She was still spinning away. Her orgasm seemed to be impossibly endless. And then he slid away from her.
“Tabitha.”
It took her a moment to realize that something was wrong. Tabby opened her eyes, a semblance of coherence returning, and glimpsed Macleod, starkly naked, impossibly hard and so beautiful, on his hands and knees, posed over her. What was she doing? “What are you doing?” she gasped helplessly. “Come back!” As she seized his arm, she became aware of the door buzzer.
His gaze turned cold. “Yer husband.”
His words were like ice water. All insanity vanished. Randall had come back? Tabby stared at him, aghast.
“He has keys,” Macleod murmured, but now he looked dangerously pleased.
And Tabby heard the locks turning.
“CLOSE THE DOOR,” Nick said.
Sam did so.
“How’s your sister?” he asked.
“Upset. Can you blame her?”
“She’s a lucky lady,” Nick said. “Imagine that, a Highlander showing up just in the nick of time.”
Sam scowled unhappily at him.
He knew why she was upset. “Jumping to conclusions?”
“What do you think?”
He stared. In September when he’d gone back in time with Sam, they’d bumped into her sister and her husband. Tabitha had been living in the past for over two hundred years. It was her Destiny to go back, and it would be very easy to conclude that the man she was meant to go back with had finally come to the city for her. That would explain his sudden appearance, both in the Big Apple and at school. “If Mr. Tabitha is our Highlander, there’s no stopping either one of them.”
“I know. I’m cool.”
“You look like you’re losing your best friend.”
Sam’s face tightened so impossibly he expected her skin to crack. “If it’s Macleod, I am losing my best friend.” Then she shrugged, forcing a smile. “I fight better alone. I won’t have to worry about Tabby and her spells going awry.”
“Bullshit. And, kiddo? You’re not alone.”
She met his gaze. “Don’t bother feeling sorry for me. I like being alone.”
He liked the lip; it was better than her mourning her sister, who was going back in time sooner or later. “Why not? You’re feeling sorry as all hell for yourself.”
“Fuck you, Forrester,” she said. She turned and seized the doorknob.
“What do you make of Kristin Lafarge?” he said to her broad shoulders.
She opened the door, closed it and faced him. “Evil. But so is half of this city, and she’s not demonic.”
“Really? Because I’m not sure she’s human.”
“It’s one or the other.”
“Is it? I’ve been at HCU for a long time, Sam, and I’ve seen my share of twisted, strange entities…and things.”
Sam absorbed that. “What do you want to do? Today was Lafarge’s first day at school. The fire alarms were dismantled before the boys took Tabby and the kids hostage. They knew her by name. This was planned. The burnings are never planned.”
He’d already reached the same conclusion. “Why would some demon-run subs hunt your sister?”
“I don’t know. You think they’re hunting her?”
“Mr. Tabitha will protect her—if he is Mr. Tabitha. And I think there’s a big fat c
hance she is being hunted, but not by brainless subs.”
Sam stared. “You know, because of what we learned about my sister, almost anything from any time might be after her.”
“Yeah. She’s a bit of a sitting duck. Because she has no idea that her life teaching little kiddies in Manhattan is about to change…drastically.”
“Why don’t I bring Lafarge in?” Sam said furiously. As she spoke, there was a knock on Nick’s door. “I don’t mind grilling her a bit.”
He felt Kit outside and told her to enter. As she did, he said to Sam, “Let’s play this out, see if we can use her. But let’s play gentle. We’ll tail her twenty-four/seven,” he said. “Leave her be, see where she leads.”
“Okay,” Sam said. She smiled grimly. “Being as you are the boss.”
He didn’t mind the acknowledgment, not from her, because when she was in the field she often ignored his very specific orders. However, she had great instincts, and this far, had managed to avoid his wrath.
Nick looked at Kit, who was clad in black pants, a black turtleneck and black boots. As always, her dark hair was drawn back in a ponytail. She was very fair, and even without makeup, she was striking. Now she was holding a huge stack of what seemed to be enlarged glossies under her arm. “Boss, I’ve come across something really weird.”
He had to crack a smile. “Life is weird.”
“No, it’s major. I’ve been going over the videotapes of last week’s Rampage, the one on Eighty-first and Madison,” she said.
He knew which Rampage she meant. “And?”
“I found someone—or something. Something was there, during the entire event. It showed up as a really small, grayish blip. I zoomed in and the shadow got larger—the size of a small person. When I zoomed into the center of it, I actually saw two eyes and a mouth. Human eyes and a human mouth.” Her green eyes were wide.
Sam came forward. “Demons don’t show up on any kind of film except as black shadows, that we know of. If you could make out features, it wasn’t a demon.”
Nick felt chills begin. “What’s with the photos?”
“I fed Big Mama the features, to see if she could come up with a composite.” Kit grimaced. “But she was in a creative mood and she came up with a million or so possible faces.”
Big Mama was the agency’s supercomputer.
Sam said, “Ghosts photograph really well with the film we’re using. If it was a ghost, the entire face and body would be visible, but you’d see right through it.” That was because ghosts were the energy of dead humans, and they were trying to slip back into their human forms and lives.
Kit said, “I know. I’ve seen ghosts now and then, and not just on tape. They’re pretty cool.”
Nick knew she was referring to her dead sister. He’d actually caught her talking to Kelly a few times. Still chilled, he said, “Let’s see the goods.” But he knew what he’d find.
She handed Nick the top photo and Sam leaned close to look at it, too. “Well? It’s not human and it’s not a ghost. It’s not a demon. It’s not a sub. Subs cast shadows, without the sun. What the hell is that?”
He stared at the malevolent eyes, which stared back at him. Even in print, the eyes were filled with energy and hatred. “Oh, it’s a ghost, all right,” he said. “But not a human one. Just what we need—a demon that forgot to go bye-bye.”
TABBY JERKED to sit up, overcome with dismay. In that exact moment, she realized that she was half-naked on the bathroom floor, having just had sex with a stranger. No, with a medieval barbarian. Shock paralyzed her.
Macleod was standing, calmly wrapping his plaid around his waist, in no rush. He looked smug and pleased.
What had she done?
“Tabby?”
Randall had let himself in. Clearly he was in her living area. Tabby came alive. She jumped to her feet, hopping into the track pants, setting a world record. “Do not come out of the bathroom,” she whispered furiously.
“I willna hide from yer husband.”
Tabby straightened in disbelief. Had he just snarled at her? He was cool, calm and poker-faced, but his eyes glittered dangerously. She inhaled. No good could come of Macleod and Randall meeting! “Just wait in here!” she snapped.
“Why?” he asked. “Because ye dinna wish fer yer husband to see ye with a mostly naked man?” His eyes were dark. “I thought ye a widow, Tabitha. I dinna realize yer husband remained alive.”
Tabby became even more alarmed. “In my time, women can leave and divorce their husbands—and vice versa. I have to go and I am asking you to wait here.”
His smile was sudden and mocking. “Did ye love him, Tabitha?” he asked softly. “Ye never had sex without love—until now. Ye must have loved him, otherwise, ye’d have avoided his bed.”
Did he know everything about her? She was stunned and incredulous.
“Do ye love him still?”
Macleod was not keeping his voice down. “Be quiet,” she muttered.
“Why? What do ye care if he sees ye with a lover?”
She trembled, angry and distraught now. “Stay put, damn it! I am asking you to stay put!”
“Tabby?” She heard Randall walking toward the bathroom.
Tabby raced out of it, slamming the door closed as he turned the corner from the living area. He halted the moment he saw her, his eyes widening.
Tabby felt her color increase. She’d been having sex on the bathroom floor. Did she look like a woman who’d just had a huge, almost endless orgasm? Impossibly, she felt herself flush even more—and not with guilt.
“Are you okay? I just saw the evening news!” Randall hurried toward her.
Tabby was acutely aware of Macleod in the bathroom and what she had just done. “It’s surprising that you care,” she began. Now, the fact that he’d let himself in with her keys—for the second time—hit her.
Randall strode to her and crushed her in his arms. She tried to press away from him. “You look like hell,” he said. “And of course I care.” But the words weren’t even out of his mouth when he stiffened—at the exact moment Tabby heard the bathroom door open.
She tensed impossibly as Randall released her, his face turning pale with shock. “What the hell?”
“Hallo, a Rhandaill.”
Tabby whirled and groaned. Macleod stood there smiling, clad only in the plaid, which was wrapped around his waist. He looked smug and satisfied.
Randall’s eyes popped. “Oh, my God,” he said. “I don’t believe this!”
She didn’t owe him any explanations, but Tabby flushed with shame. “It’s not exactly what you think,” she tried. But it was exactly what he was thinking. What had happened to old-fashioned, morally conservative Tabby Rose?
Randall looked at Tabby, incredulous. “This is what you’re doing? Shacking up with a steroidal illiterate jock?”
Tabby covered her face with her hands. She did not have any reasonable explanation. “My personal life is not your business. We were done almost two years ago. I can sleep with whomever I want.” His eyes widened impossibly. Tabby trembled, amazed that she would be so harsh with him. “You can’t barge in here, Randall. And you can’t call Macleod names.” Oddly, that last dig really bothered her.
“What did he just call me?” Macleod asked her very softly, but his stare never wavered from her ex.
Randall whirled and took in his mostly naked body. “I called you a steroidal illiterate jock.”
Tabby cried out. “Macleod, ignore him!”
But Macleod had seized Randall and was spinning him roughly across the room. “Ye ken I kill men fer such insults.”
“Macleod!” Tabby cried, aghast.
Randall fell and Macleod towered over him. “Yer little wife has no more use fer ye. Ye can give me the keys.”
Randall scrambled to his feet.
“Can ye understand my English?” Macleod asked softly.
He flushed, thrusting Tabby’s extra keys at him. Then he began backing away. “I don’t bel
ieve this.” He looked at Tabby. “I want to marry you again, and you’re playing around with that moron?” He looked at Macleod. “I’m slapping you with assault charges, bud!”
Macleod’s mouth curved and he seized Randall by the shoulder. “Tabitha isna foolish enough to marry ye a second time. She wants ye gone. I want ye gone. Leave afore I cut yer throat an’ give yer carcass to the dogs.”
Tabby cried out. “Randall, you had better go.”
“Holy shit,” Randall cried. “He’s a psycho! He means it!”
Tabby nodded desperately. “I think he does mean it.”
“Then you’re crazy, too!” Randall cried. “A crazy, lying whore!”
Macleod reddened. It took Tabby one moment to realize he was furious, and by then, lightbulbs were popping, pots and pans were rattling and her curtains were flying around the windows. Macleod pushed Randall toward the door so violently that he fell to the floor again, face-first. Tabby cried out. “Macleod, stop!”
“I can manage insults from such a womanly man,” Macleod spit. “I dinna think ye deserve his insults, Tabitha.”
“They don’t bother me,” Tabby cried, lying.
“He’s insane,” Randall cried, getting up, his face pale. Blood trickled from his nose as he ran to the front door. “He’s got damned ’roid rage!”
“What is ’roid rage?” Macleod demanded.
This was going to escalate, Tabby thought, panicked. She seized Macleod’s arm with both hands and held on for Randall’s life. “It doesn’t matter! He is leaving, Macleod. Just let him go.”
“It means that shit you take to make all that brawn is melting down your brain,” Randall spit. “Tabby might like going to bed with you, but intelligence is what really turns her on. I mean, can you even read?”
“Please don’t,” Tabby cried.
Macleod pulled away from her and started to cross the room, slowly, like a big cat lazily and confidently stalking its prey. “Only Latin,” he said. “An’, Randall? With me, she dinna fake it.”
It took Randall a moment. “What?” he said, turning to look at her, disbelieving.
Tabby felt her cheeks flame and she didn’t respond.
