by C. A. Szarek
Urgency boiled his blood. Duncan pressed a hard fast kiss to Claire’s mouth and grunted when her nails bit into the skin of his shoulders.
“Duncan…” his name was a plea he couldn’t refuse.
He would taste her all over, but it would have to be later, after he’d made her his. If he waited, he was likely to lose his seed all over her belly without ever joining their bodies. Like an overtaxed virgin.
Duncan gripped his cock and guided himself to her glistening swollen flesh. One look at her pink sex made him groan. His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he prayed for control.
She might not be innocent, but he still wouldn’t take her roughly. Would never hurt her, despite how great his need to fill her, feel her to his bones.
He pushed forward, entering her body slowly inch by inch, until they were one. Duncan filled her to the hilt.
She closed her eyes, moaning his name and wiggling beneath him.
“Lass,” he grunted. “Yer tight. Yer…”
“Yours, Duncan MacLeod.” Claire tugged him down for a kiss, forcing her tongue into his mouth.
Duncan let her control the kiss. He started to thrust. “Mine.” He shoved the word into her mouth and she pushed her lips into his, demanding yet another kiss.
Claire met his next stroke, and the one after that, tilting her hips to take him deeper and wrapping her legs around his waist.
They fell into a frantic rhythm, his wife matching his every kiss, every touch. She was flushed pink from head to toe. He was lost, enchanted by her.
The scent of her glowing skin. The feel of her hands on his sweaty back, and her lips on his neck.
He’d never had a more responsive lover.
When her inner muscles clutched at his sex, tremors chased each other down his spine. His bollocks shook as he surged into her one more time.
She threw her head back and called his name, eyes closed and her body stiff beneath his as climax hit them both.
Duncan moaned and his erection kicked inside her, his release going deep. Her body milked his, pleasure hit him in waves.
His muscles went lax, and he fell onto Claire, but she held him tight, whispering his name over and over.
He fused their mouths, and the kiss melted into something languorous. Deep, meaningful.
Words of affection—maybe more—played on the tip of his tongue.
How had he survived before this woman?
Her breasts pushed into his chest as she panted.
Duncan’s breathing was just as rough. His mind spun.
Chaos.
He’d rutted many a lass—as he’d told Claire. He’d been with the widow Meg more times than he could count.
None of his previous lovers had scrambled him like the lass currently in his arms.
Duncan had just made love for the first time in his life.
He gripped her upper arms and flipped them.
Claire landed on his chest as his softening cock slipped from her body, and his bride snuggled into his chest.
Duncan was at a loss for words. He wrapped his arms around her.
Could he tell her what was racing through his head?
Nay.
She’d think his feelings were as crazy as his sudden marriage proposal had been.
But, she had married him.
“Mine.” The word fell from his lips.
The smile that bloomed made his heart stutter. “Mine, too.” Claire traced one of his nipples with her index finger and an unmanly shiver racked his frame.
“Lass, that was—” Words failed and her cheeks pinkened when their gazes collided.
She pressed her lips to his. “Perfect.”
Duncan reached up, cupping her cheeks and staring. He still couldn’t form a damn sentence.
Claire’s expression was soft. Her beautiful green eyes hazy and half-lidded. Her cheeks were still crimson, her lips swollen from his and her hair pleasantly mussed.
He’d never seen a more alluring lass in his life.
When she yawned, he chuckled.
“Sorry,” Claire muttered. “Long day, I guess.”
Smiling, Duncan hauled her closer, but she nestled into him without hesitation. “Finally.”
“Finally?”
“Yer in my bed as ye should be. In my arms.”
She flashed a sleepy smile. “No place I’d rather be.”
Duncan mulled over her words as Claire’s breathing fell into the deep, even rhythm he was used to hearing now after more than a week.
The lass had married him with the understanding it was for her protection. She would still return to her time when he found the Faery Stones. He’d promised he would help her.
Acknowledged their marriage was temporary.
He ordered himself not to think on it too much.
Duncan already couldn’t stand the idea of letting her go.
Chapter Eleven
The red taxi drove down the long pebbled way, jarring Claire with the uneven roadway. But the sight before her quickly took her attention, as the eight-hundred-year-old Clan MacLeod stronghold loomed.
Dunvegan Castle.
Claire gasped. “It’s gorgeous.”
Her Scottish cabby chuckled, tipping his cap over his too-long red locks. “As I understand it, Laird MacLeod is away on business. I know the caretaker. He’ll show you around, and I’ll be back for you this afternoon. Sound good?”
“Yes, thank you. I really appreciate this. I’m so glad I get to see it.”
“Not a problem, lass.”
Claire smiled and got out of the small car. She probably shouldn’t have ditched her tour group, but for an up-close-and-personal look at Dunvegan Castle—well, it’d be worth the “We were supposed to stay together” scolding she’d get from the grumpy guide.
A groan made Claire open her eyes. “A dream?”
She sat up, swallowing a wide yawn and looked around. A fireplace across a wide room jarred her.
“Claire-lass?” The moment she heard his voice, the last week and a half—the last three nights—came rushing back.
Scotland.
Married.
Duncan.
The best sex of her life.
In his arms; in his bed.
Claire gasped.
Duncan sat up next to her, his dark brow furrowed. He reached for her. “Claire?”
“I remember!”
Her new husband cupped her face and studied her. His blue eyes scorched even in the dimness of the room. “Remember?”
“How I got to Skye, in my time.”
“Aye?”
“I…I was on vacation—visiting. Taking a break. I snuck away from my group to have a private tour of Dunvegan.”
Duncan smirked. “Glad to hear our home still stands in your time.”
Our home.
Oh my God.
Claire cleared her throat and nodded. “It’s as gorgeous as ever.” She racked her brain for more, but nothing would come.
She’d gotten the sense she was staying on the isle, but surely not at Dunvegan.
Maybe a hostel or a bed and breakfast?
“I can’t believe it.”
“What, Claire-lass?”
“I actually saved up enough money to come to Scotland. It was always my dream.”
His expression was thoughtful. “Yer here, aye.”
“Well, I never dreamed I’d come back in time, though I’ve dreamt about many a hot Highlander.”
Claire had explained to Duncan that she’d always been obsessed with his era, and read many fictional stories—romance novels.
Whenever she spoke of the future, he’d listen quietly as his mind processed things he’d never fathomed. She tried to keep it simple—but honest.
As intrigued as he was, Duncan didn’t seem to want to see modern times. He was content where he belonged.
Duncan growled, and her belly flipped. “Do I fit yer desires?”
“Aye, my laird.” Claire shivered as his gaze devoured her.
He grabbed her up, flipped them and pressed her down into his oversized bed. Duncan fused their mouths, forcing his tongue inside and swallowing her moan.
“We should sleep.” Claire pressed the words into his lips. “We have a big day tomorrow.”
They were to depart in mere hours. To continue Duncan’s quest for the Faery Stones.
“My need of ye is greater than my need for sleep.”
Claire whimpered as her husband’s hand skimmed her lower belly. Her sex throbbed, begging for his touch.
It didn’t matter how many times he’d touched her. He’d been inside her so many times she’d lost count in the two days since they’d exchanged vows. Her body was sore, but she’d never tell him no.
She ached for him in a way she never had for any other man. Claire would never get enough of Duncan MacLeod.
The lack of condoms and the fact she’d left her birth control pills in the future should be more concerning than it was. The idea of getting pregnant by Duncan excited Claire, not worried her.
She’d called herself foolish when the thought had first crossed her mind, but memories of Texas faded when she was in Duncan’s arms.
Claire moaned as his stubble brushed the soft skin above her sex.
When he parted her thighs with huge calloused hands, she sighed. Her body relaxed into the bed.
She buried her hands in his long dark hair and sucked in a breath when she felt his tongue on her clit. Her heart kicked up a notch and she cried out when Duncan sucked her into his mouth.
“Jesu, Claire-lass. The way ye taste…I need more.” His words vibrated against her sensitive skin and tremors racked Claire’s frame as pleasure threatened to swallow her whole.
Duncan slipped one finger inside her, then another. He found a rhythm with hand and mouth and her pulse thundered in her ears as pressure melded with physical feeling; climax started to build.
It was just as intense as their lovemaking, but this lacked urgency. Duncan was making her feel good.
Just a steady rise of waves flowing over her body, sucking her down and pushing her up until the wall broke, cascading over the edge like a waterfall.
Claire cried out, tugging his hair. Her whole body stiffened. Orgasm roared and her inner muscles tensed.
Then he was there, pulling her into his arms, filling her sex with his, kissing her mouth before she could even take a breath.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, rubbing her tongue against his, moaning at the mix of her essence with Duncan’s familiar taste.
He surged forward.
She met his thrust without pause or conscious thought. Claire had to get closer to him. Merge her form into his.
Her limbs were heavy, her skin overheated and sweaty, but she needed more.
She pressed her breasts flat to his chest, moving with him, under him, until their bodies had no rhythm. They both took and gave, answering each other’s demands with grunts, moans and groans.
Her whole body was on fire for him. Every touch, every kiss, even every stroke threatened to make her combust from the inside out, despite the orgasm he’d given her before Duncan had pushed inside her.
“Lass,” he breathed into her neck, burying his face against her. Duncan kissed the spot, and his back stiffened. One last pump and he whispered her name as he came inside her, squeezing her in his arms.
His orgasm triggered hers, Claire cried out. Her thighs shook and her core throbbed as her hips rocked of their own accord. She had to pant to breathe, her head spinning when her vision finally started to clear.
He collapsed on top of her, but she held him tight, loving his weight like always. Duncan was so big, but he’d never hurt her, despite the size of his frame.
She loved to snuggle into his chest after they made love. Study the contrast of his darker tanned skin against hers. Look at their legs entwined.
Claire had never considered herself overly feminine, but seeing her slender thighs and knees between his muscular ones made her feel girly.
The way Duncan always ran his hands down her naked body as he held her made her feel protected, cherished.
Loved?
Claire’s heart pounded as she looked into her husband’s face.
He had his eyes closed. His high cheekbones were flushed with color. Rough stubble made her want to drag her fingertips through it, and trace his kiss-swollen lips. Duncan’s dark hair was mussed. She wanted to smooth it out and mess it up even more at the same time.
She’d done that too him.
Given him pleasure.
Made this big strong warrior look so peaceful.
Sated.
Lifting her head, Claire pressed her lips to his in a tender kiss he didn’t hesitate to return or deepen.
Duncan kissed her until her head swirled with confusion and unwanted feelings.
I’m falling for him.
Hard.
Fast.
After twelve days?
Hell, yes.
Sex with previous lovers had never felt like it did with Duncan. Even good sex.
This was more.
This was making love.
Emotion threatened to bowl her over.
How can I leave him?
How could she walk away from Duncan MacLeod if and when they found the Faery Stones?
How can you stay in the foreign land of 1672?
Besides, Duncan had never told her how he felt about her. If he felt anything for her other than lust.
Claire crushed her eyes shut, breaking their kiss and burying her head against his shoulder.
“Claire-lass? All right?” Duncan shifted, slipping from her body and rolling to his back. He took her with him, and she nestled into his side like always.
Like we fit together.
Natural.
Right.
Her bottom lip trembled. She couldn’t look at him.
Duncan cupped her cheeks and tilted up. “Claire?”
She forced her mouth to curve and met his eyes. Swallowed hard at the tenderness she read in those sapphire eyes. “I’m good. You…make me feel awesome.”
He smiled and kissed her mouth. It was sweet and gentle and made her stomach flutter.
“Ye do the same for me.”
“Duncan…” Claire shook her head as words dissipated.
What was she supposed to say?
Demand the right words from him?
What she needed to hear didn’t mean it was what he felt.
Should she admit feelings that scared the hell out of her because she was still planning on walking away?
“Aye, lass?” His thumbs made lazy strokes on her cheeks.
His touch, so perfect, made her feel worse. For a big tough guy, Duncan was the most giving, selfless lover she’d ever had. He cared about her pleasure and loved making her feel good.
When he told her, it seared her face, but he showed her even more often than he explained it.
Does that mean he cares for me?
“No one’s ever made me feel like you do.” The words were out of her mouth before Claire could censor them.
Way to go, blurt-girl.
His slow smile warmed her heart and her limbs.
Duncan kissed her long and thoroughly, making her already satiated body boneless.
“Tis the same for me, Claire-lass.” The whisper was pressed into her mouth; his statement distorted.
But Claire understood every word—and clung to it.
Chapter Twelve
Claire gaped. It was a freaking Pirate ship. She tightened her grip on her husband’s arm.
“Lass?” Duncan’s blue eyes held concern, and he pulled her into his side.
“Your ship…” she stared up at the tattered black flag.
Yes, black.
Like right out of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, ‘cept the boat had the name the Fancy Seer in gold lettering on the wide back.
“Well, tis a borrowed vessel to be true.” Duncan whispered the words rig
ht above her ear, which only made her heart pound at his nearness.
Her body lit up from the inside out, as always for the man she called husband. “It’s a pirate ship.” Claire’s voice dropped on the word pirate and Duncan smirked.
“Right.” He nodded as he used the word she said so often. “I explained that to ye.”
“I didn’t take you literally.”
“Ye should’ve.”
“I see that.” Claire’s mouth was dry. Her fingers flexed on his thick forearm. “Maybe I should stay on Skye.”
“Oh, nay. Ye’ve made yer bed, Claire-lass. I’ll have ye by my side.”
She groaned. “I’ve made your bed, you mean.”
Duncan dragged two fingers down her cheek. “Are ye complainin’?” His confident tone made heat creep up her neck. He bent down, lips hovering above her ear again. “I like when ye scream my name, mo gradh.”
“Mo gradh.” Claire struggled to repeat the Gaelic words. “What does that mean?”
He flashed a grin and kissed her.
She leaned into him and Duncan held her tight as she moved her mouth under his.
Desire unfurled low and hot, and Claire’s sex throbbed. She was going to have to start thinking of herself as the women did in her books when they wanted to chide themselves.
Wanton.
Because no matter how many times she’d been with Duncan, he turned her on completely with just one kiss.
Claire squeezed her thighs together, but it did nothing for the empty ache between her legs.
“Now, now, my laird,” the male voice drawled.
The accent wasn’t Scottish.
She pulled away from her husband. Made eye-contact with a man about her height.
He had long red hair bound tight at the back of his neck, and creepy pale blue eyes. His face was riddled with pock marks. Wore a light beard and a smirk that shot a tremor down her spine.
She shifted closer to Duncan, as the redheaded man made no secret of appraising her body, his eyes trailing her frame.
Claire regretted the leather trews—as Duncan had called the pants she wore. At least in a skirt the bastard couldn’t have looked at her legs. Of course, pants were more her style—even if they were far from her favorite jeans.
She shivered.
His gaze burned, but not in a good way. More like she was a meal to be devoured.
Duncan growled, but he shot his hand out for a shake. “Riley O’Malley.”
