Fortunately, Duncan didn’t comment. He cleaned his plate and downed two glasses of wine. Abby drank sparingly. She was nervous, but she wanted to go into the intimacies of the night with a clear head. Maybe she was a control freak. But that bent had served her well.
She would have skipped dessert, but Duncan ordered the special without consulting her. The cinnamon and fruit crisp was made from fresh local apples and topped with vanilla ice cream. The scent and taste of the cobbler brought home the flavors of autumn.
Fall had always been a favorite season of hers, but the cooler days and longer nights were not without melancholy, especially now. Winters in the mountains came early and could be harsh, depending on the year. Duncan would likely be long gone before the Christmas season. And in his leaving, he would take all the joy and the color with him.
For one bleak moment, she wished desperately that she had never met him at all. Not when the outcome was foretold with such dismal certainty.
He scooped up the last bite and offered it to her, waiting for her mouth to open. She swallowed the sweet dessert and tried not to let him see how much his casual gesture affected her.
No matter how many times she told herself he was leaving, a tiny flicker of hope remained. Perhaps he would decide to stay. Maybe he would ask her to go with him. It was a pleasant daydream, but one with little root in reality. Duncan still mistrusted her motives for wanting him to sell the property. It was possible he even thought she was in a relationship with him to further her career, though to any woman, such an idea was laughable. Beyond that, he had almost certainly taken offense at her unwillingness to discuss her father. Duncan knew she was keeping secrets. He wasn’t stupid. And now...very soon... he would be leaving. They hadn’t had time to build the kind of relationship that could withstand a physical separation. If Miss Izzy hadn’t died...
Duncan lifted a hand for the check and the waiter appeared as if by magic. The Scotsman was a compelling figure in a room filled with other, lesser men. The comparison probably wasn’t fair. Abby’s judgment had been compromised. Tonight, she had eyes only for her dark, brooding Highlander.
He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Upstairs?” he asked, his voice little more than a hoarse rumble.
She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
When they reached the suite, her nerves increased a thousandfold. She wanted to appear sophisticated and at ease. At the moment, those attributes were as far away as the moon.
Duncan toyed with the strap of her dress, his warm fingers stroking her collarbone. “You’re jittery, lass. Why?”
His plain speaking demanded an honest response. “I like you, Duncan. And I care about you. But I don’t want to have my heart broken.”
Was it her imagination, or did he go pale beneath his tan? “Is that a possibility?”
She looked up at him, her smile wry. “Well, look at you. You’re tall and smart and handsome as sin, and you have a wicked sense of humor. I’m not immune.”
He ran the back of his hand across her cheek, his expression hard to read. “I’m not immune either. I wish our timing were better.”
Even now, he acknowledged the truth of the matter. They were too new to survive his leaving. But the sexual attraction was strong.
Somewhere, she found the courage to ask the next question. “Are you going to sell the business?”
He grimaced. “Probably.”
She nodded, feeling the sting of disappointment. Doggedly, she shoved the emotion aside and concentrated on the moment. “We may not have forever, Duncan, but we have tonight. Why don’t you show me how a Scotsman seduces a lady?”
“That I can do,” he said. His expression lightened, and in a heartbeat, the mood went from wistful to carnal. He dragged the straps of her dress down her shoulders, trapping her arms at her sides. Her breasts, unconfined by a bra, spilled out into the light. Duncan looked as if he had been poleaxed, though he had seen her naked now on multiple occasions. “Damn, you’re glorious,” he muttered, cupping her pale flesh in his slightly rough palms.
She had never considered her breasts as particularly sensitive. But with Duncan holding them and playing with them, her skin tightened and she shuddered inwardly. He was confident and sure. Seeing his tanned fingers against her white skin was unbearably erotic.
Her legs trembled. Her temperature skyrocketed. Her throat dried. She wriggled, trying to free her arms. “We could go to the bedroom,” she said. They had made it only as far as the sitting area.
Duncan thumbed her nipples, sending streaks of fire throughout her body. His touch was both familiar and agitating. Her hunger for him eclipsed her need for self-preservation. Tonight she would give him whatever he asked.
Scooping her up in his arms, he strode through the doorway into the inner chamber. The bed was a king, miles across and laden with a dozen pristine pillows. The remainder of the champagne was still chilled. She didn’t care. The soft sheets beckoned. Her head rested on Duncan’s shoulder. Beneath the veneer of civilization, she felt the pounding of his heart.
“Don’t make me wait,” she whispered. “I want you.”
Her words galvanized him. With one hand, he tore back the covers. Unceremoniously, he dumped her on the bed and came down beside her. Instead of undressing her further, he kissed her wildly, one large muscled thigh pinning her to the bed. His firm masculine lips tasted of apples. His tongue found hers and stroked it coaxingly.
No other man she had ever known had managed to take her from trembling uncertainty to unabashed arousal so quickly. Her body quivered. Her breath came and went in her lungs so rapidly, she risked hyperventilation.
Clumsily, she tugged at his jacket. He shrugged out of it without breaking the kiss. His desperation was no less than hers. They struggled and strained against each other as if determined to share the same space.
It was no beautifully choreographed ballet, but their mad dash toward nudity was effective. Soon, they were both bare-assed naked and entwined in each other’s arms. Duncan’s body was hard and warm and unequivocally masculine. The shape of his sex, thick and jutting, probed her hip.
She had never had any particular leaning toward men in Scottish attire, but suddenly her heart beat faster at the mental image of Duncan wearing a full dress kilt. Or even sweaty and rumpled in a working tartan. His thighs were powerful, his body tanned and lightly covered with dark hair.
Something about him was different than the men she had known. He was strong, but other men were strong, too. Perhaps it was his intensity. Duncan’s ability to give laser focus to the matter at hand, whether it be sex or anything else, made him irresistible to a woman who had spent her life zeroing in on a single goal.
She had tried so hard to rise above her father’s shortcomings as a parent and as a man. Nothing else had mattered to her for the longest time. Her entire focus had revolved around the need to make something of herself.
Now here she was, with a great job, a good reputation and a close circle of friends. But the one thing she wanted most of all was going to slip through her fingers. Truthfully, she hadn’t known she needed a man. Things in her world had been clicking along pretty well.
Meeting Duncan had opened her eyes to what she was missing.
He bent over and licked her navel. “I think you left me, lass.”
“I’m right here,” she protested.
“Aye, but your attention wandered.”
It amazed her that he was so attuned to her mood. No man should have that much knowledge of the feminine psyche. It made him dangerous. She cupped his head in her hands and massaged his scalp. His hair was thick and silky soft beneath her fingertips. “My apologies.” Her breath caught when he moved lower and kissed her thigh. “Duncan?”
He held her down with ease and probed her intimately with his talented tongue. “Trust me, Abby. I’ve got you. For once, sweet girl, relax and let
the moment take you.”
She tried. She really did. But this level of intimacy was still relatively new ground for her. Her sexual history prior to meeting Duncan had been brief and unexceptional. Conventional. Situations where she had been in control. She liked it that way.
Sex with Duncan was different.
He demanded complete capitulation, total trust.
It wasn’t easy.
Closing her eyes helped.
Her body went lax with pleasure and then climbed a sharp peak. “Enough,” she cried, suddenly terrified of what he wanted from her.
He lifted one of her legs over his shoulder. “Easy, lass. What are you afraid of, sweet Abby? Let me do this for you. Ye’re turning me inside out. I’m so hard I ache. Your sex is pink and swollen. I’m going to take you wild and fast and easy and slow and every way in between.”
His naughty words combined with the touch of his hands and his tongue to take her deeper and further than she had ever gone with any man. The shattering intimacy was both terrifying and exhilarating. Then Duncan stopped talking and finished her destruction.
The peak, when it came, snatched her from complacency and threw her into a storm of pleasure so pure and hot she whimpered and gasped and cried out. “Duncan...”
He held her close as her body shivered through every last ripple. “That’s my girl,” he said softly. “I’m here, Abby. I’m right here.”
* * *
Duncan was losing it. He had promised Abby to protect her, but what he felt at the moment was a raw, unbridled urge to take and take and take. Her body was a siren luring him to disaster. How could he want her so much and simply walk away? His brain shut down. The future was not important. All that mattered right now was how fast he could get inside her.
Fumbling and clumsy, he reached for his pants and found the condoms he had stashed in his pocket earlier. Since meeting Abby, the prospect of sex had filled his head almost constantly.
She watched him with eyelids heavy, lips swollen. The tips of her generous breasts were tightly furled raspberry buds. He wanted to explore every inch of her creamy skin and lush curves, but the refrain in his head demanded action. Take her, take her, take her.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “We’ll go slower next time.”
Before she could respond, he filled her with one firm thrust. His vision went dark. The feel of her body clasping his rigid shaft fried his brain. He was so hard his eyeballs ached. Her sex gripped him in damp, soft heat.
Slender feminine arms wrapped around his neck. Abby arched her back and canted her hips. He shuddered, gasping for breath. He was so close to coming, every nerve in his body tensed.
Abby whispered his name. “Duncan...”
Her breath was warm on his cheek.
Some primal urge, hitherto unknown, told him she belonged to him. He wanted to claim her and mark her and keep every other man away. She was his Abby, no one else’s.
Gradually, he found a measure of control, enough to make love to her without embarrassing himself. His jaw ached from the effort and sweat dampened his brow. But he managed to reign in the beast.
Slowly, he withdrew and lazily filled her again. The rhythm was as old as time and yet new and bemusing. Had he ever wanted a woman so desperately? Had he ever connected with a woman so quickly and so intensely?
The comparisons made him uneasy, so he shoved them away, concentrating instead on nothing but the moment and Abby.
She seemed so small beneath him and infinitely fragile. Yet he knew her vulnerability was only an illusion. She was strong and resilient, and she had given him help when he needed it most.
Tenderness sneaked in, tempering his raw passion. His breathing was ragged, his heartbeat a cacophony of drums. He took her slowly and carefully, cupping her bottom in his hands and driving deep.
Abby’s cheeks were flushed, her pupils dilated. When she tried to shut him out by closing her eyes, he shook his head. “Look at me, Abby,” he demanded. “Tell me what you feel.”
Her blush deepened, her gaze dreamy. “You,” she said. “I feel you. And there’s a lot of you.”
The wry commentary surprised a laugh from him. That was new, too. Humor during sex. He wasn’t accustomed to the range of emotions Abby drew from him. One moment he was blind with lust, the next he wanted to cradle her in his arms and protect her from everything and everyone, even him.
Inevitably, his libido wrested control. With his heartbeat slugging in his rib cage and his chest heaving with the effort to breathe, he rested his weight on one hand and fondled her breasts. “I hope you don’t really want to sleep tonight,” he muttered.
Abby’s smile was a mix of bashful small-town girl and newly born seductress. “Don’t worry, big guy. I can keep up with you.”
The end, when it came, was sheer madness. He thrust wildly, barely in control. “Abby,” he groaned. “Sweet Abby...”
And then he hit the peak and lost his way.
* * *
A million hours later—or maybe it was only seconds that had passed—he regained his speech, though his tongue felt thick and his head was muzzy. “Are you okay, lass?”
His not inconsiderable weight rested completely on top of her.
Abby wriggled and freed one of her arms. “I’m good.”
The prim response made him chuckle. “I suppose we should get some sleep.”
“Hold that thought. I need to...well, you know...”
She was cute when she was shy. He let her escape to the bathroom. Rolling onto his back, he linked his hands behind his head and stared at the ornate plaster ceiling. Maybe he should keep her here in this hotel room for more than a single night. To hell with responsibility and expectations.
A man deserved a vacation, right?
Knowing his Puritan-work-ethic Abby, she wouldn’t go for it.
When she returned, her feet made no sound at all on the carpet. She was still naked. He took that as a good sign. There were two plush bathrobes hanging on the back of the bathroom door. She could have used one. But she didn’t.
In her hand, she held a washcloth.
“What’s that for?” he asked, not really caring, but trying to act nonchalant. The sight of her naked body was already having a predictable effect.
Abby’s smile was smug and adorable. “I’m going to clean you up, and then it’s payback time.”
He sat up, mildly alarmed. “That’s not necessary.”
“Trust me, Duncan. I’ve got you.”
Her deliberate use of his earlier refrain told him that Abby was intent on a bit of quid pro quo.
When she sat on the edge of the mattress at his hip and calmly removed the condom, he quaked inwardly. Already, his erection showed signs of new life. Then Abby took him in her hand and soaped him up, and he fell back on the bed, groaning.
Moments later, he gasped. “I think you can stop now,” he said.
“Just rinsing,” she said airily.
His erection was hard as stone and throbbing. “Please stop,” he croaked.
Abby tossed the rag on the floor and leaned over him, bracing her hands on either side of his head. She kissed him softly. “I didn’t know you were such a baby. Was I being too rough? Too hard on you?”
The prospect of his Abby being rough with him made him insane. He curled one hand behind her neck and dragged her down for a kiss. “You have a competitive streak. How did I not know that?”
She nipped his bottom lip with sharp teeth. “There’s a lot you don’t know. Shall I begin, or do you want to talk some more?”
He was torn between laughter and arousal. “You’re scaring me,” he said, only half-joking.
Abby gave him one last kiss and scooted down in the bed. “I’m only getting started.”
Thirteen
Abby had never been uninhibited in her sexual relatio
nships. Cautious by nature, she preferred to guard herself against hurt and the possibility of appearing naive or clumsy.
With Duncan, all her usual reservations vanished in the euphoria of being with a man who made her feel like a sexual goddess. The Scotsman wanted her. He couldn’t hide it. His passionate need pushed her past her hang-ups and made her want to match his erotic expertise.
She hoped her enthusiasm would make up for anything she lacked in experience or technique.
At the moment, Duncan looked like a man being stretched on the rack. His fingers gripped folds of the sheets. His jaw clenched. She brushed her thumb over his closed eyelids. “Relax, Duncan. I won’t bite...much.”
Hot color swept from his throat to his hairline. His broad, hair-dusted chest heaved. “Ye’re cruel, lass. Don’t tease me. I’m on a hair trigger.”
Since the man had enjoyed a prolonged and impressive orgasm very recently, she took his protests with a grain of salt. “Try counting sheep,” she said. “Or reciting the multiplication tables. I’m in a mood to play.”
Scooting down in the bed, she reclined on one elbow and studied her lover’s body. His abdomen was taut and firm. She stroked the silky hair above his navel and smiled when he flinched.
His penis was both beautiful and masculine. It reared against his belly, full and thick and long. Lightly, she circled the head with her fingertip. A single drop of fluid leaked from the slit. She spread the moisture, her heart thumping as she imagined him entering her again.
Having him momentarily at her mercy was a novel experience.
Then, giving him no verbal warning at all, she went down on him, taking all of him that she could manage in her mouth and tasting his essence. A lingering bit of soap remained. But that was the least of her worries. Now that she had him, what was she supposed to do with him?
Duncan’s entire body went rigid. He muttered something in Gaelic that was either a prayer or a curse. Between her lips, his erection flexed and thickened a millimeter more.
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