Dangerous As Sin

by Alix Rickloff

  Unable to move, she lay still as his eyes devoured. Enjoying the slow knotting of her insides into a tighter and tighter coil. The way her blood roared through her veins. The way he rubbed against her, letting her feel the hard shaft of his erection.

  She answered his hunger with her own, wanting him to push himself into her. Fill the yawning uncertainty she fought to crush under her overpowering desire for Cam.

  “Take me,” she murmured. “Fuck me. Now.”

  But he held back. Instead his head lowered to her breasts. Laved the sensitive flesh until her nipples hardened to dark pearls. Until she arched, wanting him to take more into his mouth. Wanting him to feast where until now all he’d done was sample.

  He withdrew, but only to rake her again with another hellion’s gaze. To adjust his grip upon her wrists. To let the sweet friction ratchet up another full notch. Every muscle taut and waiting. Every breath quick and sharp with arousal.

  His mouth found hers again, his tongue plunging into hers. Forcing her head back. Forcing her to answer with an assault of her own. A war of tongues and lips and teeth that left them both breathless.

  One wrist came free, but only for a moment, and then he’d captured both in one hand. His other skimming her side. Brushing the hair between her legs. Finding, then teasing the nub hidden within.

  She bucked against his touch, whimpers of near climax coming from deep in her throat. Was this his way of punishing her? Hold her captive in a web of spiraling need with no release in sight?

  To hell with that.

  The twist of her torso, the throw of a well-placed leg, and Cam found himself blinking up at her from his back, his expression inscrutable even if his body told its own tale. But before she could answer his desperate hunger with her own, he tore away. His gaze hard as flint, his chest heaving. “You’ve seen my crimes. You know the evil I’m capable of. The madness that lies just beneath the surface.”

  She shook her head, trying to focus on his words and not on the bodywide throb that threatened to consume her. “I stole only one memory from you, Cam. There was a sailboat. And a storm. Hugh and Euna were there.”

  He went still as if considering her words. Sifting through memory. “I remember. It was the last week before the new school term. The last week of freedom before I was sent south. Away from Strathconon.”

  “And the storm?”

  Pride lit his face for a moment and the faded edges of an ancient grief. “We beached on the rocks. Smashed by the waves and the wind. But I got us safe there before she broke apart. Wet, bedraggled as drowned rats, and more terrified of Uncle Josh than the storm.”

  “Then what? I saw no more.”

  “I could tell you. But mayhap, you’d rather see what happened with your own eyes?”

  Before she could refuse, he forced her palm open. Forced it closed again over the sharp points of the jet cross.

  The power within the stone dragged her under in mere seconds, tumbled her into the midst of lashing rain, shrieking winds, the jink and lurch of the little yacht as Cam fought it to shore. Cliffs rose sheer before her. All but for a shale-strewn beach, a thin slice of safety between the jagged rocks. Cam made for that narrow gap. He could do it. He knew he could. Hadn’t Father always told him he had the devil’s own skill? He’d prove it now.

  Slapping his hair out of his eyes, he screamed at Hugh and Euna to hold to the railing. Twine the ropes around their hands for a surer grip.

  The crunch of staved-in wood, the crack of a splintered mast, and the boat came to rest, heaved on its side, pieces strewn across the beach. Cam bent double over the broken tiller dangling useless in his hand.

  The three of them shaking and laughing and faking a disregard for Uncle Josh’s upcoming discipline as they climbed the path to the house. Met Gran-da coming down. Braving the storm and the plummeting path to find them and bring them to Uncle Josh.

  Cam caught Gran-da’s gaze. A gray-faced mix of sympathy and anguish. That’s when the awful realization dawned. Father and Mother weren’t coming back. Not today. Not ever. Dead of fever. No time to even say good-bye.

  As if a stray piece of wood had impaled itself within his breast, he felt something hard and numbing sever him in half. The part of him before he knew. The part of him after.

  Even as his heart grew leaden, he caught the telltale wailing of the caoineag from the rocks below. Or was that Euna’s sobbing? Hugh’s stifled blubbering? He couldn’t tell and then the sound was gone. Blown away by the wind.

  Morgan’s fingers fell away. The memory spun out to its end. The strength of the moment finally understood.

  “There’s more if you care to watch.” His voice came harsh. His expression serious. “Much more.”

  Morgan shook her head, still off-kilter from what she’d already witnessed. “I told you once that all you’ve done is just a part of who you are now.” She brushed the hair from his face. “The man I love.”

  Love. Had she really said that out loud? The word felt strange on her tongue, but not as distasteful as she once thought it might. She tried again. “I want you, Cam. Even as I shrink from stepping into that cage eyes-open.”

  “Must it be a cage?”

  “There’s no way the warring sides of myself can coexist. To have you is to turn my back on the Amhas-draoi.” She tried not to let her grief show through. She’d grow accustomed in time to the hollow sense of loss as if a part of her had been cut away. “But since I must choose, I choose you.”

  Cam caught her chin. Made her face him. “I don’t ask for that kind of sacrifice. I don’t want that kind of sacrifice.”

  “But I—”

  “Damn it, Morgan, don’t force that responsibility on me. If there’s any future for us here, it’s not over the grave of your buried dreams.”

  “Do you want me?”

  “Are you jesting? Can you really lie there and ask me if I want you? My whole body is ready to come apart at the stitching if I don’t fuck you right now.”

  It was her turn to move against him. Feel the tip of his cock poised to enter. Her earlier need resurfaced, sharper for the wait, the tingly heat between her legs unbearable.

  He took a deep, moaning shaky breath. Cursed. And pushed himself away. “I may live or die in the next few days. I don’t want my last thought to be that you regret what you feel. That I’m placing you into some kind of prison.”

  She lurched for him. Refused to let him escape. “Can’t you let me mourn the loss of one dream even while I revel in the realization of another?”

  He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked bloody pissed and ready to murder.

  She lowered her head. Slanted her lips across his, smelling the heady clean scent of him. The odor of man and sex and sweat. “If you want me as much as you say you do, you’ll finish what you started. You’ll end this. Now.” Her words came as hard and angry as his own. And she didn’t bloody care.

  She wanted this throbbing pleasure-pain to end in the crashing rush of orgasm. Wanted to feel him slam into her with a power that would send her out of herself. Prove to her the choice she’d made was right.

  Caught beneath her, his gaze hardened to a frozen blue chill. “You’re damned right. I will end it.”

  Gone was even the pretence of tenderness. Forgetting the bandage on her arm, or mayhap remembering it and not caring, he shifted. Flipped them over so that once again he lay on top. Dominant. In control. Mad as hell.

  He spread her legs. Buried himself inside her, every thrust staking a claim. Proving a point. He watched her as he pleasured her, his eyes as sharp and focused as a mountain eagle.

  She arched against him as their rhythm increased. As the supple coil of her body vibrated beneath him.

  Cam’s body hardened. His arms flexed, every muscle stretched tight even as a shudder exploded through him. Into her.

  She clung to him, fighting the riptide of emotion and sensation as each crashing wave tore her apart as easily as they had the little yacht. But looking up, she s
aw through the shroud of rain and wind, the glowing lights of home.

  “Colonel?”

  Cam pushed the hand away. Burrowed deeper under the blankets. Encountered naked flesh, which jolted him out of sleep.

  Morgan.

  So it hadn’t been a dream.

  He spooned up against her, nuzzling the flesh of her neck.

  “Colonel Sinclair, sir. Wake up. Please.”

  Shit. Amos. What the hell was he doing here? Cam opened one eye to see the old batman’s face inches from his own. “Go away.”

  “I’m that sorry, sir.” Amos’s idea of a whisper was anything but. Cam shrank under the volume. Hoped Morgan didn’t wake. “Sir Joshua’s belowstairs. Says he’s needin’ to speak with ye.”

  Cam groaned, rolling away from Morgan’s delicious heat. Rising to take the banyan Amos held out for him. “Did he say anything else?”

  “No, sir. But he’s brought Lady Sinclair and Miss Euna with him. I’d be on my guard if I were you, sir. He’s preparin’ for battle, by the looks of him.”

  Uncle Josh. The perfect beginning to a perfect day. More than likely here for his expected recount of last night’s progress with the completely forgettable Mrs. Kennett-Holmes.

  “So be it,” he grumbled, plowing a hand through his hair. Yawning. Stretching the kinks out. “Bring me my clothes.”

  “But…Sir Joshua…” Amos motioned toward the door.

  “If Uncle Josh comes round at dawn, Uncle Josh can damned well wait until I make myself presentable.”

  But though he said it, Cam dressed in haste. Breeks. Boots.

  It was time to end the charade once and for all with his uncle. Be sure he knew Cam appreciated his advice and support. But he didn’t need it. Not anymore.

  There’d be fireworks—Cam glanced back at Morgan, still somehow asleep—perhaps more threats. Still, if a chance existed that he’d pierced Morgan’s armored heart, he’d risk any amount of his uncle’s bullying.

  “Cam?”

  Morgan stretched one arm over her head, a come-back-to-bed invitation lighting her eyes. Cam wanted nothing more than to crawl back between the sheets. Wrestle her to delicious surrender again. Sheathe himself inside her velvety heat. Find release.

  He imagined ice water. And lots of it. “My family’s downstairs.”

  “What do they want?”

  “No doubt they’ve come to be sure their rabid dog remains muzzled and leashed.”

  “Interesting turn of phrase.” Her gaze ran over his bare chest, centered on his groin with a sleepy-sexy smile that almost unmanned him.

  He sighed, his voice grave. “It’s going to be ugly.”

  “Do you know a family fight that isn’t? I’ve told you, Cam. I’m not afraid of talk. Your uncle can do his best, but it won’t change me. Only you’ve been able to do that.”

  She gave nothing away, but he understood her now. Knew the reaction was her way of hardening herself against expected pain.

  His gaze fell on her bandaged arm, a knot of near loss still uncomfortably squeezing his innards. He’d prove to her she’d been right to trust in him. This time he’d make it come right.

  “My uncle may command my respect—even my loyalty—but he doesn’t own me. He’ll find that out soon enough,” he growled through clenched teeth as he stormed out of the bedchamber, drawing on a shirt as he went.

  He surprised Uncle Josh in the drawing room in the process of running his hand over the stain in the carpet, Aunt Sylvie sitting primly on the sofa by the fire, twisting a handkerchief between her fingers. Euna beside her.

  Arrayed for battle. The space between them as charged with emotion as any front line.

  Brodie’s presence was a bonus Cam hadn’t expected. He stood at the hearth, a boot on the fender, his shoulders hunched as he stared into the flames. What he did here was a mystery, but Cam wouldn’t turn away an ally.

  He looked up when Cam entered, the tight-clenched jaw relaxing a fraction. His eyes searching Cam for injury.

  Aunt Sylvie started as if she might rise and go to him. She didn’t. She held back, but her hand slid into Euna’s sitting beside her, a watery smile of relief lighting her eyes. “Thank heavens, you’re all right,” she murmured.

  Her concern sent a wash of regret through him. Forever a square peg in a round hole, Cam had spent his life asking for forgiveness for simply being himself.

  No more.

  They’d take him as he was. Or they’d lose him.

  Uncle Josh took his time straightening. “Can you explain this?”

  Cam noted the track of his gaze. His bloodstained fingertips.

  “Hangnail?”

  His uncle’s face went white, then red. “Don’t sport with me, lad. You’ll lose. I’ve not gotten as far as I have by putting up with jokesters.”

  Cam’s whole body tightened. Why had he ever thought he could find a way to make his family understand? He shrugged. “We had a break-in last night.”

  Brodie stiffened, his gaze searching out Cam for the truth.

  Aunt Sylvie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Was anyone hurt?”

  Uncle Josh turned a hard gaze on his wife. “That’s not wine, Sylvie. It’s blood. And lots of it.”

  Cam smiled, an imperceptible nod to Brodie that he’d be told more later. “No one we need worry over, Aunt.”

  Apparently satisfied with Cam’s abbreviated answer, his uncle dismissed the wreck of the carpet. His aunt and sister less easily. They both focused on the stain with wide eyes.

  His uncle jerked his chin at the ceiling. “Has Miss Bligh gone?”

  “No. She hasn’t.” He couldn’t help it. Despite the shock he knew he’d inflict, he offered his uncle a look that told a story of its own.

  Brodie swallowed a laugh, but his uncle remained unfazed. “Mrs. Kennett-Holmes—”

  “Will need to look elsewhere for a new husband. I’m sorry, Uncle Josh. I can’t woo a woman whose sole enticement is her money, her connections, and her calming influence.”

  His uncle changed tack. His face softening into less belligerent lines. “Cam, are you prepared to jeopardize your future? Your sister and brothers’ futures for this woman? We’re your family, Cam. We need to hold together.”

  “Family?” Cam spat, his earlier weakness burned away. “A family’s supposed to accept you as you are. Not as they wish you would be. I tried for years to be the man you wanted me to be. And spent more years apologizing when I didn’t measure up. I can’t do it anymore.”

  Finally, his words seemed to get through.

  Uncle Josh dropped into a chair, his hands curling over the arms, his expression full of self-contrition. “I blame myself.” He sighed. “You’ve inherited too much of your father. Even my upbringing was not enough to hold back the worst of his excesses coming to fruition in you.” He straightened. Pointed an accusing finger in Cam’s direction. “But I’ll say one thing—your father may have been a reckless gadabout, but he knew the importance of family. To him, being a Sinclair meant honor. Pride. He’d be as disappointed as I am to hear you’ve spurned it all for a woman of Miss Bligh’s character.”

  Cam’s hand unconsciously reached for his cross. “We won’t ever know what my father would think. But I do know what Gran-da thinks. And he’s given me his blessing.”

  “You’ve seen…” Uncle Josh jerked back against the chair, a flicker of something Cam might take for belief at the corners of his gaze. And why not? Joshua Sinclair had been raised in Caithness. Had walked the same lonely mountain tracks. Stood on the same fog-shrouded shores. Heard the same stories of the old days when a winter’s storm held families close to the fires.

  A warmth filled the emptiness in Cam where the last shreds of family duty had been pounded to dust. A healing that let him see his uncle as the tired, besieged old man he was. A final gift from his grandfather? A product of Morgan’s love?

  “So you’re calling my bluff. You don’t think I’ll ruin her?” His uncle’s question froze the room to silen
ce. A final desperate attempt to hold Cam within his orbit.

  Brodie’s hand went to his waist as if he might draw steel.

  Euna jumped, her gaze sweeping from her uncle to Brodie to Cam.

  “Joshua!” Aunt Sylvie stood, her nervousness whipped to steely resolve. “Do you hear yourself? Do you see what you’re doing?”

  His face seemed to melt into defeat, shoulders slumped. “I see Cam throwing away a chance to put his unsavory past behind him and start fresh.”

  “And can he only do this in the arms of Sally Kennett-Holmes? Can you not put aside your stubborn Sinclair pride long enough to hear your nephew out? Morgan Bligh may not be our choice, but if she can bring a smile back to Cameron’s face, I’m willing to withhold judgment.”

  His uncle snorted, but remained silent. Again, Cam had the feeling that mention of his grandfather had tipped a scale somewhere in his favor.

  This time, his aunt did cross the room. Cupped his cheek. “It’s been too long since a true smile lit your eyes, Cameron.” She mouthed silently, “Leave him to me.”

  He’d never noticed the stubborn jut of her chin before, or the dogged gleam in her eyes. But they were there.

  And for the first time in a long while, Cam saw hope for the square peg.

  Chapter 27

  Doran trusted few. It was how he’d survived as long as he had. First as a soldier in the Duinedon’s army, fighting his way beside his brothers across India until one by one they’d fallen. Later as student and soldier in Scathach’s order of Amhas-draoi where he’d finally understood firsthand the discrimination of Other by true Fey. The way the most potent magics were held in tight-fisted secrecy by the faery world. Any excuse to keep the Other away from real power.

  Well, the all-seeing Scathach hadn’t seen everything, had she?

  So arrogant in her superiority, she’d never gleaned his reasons for such diligent study, such single-minded determination in becoming the best of the Amhas-draoi. Only one within the order holding greater innate ability. And he’d gone soft over some woman.