“And I’ve already informed ye… I will not kiss ye!”
He shook his head slow and deliberate, narrowing those mystical orbs on her. “Such a selfish proclamation from one whose life has just been restored, who has just escaped the clutches of death via my healing hands.”
Guilt assailed her like the drenching of a cold spring rain, but she swiped it away. “‘Tis no gentlemon ye be to seek a lady’s guilt for yer own end. I would say it seems there be a spot of selfishness on yer part, as well, Mr. Lawton.”
“John, if you please. And I do see your valid point. An eye for an eye,” he growled, gasping for air as he dragged himself up and over her.
Instantly, his woodsy scent assailed her nostrils and filled her lungs—saturated the very lung he had just repaired. She looked up to see perspiration glistening across his forehead and knew he struggled for every bit of energy he expended. Though she sensed his apparent distress somehow related to his powers, the novelty of it—of him—continued to awe her. Why he had become so weak was yet to be determined, but the truth of his plight stared her in the face with stubborn desperation. She accepted that his request for a kiss was not, for the most part, a ploy to take advantage of her. It struck her as apparent and genuine that he truly sought her out to energize his mystical powers. She had heard of such a rare phenomenon for some but she had yet to witness this borrowing of energy to gain strength. The truth was, he had given her life and vigor, and it was now time to repay her debt to this magical man. But her thoughts about witchcraft and the supernatural scattered when she looked deep into his crystal eyes.
Deep into his soul.
Her body trembled, though not with the cold. He rendered Catriona temporarily speechless, for his rugged, dark beauty stole her words from her throat before she could retort. Oh, this man was definitely a wizard, no doubt about that now. But was he truly one of the infamous outlaw Robin Hood’s cohorts? The mere possibility sent a thrill of excitement through her she cared not to address.
She had to get away, had to continue running past the Scottish-English border, otherwise, his life-saving measures would be for naught. It was imperative she make her way to London where she would be under the jurisdiction of the queen and be afforded the opportunity of anonymity in London’s busy streets. She would be blissfully lost in the safety of crowds a whole country away from North Berwick and the witch hangings void of a trial—and the fiery stakes the king insisted on igniting.
She extinguished the horrid memory of tortured screams and the putrid odor of burning flesh in her mind…that of Duncan’s cries and her own mother’s as well. Instead, she focused on this man who fascinated her so very much against her better judgment. Despite his obvious weakness, he still seemed to have her at a disadvantage both physically and mentally. But perhaps it was time to outwit him by striking up a bargain with the big oaf?
“Oh, aye, I do so agree…an eye for an eye. What say ye I grant ye the kiss ye so desire…in exchange for me freedom?”
He chuckled, throwing his head back so that his long ropes of hair fluttered in the breeze and settled across his shoulders. What would it feel like to run her fingers through the long tresses? Just trying to imagine it made her fingers tingle with an alarming want. Duncan had kept his auburn hair in a severe cut that swung against his jaw. This man’s hair…it appeared much thicker and fell unconventionally long down his back. It gleamed with a healthy sheen she had never before seen in her husband’s unkempt locks.
“I would think that as a witch, you would not need to lower yourself to such bargains.”
“Would ye, now? Well, I would be thinkin’ that as a sorcerer, ye would not need to be lowerin’ yerself to stealin’ kisses from a helpless maiden.”
He snorted. “I’d hardly call you helpless, given the fact that, based on your lovely Scottish brogue, you have come a long way all alone and dressed in your male disguise as you are. Now that takes strength to be a female in a man’s clothing, to flee one’s country and king’s wrath and still be alive—up until the near-fatal strike of that bloody arrow, that is. Indeed, that impressive strength of yours does not even account for the constant strain of having the king’s paid men bearing down on your tail all the while.”
She snorted back. “Methinks I shall take that rather long-winded repartee of yers as a bloody good compliment.”
“Mmm,” he said on a nod, his eyes twinkling with a glimmer of something altogether hot and mysterious. “‘Tis definitely a compliment.”
The tune of his voice so close to her ear, along with his cryptic expression, made her clit suddenly engorge with blood, while a gush of pussy juices soaked into the crotch of her braies against her will. The pressure of his lower body to hers increased as he relaxed, a move that brought his codpiece flush to her vee. Her legs had been slowly spread by the gradual weight of him, and the intimate position brought a hot flush to her cheeks. Catriona could feel the unmistakable hardness of his sex even through the thickness of his garment, as well as through her own clothing. The sensation of a swollen male organ between her thighs—a long-forgotten memory in the months since Duncan’s imprisonment and execution—washed over her with ruthless speed. Memories assailed her of what it once felt like to be breathless with lust, to give up in beautiful, submissive abandon to the talents of a passionate man in need of a woman.
Of a woman in need of a man.
Enough, Catriona!
“Och, get on with it, thief.” Catriona forced an exaggerated tone of insolence into her voice. “Steal yer kiss just as ye and yer Prince of Thieves continually seize the riches of the innocent and all their poor bairns. Please hurry, be done with it, and then I expect ye to free me posthaste.”
He stared so intensely into her eyes, she could have sworn he had already seduced her and brought her to climax in that one instant. “First, I must hear your name from those plump, delectable lips.”
She ignored the way his words and his deep, sensual voice thickened her blood, stilled her heart’s thumping. “Me name?”
“Aye,” he rasped, raking a hand across her hood to release the remainder of her locks. “Your name, love.”
Love? The endearment did odd things to her insides. A wanted criminal now combed his fingers through the blood-soaked tips of her hair, and it made her eyelids go heavy, her spine tingle. What had gotten into her? Had this thief—this wizard!—cast some sort of carnal hex on her?
The sarcastic answer she offered John was, “Verra well, sir. Ye win. I am called Catriona Graham with former fealty to the clan Nicol.”
“Where are you bound?”
“Bound?” She scoffed. “To bloody anywhere away from the forest of blazin’ stakes in North Berwick! I flee, good sir, from me beloved Scotland, from all I have ever known as me home. I could ill afford to remain in that place of danger much longer. It has become a ferocious hell for those cursed with any one of many gifts of the supernatural. The Scottish king, he goes on a dogged mission and cannot be convinced otherwise ‘til he sees all those with…talents, dead. So do ye not see, brute? Death continues in me pursuit and surely awaits me if ye do not let me go.”
She paused awaiting a reply, or at the very least, a protest to the insult. When one did not come forth and he only raised a brow at her, she went on. “Now, please, I demand that ye allow me to pay me bloody debt so I can be on me way this instant.”
His cool eyes warmed, reminding her of a steeping cup of water tinged with the slightest bit of juice from a blueberry. Catriona dropped her gaze to his wide mouth where it now curved into a rakish grin. Her hand itched to slap the leering smile from his face, but her mouth watered, despite that violent urge. She licked her lips almost instinctively. Aye, it had been so long since she had been kissed by a man. Reluctantly—though she would rather burn in hell than admit it to him—she supposed she would not mind getting just a minute sample of that beautiful mouth of his…
“I wholeheartedly accept payment.”
His cryptic words ki
ndled a wave of expectancy through her blood. Bargain now sealed, John lowered his mouth, slow and deliberate, until his lips barely met hers. She had not expected the bargain to get underway so quickly, nor had she expected her own swift surrender to those talented lips. Warm, soft, powerful, all things irresistible and pleasant bloomed in her mind. The wet energy that rained down tender on her mouth left her spellbound, and she realized she held her breath, waiting, anticipating…what?
Unfamiliar, delicious flavors burst in her mouth making her open up to accept his tongue against her mind’s better judgment. He increased the pressure and entered her mouth with maddening slowness. Catriona’s heart leapt into a gallop and she could swear that lethal arrow had pierced her chest once again. She inhaled his rugged scent and nearly sighed when he sighed, when he shifted and gathered her body up against the solid wall of his chest. Her nipples sprang to life, even through the thicknesses of male garments. A vague inferno ignited between her legs, spread upward through her torso and limbs and combusted into an unexpected, long-forgotten need that frightened her.
And Catriona realized in that one moment she had sorely erred by allowing this bandit, this sorcerer, to wield his black magic upon her unsuspecting heart.
Chapter Two
John spiraled into the swift clutches of lust, of utter, sweet madness. He could swear he kissed the very petals of a rain-dappled rose. The silky, moist softness, the tart flavor bursting into sugary syrup as he delved deeper, made him go hard with the feral need to sink himself between her thighs.
He sighed at the familiar vibrations of his soul reviving. It always started deep in his abdomen and fanned out from there. Though this one kiss would do little to sustain him for long, the pleasure through consummated intercourse, or some form of sexual release, was the main conduit of revival. But since the kiss proved even more arousing than he had guessed it might, it should be enough to get him to the next village where he would be forced to seek out the charms of the first wanton maid to offer her services.
It was not John’s normal practice to approach his soul revitalization by a mere kiss, but he had unexpectedly expended nearly all of his stores on saving this one wench. It would now be necessary to obtain the energy as quickly as possible. If only Falcon and Salena were nearby. They would be glad to oblige him, which would energize Falcon—or Robin Hood—as well. But John did not have enough reserve left to perform his usual speedy invisilation travels to their most recent location near London. He had been out on a leisurely hunt on the border, and his own closest manor was south of here near York, some goodly distance from his current position. There was no other way about it. He would be forced to obtain—at the very least—just enough from this saucy siren to gain the energy to rise and go seek out stronger, longer-lasting vitality elsewhere.
Catriona let out a tiny whimper into his mouth. Her arms slithered across his shoulders and around his neck. Hmm…perhaps I could get a bit more power from her than originally anticipated? A longer, more passionate kiss than expected might do the trick more so than he had expected. If his powers were more like Falcon’s, he could simply be on his merry way devoid of rejuvenation and await a subject to provide him what he needed later.
As it were, neither a sword sharpened to a hair’s width, nor a man’s strong chokehold, nor even the tip of an arrow shot right through his heart had the power to destroy John. Instead, he had been cursed with the one and only handicap that could bring an immortal of his kind to his grave. The inability to function to full capacity without constant replenishment.
He sighed and shook the gloomy thought from his mind, taking advantage while he still could, of what this vixen now offered him. Her sudden surrender gave him hope and increased the throbbing in his cock. John inhaled, taking in the scent of the cold season mixed with warm woman. Though he was certain it had been some time since she had been afforded a bath due to her extensive on-foot winter travels, he could still detect a pleasant fragrance that was all aglow with pliant female. He longed to rip the men’s clothing from her and unveil what treasures hid beneath all those layers. Ah, to be free to gaze upon her creamy skin, to sample its flavor and unique texture…
But he had bargained for merely a kiss, and by God, that was all he would take…for now.
Her upper body tightened as she drew him down and plunged her tongue into his mouth. He groaned, loving the way her long legs relaxed and widened, inviting him to press nearer. John could detect the outline of her curves beneath him, the full swell of bosom and hip. It made him all the more curious and suddenly bent on gaining more of that energy from her than first planned.
The deeper and longer she kissed him, the more energized he became. His core trembled, reviving and resonating throughout his every cell. Father of Zeus! If her kisses alone had the power to give him this much strength, what would happen if he were allowed into her warm quim to spill his seed? Would it be different than any other woman in his long past? Would he experience this same profoundness he now did by a mere kiss, only multiplied tenfold—or more, perhaps?
The ridiculous thought had him shivering and made him once again think of the Scorpian. It currently resided around Lorcan’s neck. According to the eccentric wizard, it awaited John’s imminent discovery of his true mate. To that, John always had one response. Bah! The old man and his bizarre mumblings had plagued him for centuries. Despite Falcon and Salena’s miracle with the Centaurus, Scorpian or no, John refused to believe such inconceivable fantasies of a daft old wizard. But curiosity had him lifting his eyelids. He cupped her small face in his palms, willing her to open her eyes as well. He needed to see those gems again, to examine them and ensure their similarity to the Scorpian was simply a coincidence.
Her thick black lashes fluttered open even as she deepened the kiss. The glazed passion in the heavy-lidded orbs made him groan again. John stared intently into the emerald pools, so like the Scorpian…almost too much so to be real.
Nay, it could not be. He could not ever be for sure unless he were given the chance to hold the stone up next to the dazed eyes that now held him captive. Even if afforded the opportunity, it was an utterly bizarre idea to think a man could find his soul mate just by matching a gem on a medallion to a pair of eyes. He did not know what Lorcan’s motivation was for attempting to find him and Falcon each a lifelong mate, but frankly, he did not care. He would not get himself involved with any capricious woman ever again, whether the eyes were a dead match to the Scorpian or not.
John continued to hold her face as he tasted the flavor of her, like warmed cider on a cold winter’s night. He examined the tiny rim of darker green around both irises and pupils. Did the old man’s medallion have the same characteristics?
He let out a long breath and tore his mouth from hers, knowing it was futile to debate it at this moment. What did it matter? He would not, under any circumstances, be repeating the courting process ever again. John had experienced heartache brought on by women in his long past he cared not to admit even to himself. He did not wish to attempt permanent association with this or any other woman again, Scorpian or no. Unlike Falcon, John’s opposition to women was rooted in his continual experience with rejection. He had a decided knack for scaring off the ladies and finding himself in the position of being jilted. Smitten with requited love on many an occasion, it had simply taken his large cock sunk within their passage and his voracious appetite to frighten them off. Salena had been the first woman in centuries to be able to physically handle him—and even welcome him and his enormous tool on a fairly regular basis!
“Well?” She spoke through her teeth, her chest rising and falling beneath his. A mixture of bravery and passion—or was it fear?—glowed in her wind-pinkened face.
Nay, this woman would be no different than all the others, he thought as his gaze drifted down to the glistening, bruised lips. All it would take with her would be one encounter. Just like all the others, she would flee in panic, a thief riding off into the dark of eternity, trampling hi
s pride and his heart. Best to just take what he could from her and move on to the safety of what he had had to resort to of late—a more experienced lady of the evening to replenish his stores. One he would not expect a long-term emotional commitment from.
Either way, he would fight whatever rubbish Lorcan insisted on, whether it proved to be true destiny or not. John Lawton was no simpleton. He would be a fool to believe such a crazy phenomenon as Lorcan’s ramblings of “fate”, of all things!
Despite Falcon and Salena’s apparent good match, and in spite of the wonder of John’s own magical powers, he refused to believe in the idea that one person in all the universe was destined to be his. Falcon—lucky fellow—had found true love in every past era and not once been jilted. But he had resisted Salena for fear of having to re-experience the heartache of watching a loved one grow old and die before his very eyes. Now that Salena wore the Centaurus, life everlasting was hers, and Falcon had been gifted with a devoted, loving mate into eternity.
But nay, John had not been so lucky. So he would just gather the stores of energy he needed from this woman and move on to the next. His gaze swung upward, back to the sparkling twin gems, and regret marred his energized mood. No need to torture oneself with unnecessary emotion. Unnecessary emotion, even if the eyes seemed to possibly match the Scorpian, and had the power to take his immortal breath from his lungs.
“Well?” she said again, this time with a mocking blink. “I’ve offered up me end of the bargain. ‘Tis now yer turn. Shall we get on with it, brigand? I’ve not got time to be dallyin’ any longer.”
Ah, but of course, she must have felt his humongous erection. Which equated to time to fly the roost, just like all the others. “Mmm, yes, time is of the essence—the fact that the Scottish king’s men seek your beautiful head upon a platter. Now that, I must say, is an exceptional reason not to prolong the initiation of the kiss.”
A Gypsy's Thief Page 3
