When she moaned, wriggling in his lap, he knew a torturous pleasure. Her plush, squirming arse stroked his rampant cock, and he groaned as he spurted against the sheet. A mere precursor to his desire for her. His bollocks pulsed with heat, swelling with all that he had to give her.
With an impatient hand, he yanked the billowing garment over her head and tumbled her onto the mattress. Then he just stared. Drank in the sight of her lush, bare curves and blushing gold hair—Aphrodite in his bed. A goddess to be savored.
"Your beauty defies description." Reverently, he cupped one of her breasts. Her spine arched as he teased the stiff rosy peak between finger and thumb. "Like that, lass?"
"Yes," she sighed. "Oh, yes."
"And this?" He bent and circled the nipple with his tongue. Licked and flicked the sensitive bud, blowing softly.
"More, McLeod," she pleaded.
"Tell me what you want, love," he said huskily. "Then we can both be certain, no?"
Her throat worked. "Suckle me, please ... like you did before."
Music to his ears. He obliged her, taking her nipple deep into his mouth. Using his tongue, his lips, the barest scrap of his teeth, he tended to her until she was panting, moaning, her fingers digging against his scalp. He wanted to drive her wild, to have her as maddened for him as he was for her. He rolled her over and nibbled his way down her spine.
At the elegant little dip, he pressed the briefest of kisses, smiling when she trembled. He liked that she was responsive. Liked that she didn't hide her desire from him. His lass was honest in her passion, and it stoked his already raging fires. Made him burn to pleasure her in every way a man could pleasure his woman.
"Lift your sweet bottom for me," he said thickly.
She looked back at him, her face flushed with passion. "Wh-what?"
"Trust me, love. I'll take care of you."
At her trusting acquiescence, something in his chest melted. At the same time, every other part of him went rock hard as she shifted onto her knees. He guided her into position, lifting her hips and placing pillows beneath. He made sure she rested comfortably on her forearms, one blushing cheek pressed to the coverlet, her lips parted on excited breaths.
With her lovely rump raised at this angle, he had full access to her feminine secrets—nothing hidden. All his. Kneeling between her legs, he nudged her knees farther apart, his gaze riveted on her sex. On the fiery curls and plump pink lips glistening with dew.
"Ach, Annabel, you are a sight," he rasped.
"Please don't tease," she said in a muffled voice. "I feel rather bared as it is."
"If I had my way, you would be bare and spread to me always." Fervently, he palmed one quivering white buttock. "Your beauty makes me ache, Bella."
"You don't think I'm too ... plump?"
His head jerked up, his gaze pinning hers. "Hell, no. It pains me that you would even suggest such a thing. You are perfection."
To emphasize the point, he traced the crevice between her gorgeous cheeks with his thumb. She shivered. When he followed the same path with his tongue, circling a sensitive rim, she gasped.
"Sweet here like everywhere else," he muttered.
"McLeod, are you certain this is—"
He ignored her. Angling her bottom up, he buried his face in her pussy. Her heated honey scorched his senses, as did her whimpering cry of delight. His lass liked being licked and savored—a good thing, because he could eat her cunny forever. Parting her with his thumbs, he took her with his mouth, plunging his tongue into her pretty folds. At the same time, he searched out her pearl, diddling the bold little bud. She came with glorious abandon, grinding her delectable sex against him, crying out his name.
With her taste upon his tongue, his fingers slick with her desire, he could hold back no longer. The primal need to possess her roared over him. He fisted his turgid member, his breath hissing through his teeth as he ran the crimson tip along her juicy slit.
"Ready for more of me, lass?" he growled.
"Yes." Her smoky amethyst gaze swirled through him like an aphrodisiac. "I want all of you, McLeod."
"Take me, then." Notching his cockhead to her hole, he thrust slowly forward.
Bluidy fucking heaven.
Nostrils flaring, he watched as his thick shaft worked inside her. Reveled in the luscious clench of her pussy as she sighed and wriggled, trying to accommodate his invasion. She was so small and tight. Lust pounded in his chest as his beast stretched her delicate petals, her drenched passage giving way. With a groan, he sank all the way inside. Just stayed there, unmoving, glorying in the perfection of her snug, pulsing heat.
"Alright?" he managed. The angle was deep, and he didn't want to hurt her.
"Oh, McLeod," she breathed. "It's perfect ... you're perfect."
He uttered her name like a benediction, and gripping her soft hips, began to move. With each shove of his hips, he met with bliss greater than any he'd known. His tanned, battle-scarred fingers tightened on her milky white bottom as his cock pistoned in and out, glistening with the dew of her ardor. Her generosity rocked him to the core, every mewling cry, every soft sigh drawing him in deeper. Making him wild to possess her, to touch the very core of this woman. His Bella. He curled a finger beneath her, strumming her clit as his balls smacked her cunny again and again.
"Almost there?" he demanded.
"Yes, yes, oh harder, please—"
He obliged. The pressure in his stones grew with each heavy thrust. Her rippling response milked his staff, drawing his fire. Desperately, he stroked her pearl harder, pressing it against his thrusting member. She cried out, and not a moment too soon—his climax raged over him. With his last vestige of control, he pulled out, shouting as his seed jetted from him and streamed over her silken back.
When his sanity returned, he saw that her eyes were closed.
"Lass," he whispered.
She mumbled something and snuggled deeper into the coverlet.
His lips curved, and he left the bed to fetch a towel. She didn't wake as he gently tended to her. When he was done, he got them both under the covers, cuddling her back to his front. Even in sleep, she nestled against him as if she belonged there. Basking in her scent, the rightness of having her in his arms, he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
FOURTEEN
For Annabel, the next fortnight brought a storm of powerful emotions. The business with Todd loomed over her like omnipresent thunderclouds: her apprehension mounted every morning when McLeod left to track Harding and subsided only when he returned safely home in the evening. Although McLeod assured her that he was careful, she saw the harsh, tired lines on his face and couldn't shake her fear for his safety.
He spent long days—sometimes nights—gathering information about Harding's activities. McLeod was meticulous in his work, keeping an hourly journal of his subject's whereabouts. He'd told her that he was establishing a pattern that he would soon share with Todd. She didn't know whether to feel glad or anxious about McLeod's success. For the sooner he went to Todd, the sooner he would have to participate in Harding's ultimate capture …
Despite Annabel's constant fretting, there were joyful moments, too. These bright times dispelled the clouds, made her bask in the delight of being alive. Her brief marriage had taught her nothing about passion or true companionship, and being with McLeod delivered one revelation after another.
What happened in his bedchamber—where she now spent most nights—opened her eyes to a dazzling new world of pleasure and intimacy. It wasn't just his undeniable skill, but the intensity of his focus on her, the way he seemed to draw his pleasure from her own. His habit was to take her over the precipice of ecstasy again and again before finding his own release.
Afterward, she would lay there, boneless and grinning like an idiot, while he cuddled her and whispered sweet words in her ear. Indeed, the cuddling oft led to kissing and other activities … for in addition to being an expert lover, the Scot possessed rather spectacular stamina.<
br />
Until him, she hadn't understood why sex was called lovemaking. Now she did.
In two weeks, she'd fallen head over slippers in love with William McLeod.
It didn't surprise her: she'd been halfway there after their first night together. But now she'd gotten to know him better, and she loved his companionship as much as his lovemaking—which was saying something. She discovered that they had much in common, from their love of earthly pleasures—food, laughter, and, yes, sex—to their enjoyment of time spent doing very little at all. Curled up against his bare chest, she could listen for hours while he read aloud to her in that wonderful lilt of his. Sometimes they didn't even speak at all, communicating intimacy in perfect silence.
She didn't doubt her feelings any longer. But life had taught her to be a realist.
Though McLeod showed care and affection toward her, she strove to keep her hopes leashed. To not allow herself to get carried away by idyllic visions of a future together. The truth was a lover did not a wife make. He might share his bed with her and mayhap even grow to care for her, but sooner or later, he'd have to marry … and no man would want a bride who'd once sold herself as a whore.
Annabel disentangled herself from the melancholic thoughts. 'Twas silly to long for an imaginary future when the present offered so much joy. Whatever time she had with McLeod was a blessing—and she would cherish every moment of it.
Because trouble brewed on the horizon, dark clouds growing closer by the day.
Glancing at the long case clock in the study, she saw that it was nearing supper and almost time for McLeod to return home. Her nervousness increased even as she tried to distract herself by tidying his desk.
He'll be back soon. He'll be fine.
Footsteps and the rustle of crisp skirts alerted her to Mrs. Ramsbottom's arrival. Turning, she greeted the housekeeper with a smile. The past two weeks had confirmed that beneath the lady's brusque and sometimes forceful personality was a heart of solid gold.
"Supper's ready, and you know Cook doesn't like to be kept waiting," Mrs. Ramsbottom said by way of salutation. "Hope Mr. McLeod hasn't taken it upon himself to dawdle."
Annabel smiled at the notion of the large Scot dawdling.
"He told me he'd be back by seven," she said.
"At least he bothered to tell someone in this household of his plans." The housekeeper snorted. "Before you, he'd go harrying off with nary a word about his comings and goings. Surly as a bear, too. But now he's a right chipper fellow—heard him whistling the other day, see if I didn't. You've improved him, Mrs. Foster, and I'm glad for it."
Annabel's throat swelled, alarming heat rising behind her eyes. Despite her obvious role in McLeod's life, Mrs. Ramsbottom hadn't judged her. In fact, the housekeeper treated her like the lady of the house—and not just the lover McLeod had installed willy-nilly in his residence.
"It would only be fair seeing as he has undoubtedly improved mine," Annabel said truthfully.
"We can all use a bit of help along the way. Seems to me you're working hard to improve your lot in life, and I suspect the master admires that." The housekeeper gave an approving nod. "We all do."
Another exciting development had been Annabel's new employment. After reading Percy Hunt's manuscript, she'd shared her honest comments. Percy had found her suggestions so helpful that she'd offered Annabel a paid position as her personal secretary. Annabel now spent mornings assisting the author with various tasks from reading drafts to organizing the latter's office.
Not only was it a delight to work with Percy, but Annabel was gaining some longed for independence as well. Though McLeod was ridiculously generous, she didn't want to rely upon him any more than necessary. 'Twas one of the rare sources of friction between them. For instance, he'd seemed annoyed by her refusal to allow him to purchase her a new wardrobe.
"You would rather wear cast-offs than accept a gift from me?" he'd said, scowling.
She'd tried to explain to him that she wanted to earn her own keep. For in the deepest chamber of her heart lay a secret ember of hope: if she could make something of herself, then mayhap one day she might be McLeod's … equal. Or at least lessen the discrepancy between their situations in life.
"Now before the master returns," the housekeeper was saying, "I wish to speak with you about something."
"Yes, Mrs. Ramsbottom?"
In reply, the other held out a letter. Annabel took it, and when she saw the name of the addressee, her brows shot up. Peregrine William McLeod? McLeod had never mentioned a Christian name other than William … and now she knew why. She stifled a grin.
Turning the letter over, she studied the wax seal: the letter "S" framed by imperial flourishes. The sender's address was in Lanarkshire, Scotland. Wasn’t that where McLeod had said his brother lived?
"Arrived just now," the housekeeper said, "same markings as the other two letters the master hasn't opened. He's a close-lipped sort, so I don't know the details of his past, but I do know that an estrangement from one's kinfolk is a pity. You don't realize how much family matters until you're alone." Sadness ghosted through the lady's eyes. "Lost my own son at Quatre Bras."
Empathy percolated through Annabel—she understood all too well the sorrow of losing beloved family members. She gave the housekeeper's hand a squeeze before taking the letter and tucking it in her skirt pocket.
"I'll give the letter to him, but I can't promise he'll read it," she said.
"One can only lead the horse—or in this instance, the stubborn ass—to water."
Annabel chuckled just as the door bell rang.
"About time," Mrs. Ramsbottom said.
Annabel hurried to the antechamber. At the sight of her tall, handsome lover, her heart fluttered. His coffee-colored eyes found her immediately.
"Now there's a welcome sight." His lips curved. "Missed you, lass. How was your day?"
She walked into his open arms.
*****
After supper, Annabel took her bath with McLeod in his bedchamber. The oversized tub was set in a snug alcove next to the fire, shielded from the rest of the room by a dressing screen. She loved the lazy intimacy of lying with the Scot in the sudsy water, watching as shadows flickered across the silk panels. Cradled against him in their balmy cocoon, she felt utterly safe and content.
She turned her head to look at him. "How was your day?"
"Well enough." In the firelight, his rugged features had a somber cast. "I've reviewed Harding's schedule with Todd. According to my analysis, the best time to nab the cove is when he's leaving his weekly visit with his mistress. He only brings a few men, and his routine is predictable. We'll have an opportunity tomorrow night—and Todd wants to go ahead with it."
Heart thumping, Annabel twisted fully in his arms. "Tomorrow? Are Harding's men armed? McLeod, that sounds dangerous—"
"Don't fret, lass. I'm just the scout. I'll lead Todd's men to the location, but they'll do the dirty work."
"But anything could happen! I couldn't stand it if ..." Frantically, she cupped his jaw with both hands. His night beard scraped her palms as she made him look at her. "McLeod, you're important to me. And even though you're the strongest man I've ever met, you aren't invincible. You must take care."
"I will. Now that I have a reason to care." His gaze enveloped her like a warm blanket. "One more night, Bella—and then we'll be free."
His words resonated with promise. His mouth claimed hers with absolute possession. Tomorrow would come, but tonight was now. She gave into him, into the unquenchable need to be as close to him as possible. She moaned as his palms covered her breasts, rubbing slick foam over the budded tips.
In husky tones, he said, "Have I told you that I adore your breasts?"
"You may have mentioned it once or twice," she said breathlessly.
"Can't blame a man for being obsessed. You're a perfect handful, Bella." Her spine bowed against his chest as one of his hands disappeared beneath the water and slid between her thighs. "In fac
t, you're perfect everywhere."
It would be so easy to let him take the lead as usual. Yet a different craving took hold of her. The imminent danger he faced made her pulse thrum with a wild mix of love, fear, and gratitude. He'd done so much for her and asked for nothing in return. He was the noblest of men—her hero.
For once, she wanted to take care of him. Tonight, she wanted to show him how much she loved and appreciated him ... in action if not in words.
Pulling free, she turned to face him.
"What's the matter, lass?" he said in surprise.
She straddled his lap, her core fluttering when his iron-hard cock sprang up between them, pressing insistently against her belly. She looked into his smoldering eyes. "I want to make love to you, McLeod."
"Trust me, we're of a same mind." His hand rested possessively on her hip.
"You don't understand—I want to pleasure you. And I want you to lie back and enjoy it."
He cocked a brow. "Is that an order, lass?"
She thought about it. "Yes."
Slowly, he released her. His arms rested on the edges of the tub, and his eyes were heavy-lidded. "Your wish is my command."
A teasing quality tempered his deep voice. Well, he wouldn't be laughing for long if she had anything to do about it. Determined to please him, she rose on her knees and captured his earlobe between her teeth. His breath came harshly as she licked the sensitive lobe, suckling it. She kissed and nibbled her way down the tough, flexing column of his throat.
His neck arched; a raspy sound escaped him.
Her hands swept over the wide, muscular expanse of his shoulders, the rigid contours just below. As her fingers tangled in his wiry chest hair, a sense of deep, feminine possessiveness rooted inside her.
"You're so fine, McLeod." And, for tonight at least, you're mine.
"Glad you think so, lass." He sounded like he was having difficulty breathing.
Excellent. She touched one of his small nipples lying just above the line of water. Bending her head, she flicked her tongue across that hard point. He groaned.
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