by Jackie Ivie
“What?”
“You have a lot of these. Yes?” He answered it himself. “You must. You weigh more than my horse.”
“You don’t understand. It’s seventeen-ninety.”
Her reply wasn’t whispered this time. He looked at the coin again. Back to her. It was difficult to keep everything muted. The coin was exciting, but there was something else happening. It occurred every time he touched his glance to hers. It elevated his heart rate and temperature. Morrigan looked back to the coin and swallowed before answering.
“Uh...true.”
“You’re not listening. It’s seventeen ninety!”
This time, her voice rose when she spoke. That was even more perplexing. She was also moving. She rolled backward, off her bustle and sat, holding the wad of clothing atop her lap. Morrigan could see the seam of her skirt was opened. He could see a lot more spots where coins peppered her undergarments. But the main view was of her bosom. His groin twinged warningly. He lowered a hand to the area in front of his crotch ties to hide it, and moved his gaze back to her before worse things happened. Then he cleared his throat, and managed to answer.
“That means it is a new coin.”
“No! It means it’s really seventeen-ninety!”
Her tone raised shivers along his arms. She sounded shocked. She was trembling, too.
“If that bothers you so, worry not. It will soon change.”
“What?”
“’Tis the Yule tomorrow.”
“Christmas! You’re telling me it’s Christmas tomorrow?”
Morrigan didn’t comprehend any of this. His voice reflected it. “Some call it that,” he answered.
“This can’t be happening. I have to get out of here.”
“No one is going anywhere, Elena.”
“Please don’t do the machismo crap. Not now. All right? Please?”
“Machismo crap?”
He hoped his tone didn’t display complete ignorance. She was beyond mystifying. The term sounded derogatory. Was she speaking Spanish? If she started speaking it now, they’d be at an impasse. The interpreter wasn’t available. Her reply was in English, reassuring him on that, but little else.
“Yeah. That’s what I said. That’s what I meant. Machismo crap.”
She emphasized the last part and spoke the two words slowly as if that helped comprehension. Morrigan didn’t reply, and she must not have expected one, because she decided to explain it.
“It means the - ‘you will do as I say because I am a man and you’re a woman’ - stuff.”
She’d lowered her voice as if to mimic him through some of that, but her voice was too high-pitched. She was off by a good octave.
“But I cannot leave, either,” he responded.
“Why not?”
“The weather has turned. It’s snowing,” he replied. “Travel is...risky. That is one of the reasons I have returned with one of your trunks and not my horse. Or didn’t you take note?”
“My trunks? Mine?”
“That is what your servant told us.”
“What servant?”
“The man Cedric killed.”
“Cedric killed someone? As in – he actually committed murder?”
Her voice rose markedly on the words. A flush colored her skin, turning it a creamy rose shade. Her breasts were heaving with each breath. A pounding noise settled in his ears, making it difficult to hear. Her eyes were sparkling, drawing his attention. Morrigan quickly looked away over her head toward the fire. He forced his mind to notice how the flames had settled down. That was good. He no longer had to worry over setting the croft afire.
“Well? Say something already.”
“To what?
“You just told me your leader killed someone! And you didn’t do anything?”
Morrigan moved his gaze to her and regarded her for long moments. She had a rebellious look about her. Her chin was lifted. Her mouth set. Her eyes narrowed. She was still the loveliest thing he’d ever seen, easily the most feminine. That fact was difficult to overlook. He tried not to notice how her breasts rose and fell; equally tried ignoring the spike-shaped shadows her lashes sent onto her cheeks. She had such dark eyes! Looking into them was like staring into pools from the deepest end of a pond. This was getting difficult. Especially when another shot of interest hit his groin. Unbidden. Unwanted. And definitely untimely.
“I protected you,” he finally replied.
She broke the eye contact. Moved her gaze to somewhere in the middle of his chest. Two spots of color appeared in her cheeks.
“Oh. Man. I sure wished that meant something different.”
“Different?”
“I’m in your control.”
That was bewildering. Morrigan frowned. “You are safe. Warm. Sheltered.”
“And in your control.”
“I do not understand. You would rather be elsewhere?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“But ’tis a blizzard outside.”
“I never said I wanted to be outside.”
Morrigan pulled his head back slightly. “You did.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Then, what? You would rather be at the large house...with Cedric?”
The thought sent a fire-tipped sensation through him. Morrigan’s breathing altered, each inhalation came more rapidly than the last, and they were heavier. He recognized the emotion. Tried to ignore it. Anger would not help with comprehension. And the croft was not large enough to vent anything.
“Oh. Perish that thought, big guy.”
“What thought?”
His voice came out gruff. She looked toward him. Her glance sent a lightning bolt of reaction. His chest got a direct hit. His rod was right behind it. Morrigan reeled backward. He nearly fell. And she smiled slightly as if she knew!
“I do not wish to be in Cedric’s control, either.”
“Then what...do you want?” He said it from between set teeth.
“You’re making me an offer?”
“I have not offered anything,” he replied.
“Oh. Sorry. You’re asking instead of telling. That in itself is an offer. I deal with this all the time in my career. Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”
He growled.
“Oh. Listen to that. You’re making my point without me even trying.”
“What?”
“I’m speaking of the man-versus-woman thing. You know...I might have to reconsider things. It might be a lot of fun to mess with men’s heads in this era.”
“Elena.”
“Yes?”
“We are stuck in here for the time being. Together.”
“You say that as if it’s a hardship.”
He pondered that for a moment. “No. I say it because it is true.”
“Well. I have to say, it could be worse,” she told him. “I mean, the view is a definite plus. Know what I mean?”
“No. I do not.”
She snorted. Morrigan shook his head.
“Woman. Please. I only want—” He began, only to be interrupted.
“Oh. I know what you want. I think we all know. It’s crystal clear. You want my clothing. But not because you want my body. Oh, no. You only want my fortune.”
He frowned.
“Now what?”
“You said we all know. Who is ‘we’?”
She laughed aloud. Morrigan fell then, landed on his buttocks. He rocked back upright, hooked his arms about his knees, and regarded her. The angered emotion leached from him. He could almost feel it. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but she might be crazed. Her merriment slowly subsided.
“I’m sorry. I forgot. This isn’t a movie.”
“Are you mad?” he asked.
Her eyebrows rose. “Mad, as in angry? Or mad...as in crazy? Because I’m neither.”
“Neither?”
“I’m not angry and I’m not insane, although I am in an insane position. And I have to tell you something,
hon, it’s getting more insane by the moment.”
She leaned forward as if bestowing a secret.
“You just called me ‘hon’,” he informed her. “I am...unfamiliar with the term.”
“It’s short for honey.”
“Honey?”
“Oh. That. It’s an endearment. I use it a lot. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Then why say it?”
She blew a sigh toward him. His shirt was plastered to him with moisture still. Her breath should have cooled. It had the opposite effect. He got an instant sensation of warmth. And along with that came an odd tingling.
“I was wrong. This could get really old, real quick.”
“What could?”
“Conversing with a person from seventeen ninety.”
He grunted something she took for a reply.
“So. You want my clothes? Fine. Be my guest. I don’t want them. They’re cold. They’re wet. And they’re incredibly restrictive. I would so much rather be snuggled in a blanket over by the fire. You have no idea.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“Because whomever designs women’s clothing needs a new job.”
“I believe there are many designers.”
She regarded him solemnly, although her lips twitched. “Let me clarify. Whoever designs fancy women’s attire should be fired. It’s obviously a man. Maybe he should be castrated.”
“Castrated?” Morrigan stared at her, horror lifting his brows, widening his eyes. He recoiled, shaking his head.
She laughed again. His heart pulsed oddly. His manhood had the same reaction. That was unfathomable. And it needed to stop.
“It’s just an expression. I don’t really mean it.”
“You say many things you do not mean. And you say them...quickly.”
“You’re having trouble keeping up.”
She didn’t ask it. He wondered if that was intended as an insult. Morrigan watched her for a moment. “I did not say that,” he finally replied.
She sighed again. The damnable sensation of heat spread again as her breath reached him, and this time the tingling reached his groin. Morrigan shifted to get a bit more room in his crotch.
“How about I just explain? I couldn’t follow your orders to get undressed because I can’t get out of this outfit by myself. The idiot who designed it made it so tight I can’t even find the seams without expiring from lack of oxygen. I know a woman didn’t design this. No sane woman would put other women through what amounts to torture. That means a man must have. And he doesn’t understand a thing about female anatomy. Does any of that make sense?”
Morrigan regarded her for long moments. He hadn’t listened to the whole of it, because his body was giving him too much trouble. He’d had women before. He’d been much pursued. But he’d never had a reaction to this extent. She talked of restriction, when it felt like he was being pinched. Leather trousers hadn’t enough room. His rod wasn’t obeying. His mind wouldn’t stay focused. She asked if she made sense when the world had gone senseless. How as he to answer? It was better to stay mute. But that wouldn’t work. She was looking at him patiently, while awaiting his answer.
“You need...help?” he asked.
“Exactly!”
She beamed a smile at him before lifting her hair and swiveling about so her back was to him. Morrigan swallowed hard. And he knew it was audible.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Uh oh, Elena.
You are in trouble.
Nothing had worked.
Morrigan was the handsomest male she’d ever seen, easily the sexiest. And Elena hadn’t had sex in over two years. She hadn’t missed it.
Until right now.
Her body was firing shots of hormone-fueled interest all through her. They got stronger and came with increased rapidity the longer she was in his proximity. It had to be noticeable. Shivers accompanied every breath. Her nipples puckered constantly against material, rubbing. Aroused. Her voice had taken on a husky tone more than once. And worse! She’d even fluttered her eyelashes at him. This was unbelievable. And he said they were stuck? Together? In this small space. Alone?
Oh dear.
She’d tried to control her reaction using verbal assault. Woman-versus-man. Far from making him look like a fool, her attempts to antagonize, frustrate, and confuse only made the man sexier. The vibes emanating from him hotter. More vibrant. Sensually thick. She wouldn’t have believed it, if she didn’t have proof. Even now, she vibrated in place, her thighs clenching and unclenching in the midst of a ton of still-damp material, while her loins moistened and itched...and he hadn’t even touched her yet!
She’d even tried relegating him to the same level as Donald. Morrigan was a male. Men were not to be trusted. All they wanted was sex. And when they didn’t get that...
What was she thinking? She was the one ready to ravish him. She was exhibiting every indication of a sex-starved female on the make. And that wasn’t far-off the mark.
He finally touched her neck. His fingers were cold. There was a vague tremor to his movement. The dress started releasing its grasp about her and then he stopped. Long seconds passed.
“What is it?” Elena tried for an acerbic tone. It failed. The words were barely above a whisper, a hint of sound. She was breathless with excitement. Need. Desire.
“You may need to...”
His voice stopped. Elena held her breath. The sound of each heartbeat was loud in her ears. A log fell in the fire, sending a spurt of light into the room. She cleared her throat. This time, she’d try to sound assertive. In control. Unbothered. As if she faced a courtroom full of recalcitrant potential jurors.
“Yes?” she finally offered.
That failed miserably. The word came out in a rush of expelled breath. To her own ears, she sounded feminine. Needy. And ready. She’d never possessed what could be called a ‘come hither’, bedroom voice. She did now.
“Uh...suck in a bit. Perhaps...arch back.”
“Really?”
“’Tis...very tight.”
Elena tried. That sort of position made her feel incredibly wanton. Open. Available. Her breasts were barely staying in their confines. Air reached skin that hadn’t known it a moment before. She felt his touch along her back again. His knuckles pressed against her spine as the restriction about her got tighter. Her breasts bobbed with every move he was making. His tremor was audible when he spoke.
“Uh. That was a...bad choice.”
“Bad choice?”
“It does not work. These hooks are—. I can’t seem to—.”
The sound of ripping fabric rent the air. It came with a corresponding release, not of her breasts, but she could actually take a deep breath if she wanted. Elena glanced down. The reason was obvious. Her satin bodice had gapped forward. Beneath it she could just make out a corset in an ivory shade. It had little, rose-colored demi-cups, trimmed with ivory-colored lace above it. They’d been sewn with gathers at the bottom for support. They were barely doing their job. And it was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.
Elena returned her gaze to the fire but couldn’t prevent the smile. She was stunned. She didn’t just have large breasts. She was astonishing buxom!
“For...give me.”
His words started at a higher pitch than his normal. That was interesting.
“For what?”
“I’ve ripped...your dress.”
There was a distinct catch in his voice mid-sentence. The last portion came out rushed. Deeper-toned. And with some kind of unvoiced meaning. He had a great voice. Full of bass. It rumbled through the room.
“Good riddance,” she finally replied in her husky breathless voice. She’d surprised him. She didn’t see him stare at her. She had to envision it.
“This is a...beautiful dress.”
Definite catch mid-sentence again. Same drop in tone. As if he had trouble linking words. Fought for control. That was imaginative, but the possibility sure was fun.
“It’s
an instrument of torture.”
“You don’t have...many others.”
“Thank goodness.”
She was talking, but could be saying anything. Her mind was on where his fingers hovered at the opening he’d made in her dress. She didn’t have to see it. She felt it! Near-contact sent incendiary signals her body had no trouble deciphering, and then acting on. And she had to do something before she lost all sense of propriety, turned around, and attacked him. She licked her lips. Took a breath that shuddered.
“So...um. Does this mean you agree with me?”
“What?”
“Designers of women’s fashions should—”
He sucked in a breath as if she’d actually say ‘be castrated’. And if she hadn’t been in a whorl of sexually-tinged excitement, she’d have probably giggled. None of that sounded in her voice as she finished. She still sounded like a siren of desire. A fount of yearning. A being of passion that had been given physical form.
“...find another occupation.”
He grunted a reply. He did that often. It was an extremely masculine sound. It should sound like he evaded an answer. It didn’t. Instead, that grunt sent sparks of excitement that seemed to hit everywhere at once. Elena swayed sideways, and caught the fall with an outstretched arm.
“Elena?”
Wow. She’d never heard her name said in that tone! He sounded like a wild creature in torment.
“Um. Yes?”
“I may...have to cut it.”
“Oh. My. Yes.”
The words carried every bit of her interest and excitement. She hadn’t meant to say them, either. The instant silence behind her was palpable. It raised shivers. She heard a rustle of movement. Felt something against her spine that could be the insertion of his blade. Watched the front of her dress fall forward as he finished. She hadn’t been mistaken. This corset was one sexy design.
She felt him shuffling. He came around front, in a crouched position. Firelight touched his blonde hair, turning it reddish again. He had his eyes downcast, his face averted. He lowered his head farther, displaying the width of his shoulders.
Oh my, Elena.
My.
She watched with bated breath as he lifted the hem of her satin skirt, put his knife beneath it and shoved upward, piercing the fabric. He yanked the knife toward him. His blade was sharp. There wasn’t any sound until the hem ruptured and then the skirt immediately started spilling coins. They drained with a jingling sound, forming two piles at his sides.
