For time was the one thing Adrian Draycott did not have.
“Well?” His eyes were mocking. “Not turning faint-hearted on me, are you?”
Instantly her chin rose.
Ah, that had done it. Somehow he’d thought it would.
He arched a jet-black brow and waited.
His patience was soon rewarded.
“All right, damn you, I’ll tell you why! I’ll tell you all the ugly little reasons.” With trembling fingers Gray flung the shawl from her shoulders, baring her slim, lace-clad form to his hungry gaze. “B-because I’m t-too tall. Because I’m all bones and sharp angles. Not soft. Not de-desirable at all. B-because touching me is the next best thing to t-taking an ice bath!”
With a wild cry she spun about, her arms locked rigid about her chest.
Adrian could only stare at her back, wordless, uncomprehending. Even then heat licked at his loins, made his gut tense and churn.
Bony? Ugly? Undesirable? What in the name of heaven was the crazed female talking about?
Abruptly his eyes narrowed. Sweet saints above, could she really believe—
His fingers clenched to fists. “Who told you such things? Who made you believe such lies?”
He heard her smother a soft sob.
“Does it matter?” Gray countered bitterly. “All that matters is it’s true, every last word of it.”
Adrian went perfectly still. He ached to seize her, ached to press her trembling body against his. Damn and blast, a minute or two would do it. One hot slide of lips and tongue, one slow foray over her unbound, pouting breasts and she’d be his!
But even as the realization hit him, Adrian fought it down.
He didn’t want it that way, didn’t want her that way.
For some unnameable reason he’d been called here, called back through space and time to find her. And he bloody well wasn’t about to settle for anything less than knowing why—all the reasons why. And for every sweet inch of her, given to him willingly.
“Oh, it matters. Far more than you can imagine. And whoever told you such things was either an utter fool or a patent liar. Probably both.”
Gray’s fingers shook. “It’s not business of yours! Why do you care about any of this?”
“Because you affect me, Gray Mackenzie. In ways I’ve never been affected before. And I intend to find out why.”
“Oh, why don’t you just go! It’s—it’s better this way, don’t you see? Safer.” Gray brushed a furtive hand across her cheeks. Only then did Adrian see the glint of tears in her eyes.
The sight made him stiffen, made his innards twist to furious knots.
But he hid his anger well, knowing she would mistake its cause. He took another step closer. “Better off this way? With you dead inside? Oh, well said, woman, except you’ve no notion of what you’re talking about.” His voice hardened. “You’ve no notion of—death, and you can thank God for it. For you, Gray Mackenzie, were meant to hum with life. To burn with passion.”
“I can’t, don’t you see? Maybe I never could. Matt told me often enough that it was all my fault he—”
Adrian cut her off with a hoarse curse. “Enough! I’ll hear no more of the bastard’s name, nor of his lies. For lies are all they were, Gray!”
Gray’s face was a mask of alabaster in the filtered moonlight. “I—I’ve tried to believe that. Dear God, don’t you think I’ve tried?”
Adrian reached out slowly. “Then give me your hand, Gray Mackenzie. Give me your hand, and I’ll give you answers in return.”
She studied him warily, her chest rising and falling jerkily.
In the moonlight he could see the shadowed areolae strain against the fine lace at her chest.
Instantly he was on fire. Sweet Lord, he couldn’t bear another aching second!
Somehow he managed to keep his face impassive. “If you truly want answers, that is. If you truly want to leave the past behind. The choice is yours.”
Gray took a ragged breath. Her shoulders straightened. Without a word she raised her hand and put it in his.
White fingers fitted to hard bronze.
Perfect, Adrian thought, feeling that one light touch rock him all the way to his suddenly shaky knees.
Unimaginably perfect. Just as if they’d been made for each other.
He wondered if the rest of them would fit together so well.
But at that thought, a storm of erotic images rushed over him, shaking his resolve. He drowned in dreams of rose-tipped breasts, of restless, naked limbs, of dew-slick skin that eased apart to sheath him.
Endlessly.
He cleared his throat loudly. “Good. There, we’ve made a beginning.” His thumb trailed slowly over her pounding pulse. He would have liked to think that pulse leaped with the same passion he felt. But Adrian knew her too well now, knew it was a darker emotion than desire that made her tremble. That thought helped him combat the angry need that roared and screamed and threatened to overrun its banks.
Impulsively, he raised her hand to his lips, permitting himself the luxury of a slow, hot slide across her palm, along her fragile wrist.
He carried her fingers to the open collar of his shirt, then lower until her hand rested over the warm skin where his heart hammered madly.
“There’s a first answer for you.” He stared at her, letting her see the heat in his eyes, the hard need that gripped him. “Does that feel like a man who’s repulsed? A man who’s had a—what did you call it?—a bloody ice bath?”
Her fingers flinched slightly, but did not draw back.
And what she did next stole Adrian’s breath away.
Her fingers curved and slid gently through the crisp black hair at his chest.
At the simple gesture his eyes turned to smoke. His breath slid hoarse between his taut lips.
He didn’t even try to hide the force of it. He wanted her to see, to know every single blessed thing she was doing to him.
He watched her eyes widen, watched a hundred different emotions war in her face.
“There it is, woman. Plain enough for even your doubting eyes, I should think.”
Her surprise was all too obvious. Surprise, and then disbelief. But she was brave, this woman. Watching her lips clench, her eyes darken with determination, Adrian began to think she was the bravest person he knew.
And she didn’t even know it.
He framed a silent prayer, knowing he was going to need every shred of patience and strength tonight. And Adrian Draycott had never been noted for his patience.
A second later, she inched closer, ran her hands gently over his rigid shoulders and cupped his face.
And then she drew him down to her.
He exploded like a Roman candle, halfway between heaven and hell by the time her lips settled as light as cobwebs against his own.
Sweet. Dear God, so unbelievably sweet. He was going to die grandly from that sweetness any second!
But when his hands rose to caress her neck, they were gentle, as tentative as her kiss.
Even at that, she shivered, pulled away. Her wide eyes locked upon his face. “Did you—did that—”
“I did and it was,” he said hoarsely.
Her face flushed crimson.
“Ah, God, don’t blush, woman. Every time you do it sets me off, and I’m near to dead already. Sweet Lord, have mercy on a poor, defenseless male!”
Instantly Gray’s face flamed brighter, but Adrian hadn’t missed the faint smile that tugged at her lips.
He groaned softly, burying his fingers in her hair.
“Did you really? Like it, that is? Just—a little?” Her voice was as soft as the night breeze. But Adrian wanted to shout with triumph when he heard it, to crush her close.
Instead he merely crooked one sable brow. “No.” And then as her beautiful forehead furrowed, “Not just a little, stubborn one. Endlessly, unimaginably more than just a little. In fact, the way I want you right now is causing me mortal, racking pain!”
Gray’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She caught her lip between straight white teeth.
Dear God, what torture had the woman in mind for him next?
It had been two hundred years, after all, since he’d last felt such things! But of course, she couldn’t know that, Adrian reminded himself wryly.
Absently, she slid the tip of her tongue across her lip. Adrian smothered a raw curse at the sight.
“Did—did you say something?”
“Who, me?”
Reassured, she turned back to her contemplation of his mouth.
At her slow scrutiny Adrian felt his manhood throb painfully. Closing his eyes he began a rather desperate cataloging of some of the finer paintings in the abbey’s collection.
Two Turners.
The Whistler, of course.
A few middling sketches by da Vinci.
An indifferent Constable.
A rather masterful portrait of the Tenth Viscount by Sargent.
And of course, he mustn’t overlook that one thoroughly forgettable canvas by—
Adrian was jerked back to agonizing reality as her lips slid wetly down his neck and caressed his suddenly bared chest. “What in the name of all the saints—”
He got no further. His breath exploded and his pulse went wild as her lips circled, then closed softly over his nipple.
A groan tore from his lips. His hands went utterly still against her neck. The pleasure was unbearable, unspeakable.
And all that he’d ever expected heaven to be.
In a fraction of a second, he was gone, six feet under, toes cocked, drowning in sensation. He shuddered, feeling her soft fingers at his shoulders, her sweet breath playing over his chest.
Most of all, he felt the wild, erotic slide of her lips, gentle and tentative with discovery.
He started to speak, and found to his fury that he had to clear his throat. “I think—yes, I really think that that’s enough, my dear.”
His fingers tensed in her silky hair. He was perilously close to the edge, Adrian realized.
But she did not cease. Her tongue slid back and forth across his taut skin.
“Gray—stop.” He grimaced as her teeth brushed the aching nub of his sensation. “Now.”
Something in his voice penetrated her haze. She pulled back, eyes dazed, breath ragged. “Did I—is something wrong?”
Adrian managed a raw laugh. “Wrong? On the contrary, my heart. Something’s far too right—and that’s what is wrong.”
“Well, then—why can’t I—”
“Because, my sweet, dim-witted, splendid little fool, there are two of us here, in case you’ve forgotten. And if you keep doing such wildly abandoned things to me, one of that pair is going to lose his head and bury himself inside you until we both go over the edge.”
Adrian tensed as soon as he’d said the words, certain she would flinch and retreat from him.
But wondrously, miraculously, she did not. Instead her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “It’s…really true then.” Her glorious lips curved gently.
The sight was like pure sunlight poured into all the dark corners of Adrian’s ancient, embittered heart. If he had nothing else, it would still be worth all the pain, all the frustration just to know the sight of that one soft, sweet smile.
“But now, I really think it’s time you had a taste of your own medicine, temptress.” His eyes glittered with a hint of wickedness.
Gray pursed her lips. “Oh, no, I don’t think—I never planned—”
Adrian groaned inwardly. He had his work cut out for him, that was certain.
He took a measured step forward—and watched her take one back. “Fair is fair, woman. You must realize that.” He took another step.
She retreated in turn.
“Afraid, my stormy one? I can hardly believe it.” He moved again.
She countered with another step of retreat.
“There’s nothing to fear, I assure you.”
She retreated once more, but the movement was slower this time, indecisive.
Adrian’s smile grew to a wolfish grin as he watched her back right into the gnarled trunk of a rowan tree.
He didn’t give her time to think, time to run. He lodged his hands beside her head and eased his hard body close, his lips pressed against her trembling mouth.
Heaven fell. The sky sang. Light, time and matter dissolved into dreams.
But no dream could taste as good as she did.
And then her lips opened and Adrian groaned, catapulted into a whole new universe of sensation.
“Gray,” he murmured. “Can you feel it now? Can you feel how much I want you?”
He felt her lips curve beneath him in answer.
Emboldened by that gesture, he drove his tongue deeper, seeking out the secrets of her mouth.
When he felt her fingers clutch at his shoulders, felt her tongue slide softly against his, Adrian thought he would howl from utter pain and perfect pleasure.
And then—only joy. Only wanton, breathless discovery.
Only Gray.
He knew it would be enough to last him forever.
But it wasn’t, Adrian soon discovered, enough for her.
Her fingers curved, insistent at his shoulders. Her hips moved gently against his rigid thighs.
And her tongue, dear God, her tongue was doing carnal things, forbidden things, indescribable things.
Things that Adrian Draycott, profligate though he’d always been, hedonist and confirmed cynic, had never even dreamed existed.
And had certainly never expected to feel. Not two hundred years dead as he was.
A moment later, his lips closed around her restless tongue. Somehow his fingers were unlacing her bodice, exploring the exquisite curve of her breasts, his nails grazing the pebbled nipples that strained upward beneath the flimsy lace.
“Gray…sweeting…you’re heaven itself…” Heat raced through him white-hot, blinding.
Unimaginable.
It left Adrian stunned, breathless, shaking.
Maybe that was why he didn’t hear her moan, didn’t feel her tense against him until it was too late.
But her soft, breathless cries were unmistakable in the ragged silence, as was the tension that suddenly gripped her slender frame.
Her eyes widened. She cried out against him, passion cresting through her.
Adrian caught her close, smiling as he felt the first velvet tremor rip through her. Her suddenly locked fingers and shuddering body told him everything he needed to know.
And he gloried in every tremor, in every soft gasp. Sweet Lord, the woman was nothing short of magnificent!
Shifting slightly, he captured her between his braced thighs. With a delicate movement he triggered her sensory storm anew, sending her arching wildly against him.
And he caught each moan, each breathless, shuddering sigh against his lips, cherishing every one.
Without warning, her fingers tensed. With a wild cry Gray stumbled sideways, a trembling hand locked to her mouth, her eyes hazy with unshed tears. “N-no! I don’t want—I never wanted—”
And then she was gone, her gown a spiral of moonlight against the soft, dark grass.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHE TURNED AND RAN, her heart hammering painfully.
What had she done? How had this man broken down all her defenses? It was inconceivable. Sheer madness!
Branches ripped at her hem, vines caught at her feet, but still, Gray stumbled forward, blind to everything but her pain and shame.
How? How could she have let such a thing happen?
She stumbled, her foot catching on an unseen vine. With a wild cry she pitched forward. Her head struck stone with a dull, sickening thud.
But Gray barely noticed the pain. Not the pain in her head, at least. For at that moment, Gray Mackenzie, née Moira Jamieson, was beyond feeling little things like contusions or fractures. It was the pain in her heart that tore her apart and sent hot tears spilling down her cheeks.
&nb
sp; Dear God, how could she have?
She shuddered, still reeling from the sensual explosion she’d just experienced, from the unforgivable bliss she’d just discovered in the arms of a stranger.
When his strong hands circled her shoulders, she flinched and wildly shoved them away. “G-go away!”
Adrian ducked to avoid her flailing arms. “Contain yourself, woman. It’s hardly worth such a fuss.”
“It is! I h-hate you!”
“Very well, but must you—ah—struggle so while you do it?” Sharp nails whipped past Adrian’s cheek, and he growled a graphic oath.
Gray was beyond hearing, nearly beyond reason. “You see—how soon it begins? But I don’t want it, do you hear? Not this cursed thing you call love. This raw, bleeding wound that never heals. I don’t want to feel again, not ever. There’s just too damned much pain in it!”
Adrian ducked again. “Sometimes, just sometimes, it’s the pain that lets you know you’re alive.”
Gray wiggled furiously. “Never! You’ll never set a hand—not the slightest finger—on me again, do you hear?”
He caught her grimly, hauled her up struggling into his arms. “Stop fighting me! You head needs tending, you intractable harridan. And—by God, you’re bleeding!”
“What are you—Where in the—”
“Enough arguing, woman!” He strode over the dark, soft grass until he came to the far side of the pool. There Adrian settled her gently in the ferns, then dipped his fingers into the water and caught up a palmful of moonlight, which he trickled carefully over her bleeding forehead.
It was not a deep gash, but it would pain her when the shock wore off. Grimly, he tugged at a handful of fragrant grass, then brushed away the last traces of blood.
“Better?”
Gray shivered, catching the fragrance of verbena and mint leaves crushed in his fingers.
“W-why?” she stammered. “Why do you care? Just let me go. I—I don’t know how much more I can take.” It was an admission given shudderingly, at great cost.
Adrian heard how much the admission pained her, and the knowledge filled him with fury for the man who had left her so vulnerable. But he gave no sign of his inner rage. His hands simply continued to move, gentle at their task. “I don’t know why, sweeting. But I do know this. I could no more let you go than I could cease to breathe. For you’re in my blood now, Gray Mackenzie, part of my very soul. And you’re not leaving here until you accept that.”
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