Still holding her at arm’s length, he stepped back. Cocking his head, he studied her for the span of several thudding heartbeats. “Ye want the map and the book—do ye think ye’re the first bonny lass to use her pretty face to try and get what she wanted?”
Devil take it, the arrogant Scot had seen right through her. Well, perhaps not entirely. If he’d seen the whole truth, he would’ve realized she craved his kiss as a child craves a Christmas sweet.
She jutted out her chin, hoping to mirror the arrogant gleam in his eyes. “Might I remind you that you kissed me.”
He watched her for a long, silent moment, offering his denial with a slow shake of his head. “Ye think that was a kiss, do ye?”
“Of course. What else could it have been?” Oh, this man was born to infuriate her.
“That was no kiss.”
“Your lips touched mine.” She met his warm green gaze. “By definition, that is a kiss.”
“Nay, lass. That was not a kiss.” Connor pulled her close, then released her. Peering down at her, he cupped her face in his hands. “But this…this is a kiss.”
He ducked his head, claiming her with the fervent touch of his mouth. Gentle yet fierce. Tender yet demanding. His tongue slipped between her lips, boldly coaxing her response, kindling the embers of heat from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head. His large frame leaned into her, sturdy and strong and so very warm. As if with a will of their own, Johanna’s arms slid around him, pulling him closer.
She drank in his power and his touch and his scent. Her breasts pressed to the hardness of his chest, and she molded her body to his. What a glorious feeling this was, being so near to him that she could feel the rise and fall of his every breath.
Taut, steely muscle rippled beneath her fingertips. His arousal pulsed against the soft cradle of her thighs. Such a delectable madness, this longing. Never had she craved a man—any man—as she did Connor.
And still, he kissed her, that sensuous mouth of his stirring her need with each passionate caress.
One large hand skimmed her hip, gliding higher, glancing over her corset-covered ribs. His long fingers made short work of the buttons on her blouse. He peeled the silk bodice from her body. His touch scorched through the flimsy fabric of her combination, stroking tiny, precise circles over her breast. He brushed the pad of his thumb over the sensitive bud of her nipple, light as a butterfly’s wing brushing a flower petal, each caress stoking the fire simmering deep within.
The nub pebbled beneath his sensuous attentions. He dragged in a harsh breath, and then, he smiled. Masculine satisfaction gleamed in those mesmerizing eyes. He knew he’d stirred her desire. Something in his gaze told her this was only the beginning.
“You need to be touched, Johanna.” His words were a gruff whisper. His expression softened, a clear question in the way he studied her, awaiting her reaction. He would not do anything she did not wish him to do.
“Yes.” Astonishing, really, that she’d voiced the word, the simplest of agreements. And yet, utterly profound in meaning. For so long, she’d denied her own needs, her own desires. And now, this magnificent man wanted her. He’d offered her the choice. How very rare, to feel in control, to accept pleasure or deny it.
With a smile that promised sweet, wicked things, he trailed soft kisses along the column of her throat, venturing lower still to capture her nipple between his lips. Such heaven, that luxurious caress. Each stroke of his tongue against her flesh conjured a potent ache, a deep, delicious throb.
Capturing her against his body, his oh-so-devilish mouth continued its sensual plunder. She wanted more. More of these scandalous kisses. More of his bold touch. More of him.
“Ye’re so damn beautiful,” he breathed against her ear, his voice husky with need.
He kissed her again. With small, unhurried movements, he eased her back, toward a rough-hewn wall of the stable. Weathered wood planks, hard and cold, pressed against her spine. He cushioned her with one arm as his free hand caught at her skirt.
Hiking up the fabric, he let out a groan, low and throaty. He wanted her. There was no denying that. Just as she was hopelessly drawn to him.
His chest rose and fell as he pulled in a breath, seeming to restrain his passion. And then, he was touching her. His supple fingers trailed over her thighs. Heating her desire. Spurring the fire within to a blaze.
A whisper-soft moan escaped him. His teeth caught her ear lobe. Playful. Gentle. Loving.
She relaxed against him, content in his arms, craving his tender exploration of her body.
He let out a breath, seeming to savor his desire for her. His warm, steady touch grazed her sensitive flesh, trailing a steamy path. Her body went taut, and a shiver coursed over her skin as his fingers danced over her inner thighs. Feather soft, yet staking his possessive claim.
And then, those clever fingers found the slit in her drawers.
The contact was electric. Searing and tender. Wicked and heavenly.
Decadent ribbons of sensation flooded her. She gasped. He silenced her with the softest of kisses.
“Let me pleasure ye.” His desire-roughened plea brushed her lips.
Her breath hovered in her throat and her lids drifted shut. “Yes,” she murmured again, the word quiet as a sigh.
“So lovely.” Passion deepened his voice. “So soft. So lush.”
Each sweep of his fingers rippled exquisite sensation through her body. His touch intoxicated her. Claimed her. Pleasured her as she’d never dared to imagine.
The heady bliss intensified into a swirling current, a primal craving deep within herself. Instinctively, she surrendered, immersing herself in wave upon wave of desire.
And still he kissed her, even as his wanton touch drove her to a frenzy of wanting.
The current strengthened. Throbbing. Aching Demanding.
“My sweet Johanna.”
How delicious, the sound of her name, tinged with his rugged brogue. She drank in the rich, velvet notes. Each brush of his fingertips conjured more streams of decadent longing, the clean, male scent of him intensifying her need. The current swelled to a rogue wave. It seemed a dam surrounded her, imprisoning the sensations even as her body yearned for the power of release.
Without warning, the dam collapsed. A vortex pulled her in. Delight cascaded over her, melded with an ache so acute, it seemed akin to pain. Pleasure, pure and total, engulfed her, as Connor’s name became a desperate whisper on her lips.
He held her then, enfolding her in his arms. At that moment, she was utterly vulnerable. Yet she’d never felt as sure of her heart’s desire.
Cupping his cheek against her palm, she kissed him, a caress of invitation and promise. The stubble on his jaw felt prickly yet delightful against her fingertips, the dark bristles shading the contours of his face. He looked every bit the devil then, just as he had that first night in Inverness.
His heartbeat played a strong, steady rhythm against her breast. His breath was ragged, his cock hard against her belly, his need potent. His length throbbed against her, stirring her hunger anew. Yet he made no attempt to claim her. Even as she molded herself to him, he kept his muscles tight, his desire controlled.
How she wanted to take him into her warmth. Then and there. Never had she considered something so decadent, so unrestrained. The very notion thrilled her.
The hem of her skirt skimmed her calf as the fabric fell back in place. Very gently, he released her and edged away, putting a scant few inches between their bodies.
“Ye could drive a man to madness.” Sensual hunger darkened his eyes. For a breath, it seemed he could see into her soul. “But I’ll carry this no further.”
“And if I wish for more?”
He brushed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, still tender from his kiss. “Ye’ve nothing to regret, Johanna. And neither do I. ’Tis my intention to keep it that way.”
“I have no call for regrets.”
The corners of his full, delicious mou
th lifted. “I’m no fool. If ye lay with me, it willnae change a damn thing. That book cannae leave Dunnhaven. No matter how tempting yer sweet body might be.” He spoke in a quiet, even tone, each syllable measured and controlled. Only the tension in his jaw betrayed the cost of his restraint.
His words struck like a blow, an unexpected slap against her cheek. The gall of the man. He’d kissed her senseless, brought her to a crescendo of pleasure. And now, he stood there, looking down at her with an arrogance she longed to strip away and trample with her heels.
Planting her hands on her hips, she pulled back her shoulders. Arching her back to hike her chin to maximum effect, she met his eyes. “You believe I intended to seduce you? To bend you to my will, no less? How very absurd.”
“Ah, lass. I don’t believe it. I know it.” His fingertips glided over her cheek, threaded through the uncooperative tresses that threatened to tumble over her shoulders. “Ye consider yerself a woman of the world. Ye’re not quite an innocent. But ye’re not used to playing these games.” Again, his thumb swept over the fullness of her lower lip. “I am, love.”
…
Connor dropped his hands to his sides and coiled his fingers into loose fists, struggling to keep from reaching out to her again. If Johanna had any idea how damn much he wanted to pull her to him, tug up her skirts, and thrust himself into her sweet body, she’d most likely run from him. Despite the passion in her kiss and the seeking exploration of her touch, the lass wasn’t ready for such complete possession. No, Johanna deserved a gentle seduction, a time when she would learn his body and all the pleasures a man could bring a woman.
He took in the set of her finely carved jaw, the press of her lips into an unyielding seam. Fury blended with a hint of pain in Johanna’s wide blue eyes. He hadn’t expected his words to wound her. To the contrary, he’d done them both a favor by ending this seductive battle of wills before she had true cause for regret. If he kissed her again—bloody Christ, if he touched her—he might not be able to walk away. He damn well wasn’t about to take her like some common tavern wench. They were in a stable, for God’s sake.
And she was an innocent, for all of her attempts to appear a woman of experience. Whether she still possessed her maidenhead was a question he’d not yet answered, but he’d no doubt she’d never lain with a man who fully awakened her body. She’d never experienced a man who had savored the taste and feel and smell of her, a man who hungered for her as the finest of delicacies. Not before he’d taken her into his arms.
He’d shown her pleasure. If only he had her to himself. In his bed. For a day. A night. Wicked hours with Johanna naked between his sheets. His and his alone.
What he wouldn’t give to strip her bare and run his hands over every inch of that satin flesh. The softest hint of roses tinged her natural scent, her feminine essence melding with the wafting aroma of flowers on a warm, summer night. Her breasts were perfect. Rounded and firm and just the right size to fill his hands with their softness. The image set his cock to aching, damn his traitorous thoughts.
Someday, he’d see to it that they finished what they’d started.
But this was not the time.
Now, he could not afford any distractions. Johanna had come to him in the stables with one purpose in mind, obtaining the ransom to rescue her niece. If only it were that simple, he’d hand the damned book and map over to her, hitch up a carriage, and deliver her to Cranston.
He knew better than to trust the man. Once Cranston had the treasure, he’d have no use for the child. Later, after the bastard took his fill of Johanna, he’d silence her. Death was uncomplicated for the likes of the human jackal.
Of course, the jackal had competition. The younger Munro worked for another collector. If Cranston knew of his rival, it would only serve to make him more impatient. More reckless. More dangerous.
Still, the sadness in Johanna’s eyes was a punch to the gut, a blow Connor hadn’t seen coming. God only knew he hadn’t meant to cause her pain. She was a lady. Of that, he had no doubt. If she harbored any thought of manipulating him, it didn’t have a damn thing to do with her own gain. The lass was set on rescuing her niece. She’d faced a cur in a fine suit and massive brutes, all to save the bairn. She was not about to shy away from using her beauty to manipulate a man to her advantage.
She didn’t trust him. Her body may have let down its defenses, but that clever mind of hers knew better. Not that Connor could blame her. Given the circumstance, she’d be a fool to trust anyone.
Even him.
He caught Johanna’s hands in his. So small, those hands. Yet not fragile. Not weak. She had a will of iron. This lass would stand her ground, and she’d fight like a she-wolf to protect what she loved. Something about the conviction in her eyes made her even lovelier.
She was a woman who’d make a man stronger. A woman he’d fight for. And die for, if that was his fate.
“Come along, Johanna.” He kept his words simple, his tone even. It wouldn’t do to give her any inkling of the ache in his groin. And in his heart.
Chapter Twenty-Four
At Connor’s side, Johanna walked the path between the stables and the main house. Even in the cool breeze, warmth inflamed her skin and her lips still tingled from his kiss. She focused her gaze on the beauty of the mountains surrounding Dunnhaven, but even that striking sight could not divert her thoughts from the certainty that her cheeks had gone tell-tale scarlet. Surely anyone they happened upon would recognize the flush of passion and deduce the intimate nature of their encounter.
For his part, Connor held himself a bit too casually, as if utterly unaffected by their rendezvous. Somehow, deep inside, Johanna knew better. He’d wanted her, and he still did. No amount of nonchalance could disguise the simmering heat in his eyes whenever he cast a glance her way.
As they neared the house, the pounding of hooves in the distance drifted to her ears. Dunnhaven had a visitor, and from the look on Connor’s face, not an expected one. He tilted his head in the direction of the sound, toward the massive iron gate at the entrance to the estate. An immense black horse made short work of the ground separating the beast and rider from the main house with long, sure strides. Recognition washed over Connor’s face.
“Bluidy hell,” he muttered.
She shot him a questioning look, but he offered no elaboration. The thundering hoof beats grew louder as the rider neared. The horseman brought his mount to a slow trot. As he came closer, Johanna took in the familiar build and sable hair, so very much like Connor’s. This man was obviously a MacMasters. So why had Connor reacted as if the devil’s spawn had come to call?
Reining the beast to a stop, the rider swung out of the saddle. A lazy grin marked a rugged face that bore the same chiseled jaw as Connor. While Connor’s eyes were the color of the forest, this man’s were a rich, golden brown, the color of smoky topaz. The vitality in the rider’s keenly intelligent gaze added an undeniable appeal to what might have been ordinary features on another man.
Connor regarded him with a surly stare. “Why are ye here?”
“Bah, that’s no way to greet yer brother.” The rider’s narrowed eyes betrayed tension his amiable tone could not entirely disguise. “Do ye plan to introduce me, or must I take it upon myself?”
“Verrae well.” Connor turned to Johanna, offering a brief, perfunctory introduction. “Miss Templeton—” His gaze darted to the other man. “My brother, Gerard MacMasters.”
Gerard’s smile lit his intriguing eyes. “Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Miss—”
“Johanna.” She bit back a wicked little smile as a frown etched a furrow between Connor’s dark brows.
“Johanna,” Gerard echoed, as if savoring each syllable as it rolled off his tongue. “A lovely name.”
“What the hell are ye doing here?” Connor’s question shattered any illusion of pleasant civility.
His brother met the inquiry with a deliberately bland expression. “I’ve been summoned.”
&nb
sp; The line between Connor’s brows deepened. “Summoned?”
“Our brother the physician sent a messenger last night. He anticipates a situation that requires my particular expertise.” Gerard’s attention slanted to Johanna. “I assume the lass is involved in this.”
Connor nodded. “Ye’re not needed here. Damn shame ye wasted yer time.”
His brother’s interest lingered on Johanna. “If Miss Templeton requires assistance, I’d say the time was well spent, indeed.”
Swinging into the saddle, Gerard nudged the horse to a walk and headed toward the stable.
“Bluidy blazing hell,” Connor said under his breath. He turned to Johanna. “Stay away from that one. Ye dinnae need to mix with the likes of him.”
Why, the audacity of the man. He’d pleasured her in a stable, of all places. Surely his brother could not be any bolder than the man who’d slyly hiked her skirts and driven her wild with bliss in the most unlikely of settings. Besides, she was not some timid maiden, ripe for temptation.
Not with Gerard MacMasters, in any case.
“He seems amiable enough,” she said, if only to tweak a nerve or two in the man who’d led her to the brink of surrender, then pushed her away.
“Amiable? That’s one way of putting it.”
Maggie dashed from the house. “Who’s come here?” she called. “Is that my favorite brother?”
Connor’s mouth hitched at the corners. Such an appealing man when he wasn’t flashing a fierce, forbidding frown. “Why, yer favorite brother is standing right here.”
Returning his smile, Maggie shook her head. “Ye know who I’m talking about…the brother who’s not stomping around breathing fire all the time.” She shot Johanna a cheeky wink.
“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Gerard,” Johanna spoke up. “He seems a congenial sort.”
Maggie nodded her agreement. “And he never fails to bring his sister a gift from his travels.”
“Bah.” Connor fashioned a mockingly fierce scowl. “Ye know he’s full of hot air. ’Tis a wonder he doesn’t float off like some bluidy balloon.”
The Highlander Who Loved Me Page 20
