“Aye, such a bonny little lass with those big, brown eyes of hers,” Brenna spoke up. “Dark hair. Very quiet. Scarcely ate two bites.”
Good God. Had Richard Abbott been here with his daughter? “Were they alone?”
“Aye.” Finn wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “He didn’t talk much. Friendly enough, but edgy as a hare with a hound on its heels. He said the child was hungry and he wished to purchase supper. Then he went on his way.”
Brenna’s mouth thinned. Was it Connor’s imagination, or had she grown tense? “Do ye know the man?”
“’Tis a possibility.”
Brenna placed a kettle on to boil. “I’ll have tea and biscuits for ye shortly,” she said, changing the subject. “I’ll soon have the stew simmering in the pot.”
“Ye have my gratitude,” Connor said. “I’m sure Johanna will welcome something warm in her stomach.”
“Will the lass be welcoming something warm in her bed tonight?” Brenna teased.
A smile escaped Connor’s careful control. “I’d be in worse shape than that creature in the stewpot if I tried that. I’d like to hold onto all my parts, if ye take my meaning.”
Brenna grinned even as Finn threw him a glare. “So, ye’ve become a gentleman? I’ve no need to lock my chamber maid away from ye?”
“Bah,” Finn spoke up, humor flavoring his tone. “A MacMasters will never reform. I’m sorely tempted to bar my door to the scoundrel just t’keep him away from ye.”
Despite the laughter on his old friend’s lips, Connor spotted something less than jovial in Finn’s eyes. Amazing, how possessive the bloke had grown since giving Brenna his name. It was time for Connor to make his exit.
“Ye’ve no worries on that account, McKittrick. I’ve no energy left in my bones for a woman, no matter how bonny.” Connor headed to the door. He’d gather the firewood he’d come after and be on his way back to Johanna.
“Not even that lovely lass upstairs?” Brenna said with a sly grin.
He cast her a scowl. “Especially not her.”
Damn shame he couldn’t convince himself he meant it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The aroma of piping hot stew seemed an elixir to Johanna. The savory scent wafted from the kitchen to the tiny nook adjacent to the kitchen where she sat with Connor, nibbling a biscuit and sipping tea as he downed the freshly baked bread with unrestrained gusto.
Brenna placed two nearly overflowing bowls before them, offering a small smile as Johanna murmured heartfelt thanks for the meal.
“Ye’re welcome to be my guest any time.” Brenna slanted Connor a mischievous glance. “I’m trusting ye’ll keep this one out of trouble.”
Johanna hiked a brow. “I doubt that’s possible, but I shall endeavor to try.”
Brianna laughed, a hearty, soothing sound. “’Twill be a challenge. Of that, I assure ye.”
“No one has ever managed that feat.” Connor flashed a grin. “My reckless ways are part of my brash charm, I’ll have ye know.”
“Brash charm?” Johanna bit back a smile. “I don’t recall witnessing that.”
“Oh, ye dinnae, do ye? Perhaps I need to remind ye, lass.”
Connor’s attention fixed on her mouth with bold, uncensored interest. A rush of awareness whipped through Johanna, and suddenly, her stomach did a little flip even as she felt heat flush her cheeks.
As she pulled in a breath, her eyes locked with his. Would he be so brazen as to prove his point, to kiss her until her knees were wobbly as pudding and her good sense lay in tatters?
She drew in a slow breath, willing her logical, oh-so-practical nature to charge to the rescue. What insanity had come over her? It seemed she could not look away from him, from those eyes that seemed to read her every desire.
God in heaven, she wanted to taste that full, oh-so-wicked mouth. Right then. Right there. It didn’t matter that they weren’t alone. If anything, the notion spurred a wanton little thrill, an illicit craving coursing through her veins. She wanted him. Such a wild, exhilarating madness.
Pity there was nothing to be done about it.
Brenna cleared her throat, shattering the moment. Someday, Johanna would thank her for her well-timed intervention.
Connor’s mouth curved at the corners. Amusement danced in his eyes. “Then again, Miss Templeton, it would seem no reminder is needed.”
The hunger in her stomach sated, Johanna accompanied Connor to the room they would occupy for the night. She removed her shoes and plopped onto the edge of the bed as Connor crouched before the hearth, prodding the waning flames with a poker. Rising, he turned to face her. One dark brow hiked as he stared at her stocking-clad feet.
“Looking for a scandal now, are ye, Miss Templeton?” His voice was gruff and teasing. “What’s next, a look at those lovely ankles of yers?”
“Scandal? I hardly think that is a concern in this place. The innkeeper thought nothing of the fact we are not married, yet we’re sharing quarters. And a bed.”
“I won’t leave ye unprotected.” He slanted her a sly grin. “Are ye afraid I pose too much of a temptation to resist? Do I need to be prepared to fend off yer advances?”
She gave a little humph. “I assure you that was not my meaning.”
“Damn shame,” he said, scratching his jaw. “’Tis unsporting of ye, lass, getting a man’s hopes up.”
She folded her arms across her chest, feeble armor, indeed. “I presume this is not your first time at this establishment with a woman who is not your wife.”
Slowly, he came to her. “Ye believe I’m a reckless scoundrel, seducing innocent women along the way?”
“I highly doubt innocents were involved.” She drew in a breath, drinking him in. He’d washed before dinner and donned clean garments, and now, the slight hint of fine Scotch on his breath added to the crisp scent. If only she didn’t find that masculine essence so very appealing.
His hands closed over her shoulders. A wicked gleam lit the jade of his eyes. “They weren’t like ye, Johanna. Ye’re a puzzle a mon longs to solve. Ye pretend ye’re a woman of the world. But I know better.”
“I am not an innocent.” The words sounded defensive as they rolled from her tongue.
“Aye, ye are, sweetling.” His lips brushed her brow, soft and tender. “I dinnae know if ye’ve ever lain with a man. But passion is new to ye. I can see it in yer eyes. I can feel it in yer touch. I can hear it in yer voice.”
For a heartbeat, words failed her. Her mouth went dry. She, who wove words into characters and stories, could not harness a single syllable to refute him. She took a step back. Enough so she could think again.
She met his gaze. “I’ve little use for passion.”
“And that, Miss Templeton, is a blasted shame. And, I suspect, a lie. A woman like ye needs passion.” His large hands settled at her waist and pulled her to him. So close, she immersed herself in his heat, in his strength.
Firelight danced over his face, touching on the strong contours, caressing the wicked tilt of his lips. A man like him…well, a man like him was hopelessly unsuited to a woman like her. She craved order. Stability. A quiet, predictable life.
Connor MacMasters was none of those things. He was six feet of magnificent chaos. There’d be nothing orderly or stable or predictable about a life with him. But oh, how she craved the man’s caress. His possession.
Him.
He cupped her chin with one hand, those beguiling eyes seeming to see her very soul. “I want to kiss ye.”
She heard the question in his words. How very peculiar, this brash, arrogant warrior, seeking her approval before claiming her mouth. And how very marvelous. He’d given her power. Power to deny him. Power to drink him in. Power to savor all he had to give.
“Yes,” she whispered, hearing his indrawn breath.
And then, his lips were on hers. So very sweet. Such a potent elixir, this man’s kiss. How had she ever lived without it?
His hands drifted lo
wer, trailing the column of her throat with his fingertips. Heat unfurled along the languid path, coursing lower, stirring her hunger.
“Ye’re lovely, lass,” he breathed against her mouth. His hand dipped to her breast. Even through the layers of combination and dress, his heat kindled sparks of need. Such tenderness in his touch. Such gentleness. Such adoration.
She heard a low sigh. As if in a dream, she realized the sound had come from her throat, and she reached for him, exploring the hardness of his shoulders and upper arms with her fingertips. Suddenly, his shirt seemed a hindrance, the soft, white cotton a barrier to the contact she craved. Bolder than she’d ever dared, she took to the buttons and made short work of them.
His knowing smile was her reward. With a tug of the fabric, he pulled the garment over his head. The shirt floated to the floor, but her brain scarcely registered its slow drift to the wooden planks. She savored him with her eyes. With her touch. Her fingertips skittered over his flesh, delighting in the texture of his skin. Hair, crisp and dark, feathered over that carved chest. He was hard muscled, sleek and powerful. And for that moment in time, he was hers.
Hers. What a delicious thought. Pity it seemed akin to temporary madness.
But what a wickedly decadent madness it was.
Her heart needed to feel. Passion. Desire. Wanting. All those dreams she’d boxed away long before she’d boarded a steamer for England and devoted herself to caring for her sister and niece.
And now, she was experiencing all that, and more. This could not last. Very soon, this night with Connor would be naught but a memory.
But what a splendid memory it would be.
He kissed her again, and she stilled, allowing the sensations to claim her awareness. She hadn’t lied when she’d said she was not an innocent. Well, not-quite-an-innocent might be more to the point. As she allowed the pleasure of his caress to fill every nerve, every cell, she realized just how new this delicious yearning for a man truly was. Bone-deep and sensual. So very intense. And so very different from the rather rushed and cold experience she’d once shared with the oh-so-proper suitor who’d offered marriage vows but had touched her with a precise detachment, as if learning to dance by following cut-out feet upon the floor.
With a groan, Connor released her. Johanna froze. Did he mean to leave her? It seemed a dagger had been poised to plunge into the heart he’d made vulnerable with his caress.
He stood back. Just a step. Heat burned in his eyes.
“Tell me to leave,” he said, lower now, rough with need. “Tell me to go. If ye don’t… I want ye, Johanna.”
She held back the words perched on her tongue. Instead, she met his ravenous gaze. She drank in air, as if that would fortify her.
“And if I want you tonight?”
“I’m no saint, mo chridhe. If ye’ll have me, I’ll love ye tonight, Johanna. I’ll be gentle. But by morning’s light…ye will be mine.”
She closed the scant inches between them, longing for a night of pleasure with this magnificent man. He’d swept away her inhibitions. All but one.
“I do want you, Connor. More than you know.” Her gaze dropped to her toes as the concern that gnawed at her formed into words on her lips. “But, we must consider…the consequences…”
“Ye’re concerned about a babe?”
“It is indeed a possibility.”
“I’ll not let that happen.” He kissed her. “Do ye trust me, my sweet Johanna?”
The taste of his lips, so very delicious, intoxicated her. She fought to keep her head about her. “We must be…cautious.”
“Ye’ve my word as a gentleman,” he whispered against her mouth.
“A gentleman?” She pondered the word, a smile tugging at her lips. “My, perhaps I should rethink this?”
Humor danced in his gaze. “Lass, ye wound me.”
“I’m not entirely unworldly.” How the words inflamed her cheeks. “I know there are…sheaths…for that very purpose. But I certainly do not possess any. And I doubt you’d thought to…prepare…”
“I’d other considerations in mind when we left Dunnhaven. Such as keeping ye alive.” He cradled her cheek against his large palm, against skin roughened by hours of holding reins, his touch infused with great tenderness. “There are other ways, my sweet…if ye trust me.”
The blend of heat and affection in his eyes drew her in. She raised up on her toes to press a kiss to his tempting mouth. “Yes. I trust you.”
His smile broadened with a look of very male satisfaction. “Now, I want to see ye.”
His hands went to her bodice. She went very still. Desire warmed every inch of her. This glorious man was baring her to his eyes, and she savored every decadent moment.
The blouse drifted to her feet. His nimble fingers unfastened her skirt, and the sensible wool slid in a puddle around her. She stepped over the garments. All that stood between them now was her combination, gauze-thin cotton adorned with the barest snippets of blue lace.
He studied her, his eyes seeking an answer to the unspoken question between them. She nodded softly, suddenly shy, and he peeled the undergarment from her body.
“Beautiful.” The single word seemed a sonnet on his lips.
Suddenly, her feet no longer touched the floor. She was in his arms, cradled against his chest. Kissing her gently, he placed her on the bed. His hands skimmed the length of her, his touch featherlight over her hips and thighs. With a heat that might have flashed in the devil’s own eyes, he peeled away each stocking, casting away the last thin barriers between his gaze and her flesh.
And then, his mouth claimed hers. Sweet and hot and so very delicious. How had she lived without his kiss and his touch? How had she lived without him for so very long?
That decadent mouth of his moved from her lips, exploring her body with a deliberate languor. Tiny nips of his teeth and teasing little kisses marked his sultry path. Her nipples pebbled, craving his attention. His lips teased one hardened bud, each swirl of his tongue driving her yearning to a fever pitch. She heard her own voice, a sigh, laced with longing. His unbridled need shredded the last of her inhibitions. She’d surrendered to him and felt no shame. Only a hunger she knew in her heart that one night with him would never entirely sate.
Even as he caressed her breasts, one hand moved lower. Her thighs parted beneath the heat of his fingertips. A deep moan reverberated through him, and she canted her hips. Bolder still, he slipped a finger between her cleft, his touch infinitely tender, limitlessly gentle. Seeking and finding the exquisitely sensitive nub of flesh, he unleashed currents of pleasure, decadent waves of sensation that drove her wild with need. For his warmth. For his touch.
For him.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, anointing her breasts as his fingers teased her to the brink of a crevasse. The merest touch urged her nearer the edge. Wanting took control. And such a sweet, delicious wanting it was. The world seemed to spin. Each knowing sweep of his fingers drew her closer and closer.
She toppled forward, or so it seemed. He muffled her soft cry with a kiss as the pleasure swept her away. Utterly vulnerable. Whirling into a state of mindless bliss. Suspended in time.
Her breath came in desperate little pants, and she clung to him, clutching those broad, strong shoulders.
When her breathing slowed, she lay content, harbored in his arms. Need and tenderness melded in his gaze.
His arousal pressed against her belly. And yet, he slipped the slimmest of distances between their bodies. “We can stay together tonight in this bed. Holding ye in my arms…”
With a slow shake of her head, she pressed a kiss to that delicious mouth of his. “I want you.” The words washed over her, their implication penetrating bone deep. “All of you.”
“Ye’re certain, then?” His fingertips danced over the curve of her face. “No doubts?”
“No doubts.” She swallowed hard against the powerful emotion. “I trust you.” The words stalled on her tongue, but she freed them. �
�With all my heart.”
“Aye, sweeter words have yet t’reach my ears.”
With a smile that promised all manner of wicked delight, he stripped to his natural state.
Oh my. Johanna’s breath caught in her throat. She’d thought him magnificent that first time he’d been bared to her eyes. Fresh from his bath, his eyes had twinkled with mischief as he caught her sneaking about his chamber. She’d flushed red as a berry, of that she was certain. How wanton she’d felt after daring to glimpse his rugged, masculine body and yearning for just another peek.
But now, she looked upon him boldly, drinking him in. This was not a time for shyness. This was a time to savor him as she’d feast her eyes upon an artist’s masterpiece. Good heavens, if he’d been born in another time, another place, he might well have inspired a sculptor of old. Long, powerful legs, sheathed with muscle from thigh to calf. Lean hips. A flat abdomen ridged with muscle. A thin, dark line trailed over that taut flesh, culminating in a thatch of dark hair. His erection jutted proudly, the ultimate proof of his desire.
He pulled her close and showered her with kisses that made her toes curl. A warmth filled her, decadent as a rich, dark chocolate morsel, and her hunger for him stirred. Stronger and stronger, the need to feel his possession was a fire through her body.
He reached down, gliding his fingertips over her, teasing the apex of her thighs. Cradling her mound against his hand, he stroked her gently. Hunger rekindled, deep within. A hot, liquid heat pooled inside her, spreading with languid grace through her limbs.
“Ah, ye’re ready for me,” he whispered against her lips. “Ye’ll be tight and hot. I’ll lose my mind if I don’t have ye.”
Shifting, he prowled over her with a sleek grace. His length pressed against her thigh. Hard. Throbbing. Demanding. The feel of his naked flesh against hers sent a fresh thrill through Johanna. Ah, it felt so right to lie with this man, to savor his scent and the texture of his skin and the taste of his mouth on hers. She closed her eyes, drinking in every sensation, every sound, every beat of his heart against hers. She’d only have this one night.
Once again, his mouth found hers. Connor’s tongue wove between her lips, teasing and tantalizing and driving her wild with need. She arched against him, aching to feel him, wanting the sweet pressure of his shaft against her female flesh.
The Highlander Who Loved Me Page 23
