She’d shared passion in his arms. They’d uttered no words of love. No vows. Not even a syllable that hinted at an enduring bond. He could expect nothing more. It was for the best. He had to let her go.
The door groaned on its hinges.
He damn near jumped from the bed and rushed to her. Instead, he watched Johanna tiptoe inside. She quietly closed the door. He’d let her set the pace. If only he could convince his body to follow along with his good intentions. At the moment, his cock had other ideas.
He dragged in a breath, willing himself to give her the reins.
Her gaze locked with his. A smile, subtle and teasing and hot enough to make him even harder, curved her mouth. The slow, deliberate sweep of her sapphire gaze over his body heated his blood. His arousal surged against the length of plaid he’d wrapped around his hips after leaving his bath. The tilt of her mouth intensified, and those beautiful blue eyes darkened as she took him in. Knowing the effect the very thought of her had on him. Understanding how he wanted her. Delighting in her power over him.
His hunger urged him to go to her. To sweep her onto the bed, bare her curves to the firelight and his ravenous eyes, and sheathe himself in her warmth until the break of dawn.
But patience would have its own wicked reward.
She crossed soundlessly over the rug, stilling when she reached the edge of the bed. One hand went to the sash of her prim dressing gown. The blue of the fabric matched her eyes. She was lovely. Still, he wanted the robe gone. He wanted to see her lush body. And nothing else.
Slowly…achingly so, as if she intended her movements as a sensual torture, she slipped the garment from her shoulders.
The dressing gown pooled around her feet. A thin chemise stood between her flesh and his gaze. In the hearth’s glow, her nipples pebbled against the creamy cotton. His cock prodded the makeshift kilt that draped his body, and her vixen smile broadened.
Johanna peeled the shift from her body. It joined the dressing gown on the floor.
Firelight danced over her luscious, round breasts. Her nipples stood proud, inviting his touch. Connor clenched his hands. He’d go slowly. He’d make every minute of this night count.
She’d left her hair pinned up, tendrils still damp from her bath framing her cheeks. Lovely. Sweetly rounded perfection, that face of hers. He came to his feet. Threading his fingers through her loose topknot, he worked the silky locks free. Coppery waves tumbled over her shoulders, even as Johanna’s blue eyes flashed in unspoken seduction.
“Ye’re perfect,” he said, unable to stop himself.
She only smiled as her palms pressed to his bare chest. With a featherlight touch, she spread her fingertips over his skin, tenderly exploring his body.
And then, she kissed him. Looping her arms around his neck, she pressed her satin lips to his. If he lived a hundred years, he’d never taste anything as delicious as Johanna’s kiss.
“I trust I’m not disturbing you,” she murmured against his mouth.
“I’ve no desire to sleep, leannan.”
His hands encircled her middle, easily spanning her waist. Next to his big body, she was small. Delicate. But never fragile. No, Johanna could give as good as she got. Challenging a man. Facing what lay ahead with courage and spirit.
Dipping his head, he kissed her. The taste of her lips intoxicated him. He wanted her. And only her. For the rest of his days.
A little moan escaped that delectable mouth. Her scent—rosewater and woman—filled him. She canted her hips, cradling him against her rounded softness. His demanding erection hardened. He didn’t think he could get any hungrier for her but she pressed her sweet body closer. Granite had nothing on his cock. She’d drive him bluidy mad with those gentle, teasing movements. Christ, he needed her.
He swept her into his arms and placed her gently upon the bed. In all his years, he’d never seen anything as beautiful as Johanna, her eyes wide with anticipation, her hair splayed over the pillow, her lips parted just enough to entice him with her sweet, rosy tongue.
He prowled over her, anointing her lovely body with kisses as he went. Supporting his weight on his elbows, he gazed down at her face. Like the richest of sapphires, those eyes of hers. What would he give to awaken to that soft, tempting smile every morning of his life? To drift off to sleep with Johanna in his arms, the scent of their passion filling the air? To hear soft murmurs on her breath every time he stripped her bare and she lost herself in passion.
One night would not be enough to ease the ache in him, to appease the hunger for Johanna that filled his body and soul. The reality was like a blow. But in the all-too-fleeting hours they’d have together, he’d learn her body. The curve of her face. The scent of her skin. The silk of her hair between his fingers.
He’d never forget the taste of her kiss. Not if he lived to be as old as Uncle Archie plus a score.
Her tender flesh pebbled and strained for his attention. Taking a pert nipple between his lips, he teased and caressed and adored her. Ah, yes, darling lass. Welcome my kiss. My love.
Love. The word was such a simple one. Yet it slammed into him like a claymore. For so long, he’d scoffed at such sentiment. Despite her rational nature, his sister gobbled up novels with lovestruck fools as heroes as readily as she digested her scientific texts. Love was a key to the universe, or so Serena had said. He’d dismissed her words as drivel. Could it be that she was right, that love was real?
And like a smitten fool, he’d fallen into its snare.
He had this night. And only this night. God knew it wouldn’t be enough. But he’d bring Johanna pleasure. He’d show her what was in his heart, even if poetic words weighted his tongue like lead blocks.
His hand cupped one breast as he lavished attention on the other with his mouth. She arched her back, taking the bliss he offered with an abandon that stirred his desire to a fever pitch.
Beautiful. Johanna was so lovely. Her face. Her supple curves. Her spirit. He didn’t deserve her. Not even for this moment. How had he been so blessed?
His cock throbbed. Urgent. Needing her warmth. But not yet.
He kissed her as his hand snaked between her soft thighs. Ah, the way she responded to his touch. There was no pretense in her actions. No coy seduction. Simply desire. She wanted him. What a bluidy wonderful thing that was.
With one finger, then another, he explored her warmth. She was ready. But that wasn’t enough. She would be mad with need before he sheathed himself within her.
Seeking and finding the spot that made her moan, he caressed the sensitive nub of flesh. Tiny circles. Tender. Gentle. Coaxing her to respond to his touch.
Sweeping kisses over her breasts, over her velvet flesh, he smiled to himself. How delicious she would taste, his lovely lass. How he longed to feel her body beg for his caress with each desperate cant of her hips. Ah, yes, he’d drive her wild for him. Hot and tight and delicious.
And his.
The thought swelled his heart. Sweet Johanna would be his.
His mouth traced a path along her thighs. She gasped. A little cry wrung from her throat, and she wriggled away.
“This…this isn’t done.” Her voice was an incredulous whisper.
The smile on his mouth broadened. “Let me love ye, Johanna. Ye trust me, do ye not?”
“Of course. It’s only that—”
“Dinnae worry, mo chridhe. You’ll like this.” With tender care, he nipped his teeth against her inner thigh. “I promise.”
With a sigh, she relaxed. Summoning his patience, he readied her for his touch. Feathery sweeps of his fingertips against her female flesh. The most gentle of touches. And then, his lips took the place of his fingers.
Her soft, throaty moans drove him to the brink of madness. Ah, this passion of hers. His body throbbed in anticipation of claiming her, deep and hard and taking her to another level of ecstasy.
She trembled against him. Desperate for his touch. Thirsting for the release he could give her.
“
Connor.” Her voice was low and smoky, flavored by her desire.
Pleasure washed over her. He felt it in the shivers of her flesh. The tremors of her taut muscles. The touch of her fingers, threading though his hair.
Another sigh escaped her. Replete with her satisfaction, she watched him. Her eyes were heavy-lidded. She seemed stunned, dazed by the collision of her hunger and his caress.
“You were right,” she whispered, a sly smile curving her mouth. “That was…wicked. And utterly delicious.”
Passion darkened her eyes. She lowered her gaze for the briefest of moments. And then, she reached for him, pulling him close.
Nesting herself against his length, she pressed a kiss to his mouth. “You know what I want, don’t you.”
“Aye, lass.” He drew his fingers along the curve of her cheek simply because he couldn’t resist touching her. Couldn’t resist any opportunity to savor the satin of her skin.
“Do you now?” Those lovely eyes of hers sparkled with challenge. So, the minx thought to tease him.
“I see the truth, Johanna. Ye cannae hide yer wanting from me.”
As he uttered the words, he wondered if she could see the truth of his own longing. God above, he didn’t deserve her, not even for this one night. A man who’d done the brutal things he’d done in his life didn’t merit a place in her heart.
But that didn’t change a damned thing. He needed her.
She traced a fingertip over his mouth. Her teeth grazed her lower lip. He swallowed hard. Bluidy hell, how he wanted to bury himself in her tempting heat.
“I want you, Connor. Your kiss. Your touch.” She ran her fingers over his jaw, smiling as his stubble bristled against her skin. “All of you. Tonight.”
Her words were a nectar to his soul. Pressing her back, he shifted his body. Supporting his weight on his elbows, he drank in the soft anticipation in her eyes, the tantalizing promise on her lips.
He kissed her, deep and hard. Ah, she was perfection. Her taste and feel and essence. Everything about her was bluidy damned perfect.
And for this moment, she was his.
He entered her. Slow. Gentle. Gritting his teeth, he restrained himself. And then, her hips tipped, urging him on. Drawing him deeper. Wordlessly pleading for more.
A little gasp popped from her mouth. Laced not with pain but sensual wanting and delight and joy. Her small, throaty moans pulled him under. Dragged him closer to an abyss. There was no turning back. There was only Johanna and the haven found in her arms.
Her inner muscles shuddered around his length. She cried out. God above, his name had never sounded sweeter than at that moment when surrender left her boneless.
Pleasure roared over him. Primal. Carnal. Overtaking any thought of restraint. He surged toward the mindless abyss. He clung to her, adrift in the ecstasy that engulfed him.
Plunged over the edge.
Finally, when his heartbeat had slowed and his mind cleared of the overwhelming rush of sensation, he dragged in a breath and rolled onto his back. Tugging Johanna to nestle against his body, he held her. She didn’t speak. She only wriggled closer, resting her head against the crook of his shoulder. Curled up against him like that, she fit him as if they’d been created for each other.
He closed his eyes, bracing himself against the reality the dawn would bring. They’d be civilized then. There’d be no demonstration of the powerful desire that pulled them together. Magnetic. Irresistible. As natural as the rise and fall of the sun.
How damned ironic. He’d found his true home, right here in Johanna’s arms. But it was only for one night.
When the sun came up, he’d have to let her go.
If only he could find the strength.
Connor reluctantly cracked his lids and squinted against the sunlight. Johanna was gone. No surprise there. He’d known she’d discreetly make her way back to her chamber. She would not chance a scandal that might touch her beloved niece. Still, he’d longed to kiss her again. To hold her again, and drink her in with the dawn’s rays gleaming off the peach of her skin.
He rose and prepared to face the morning and what it would bring.
As he’d thought, Johanna had dressed and readied herself for the day. Standing in the dining room with Brenna, her gentle laugh floating through the air, she didn’t seem to notice him. Not at first. But his eyes were drawn to her.
Even after a night in his bed when they’d found a far more passionate use for their time than sleep, she was fresh faced. Lovely. She’d pulled her hair up, loosely pinned and subtly curling. Tendrils framed her face. He clenched his hand, willing himself not to touch her. Willing himself not to reach out and take down her hair so those wavy locks flowed over her shoulders.
Her indigo traveling suit brought out the color of her eyes. She may have dressed prim as a governess, but he knew better. He knew the feel of her skin, like velvet beneath his fingertips. Every curve of her beautiful body. Every spot that made her moan and writhe with pleasure.
She’d been speaking with Brenna, a lively conversation. It did his heart good to hear the pleasant lilt in Johanna’s tone. She’d endured so much to bring her niece to safety. She deserved moments of peace and easy contentment.
As his boots thudded across the floor, Johanna’s gaze flashed to him. She laughed over something Brenna had said, then turned to meet his eyes.
“Good morning.” The humor had fled her voice. Instead, a forced calm permeated the simple greeting.
“Good morning.” He inclined his head first to Johanna, then to Brenna.
“I’m sure ye’re famished,” Brenna said, bustling past him. “I’ve got just the thing fer ye in the kitchen.”
“Thank ye,” Connor mumbled, his attention still riveted to Johanna.
The kitchen door swung closed behind Brenna. Johanna laced her fingers together and dropped her gaze, sure signs this was as difficult a morn for her as it was for him.
She nibbled her lip. Another sign.
“I’ll be leaving for Inverness at noon.”
Her words cut, sharp blades cleaving his heart.
He should tell her to stay. But he couldn’t ask that of her. Johanna belonged in a city, a place with libraries and theaters and shops, a place where she would see her niece properly educated in social graces as well as academics. Not a rugged fortress in the Highlands surrounded by people who designed body armor from tea trays, constructed weapons from jewels, and devoted their days to the study of arcane antiquities. The bairn needed stability. Family. Culture. She needed a safe, predictable life.
That was what mattered.
Not the ache in his heart.
“I know.” Could she hear the reluctance in his voice?
God above, he was a fool. He should cast aside all the logical arguments his mind advanced and forbid her to go. He should demand she stay with him until they were old and frail and breathed their last breaths.
He should tell her the truth—tell her he loved her.
But leaving would be for the best. For her. For Laurel. They needed a life he wasn’t prepared to offer.
Bollocks. He was an arse. Plain and simple. After she was gone, he’d tell himself she’d be better off without him. And know it was a lie.
Reaching out to him, she cradled his cheek against her hand. She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him again, a sweet, lingering caress.
Her eyes brimmed with tears. Damnation, he hadn’t expected that.
“Please offer Brenna my apologies. It seems I’ve lost my appetite.”
When she turned away, Connor knew this was farewell.
“Johanna,” he called after her as she hurried from the room.
There was no changing fate now. He couldn’t keep her here. There was no bluidy choice.
“Ye’ll do well in Philadelphia, my darlin’ lass. Ye’ll make a good life for yerself and the bairn.”
Damnable shame she’d be taking a piece of his heart along on the journey.
Chapter Forty
&nb
sp; London, Six Weeks Later
A featherlight touch pulled Johanna from her thoughts. Gentle. Yet demanding. Another soft brush against her arm. So very persistent, as always.
Indulging herself in a sigh, she set down her pen.
Meow.
The dratted animal was bloody spoiled. Bloody spoiled. She smiled to herself. Wouldn’t her oh-so-proper Philadelphia-bred mother have a conniption fit if she heard Johanna speaking the local vernacular? After all, when in London, speak as the Londoners do.
Laurel had taken to the tabby soon after their return to the city. Its elderly owner seemed only too pleased to allow the child to indulge the furry creature’s whims, while the furball’s daily visits filled a place in Laurel’s heart. Once Johanna got the two of them firmly settled, Laurel would be able to have a kitten of her own.
Meeeeooooowww. A bit longer this time. Definitely more pitiful. The furry little beast would get his way, wouldn’t he? Drat the luck, the cat had picked a devil of a time to interrupt her. Five minutes longer, and her villain would be in the throes of a deservedly horrid death.
Oh well. The cad’s demise would have to wait. Johanna scooped up the tabby and offered a rub behind his ears. A blissful purr replaced the plaintive whining as pure contentment washed over his suddenly sleepy countenance.
A rap at the front door, and the startled creature leapt from Johanna’s arms. With what appeared a feline scowl, the cat stalked off.
“Silly thing,” she said, turning back to her desk. Her housekeeper’s muffled voice drifted down to the study, but Johanna could make out only a scattering of words. Perhaps a messenger had brought a communiqué from her publisher in New York. Peculiar, how the notion made her chest tighten just a bit. When she’d first contacted the New York office with news of her impending return to America, she hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to leave behind her London publisher. She’d so enjoyed the rapport with her editor, a bespectacled owl of a man with a keen eye for detail. She’d miss his insights and droll sense of humor. In any case, there was nothing to be done about it.
Within a fortnight, she’d be on American soil once again.
The Highlander Who Loved Me Page 33
