Tall, Dark, and Kilted

by MACKAY, ALLIE

  “O-o-oh . . .” Cilla’s heart began a slow, hard thumping.

  He lifted the shard of blue Fiestaware he still held and appeared to examine it. “Did you know, for starters, that your eyes are the same brilliant blue as this? Or”—he put down the bit of blue dinnerware and picked up a cream china piece with a delicate gold edge—“that your hair glistens with the same golden sheen as the rim of this porcelain?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, his gaze burning her soul. “A man could lose himself in such eyes as yours.” He put down the fragile bit of gold-rimmed china and reached for her hair, twining a strand through his fingers. “In my day, kings would have gone to their knees for a maid with such silken tresses of gold. This day, this e’en, I am telling you that I have dreamt of touching your hair.”

  He let the strands spill across his hand. “I have dreamt of much, Cilla.”

  She bit her lip, unable to speak.

  His words were making her melt.

  As for his eyes, it almost hurt to look into them, so intense was his stare. No man had ever looked at her with such naked hunger.

  “Eh . . .” She stumbled over her tongue, the wild hammering of her heart making it impossible to think. “No one ever said—”

  “More’s the pity.” He turned back to the table, taking a sliver cut from Violet’s red dinnerware. “And more is my pleasure in showing you. Behold the rich color of your lips,” he added, holding the tiny shard to the light before returning it to the table. “Sweet lips that beg kissing, Cilla.”

  The world tilted. “A Highlander’s kiss?”

  His smile went devilish. “My kiss.”

  Before she could blink, he pulled her into his arms and slanted his mouth over hers in a hot, demanding kiss. Her blood sizzled and the room spun. A whirl-wind of desire whipped through her and she clung to him, pressing close as he deepened the kiss and they lost themselves in a swirl of lips, tongue, and soft, heated breath.

  “O-o-oh,” she gasped, pulling in air even as he claimed another bold, soul-slaking kiss.

  He wrapped his arms around her, dragging her even closer. He let his hands glide low until he splayed his fingers across her hips, holding her tight against him as he kissed her again and again.

  “Now, Cilla”—he pulled back to grin at her—“now you’ve almost been kissed by a Highlander.”

  She blinked. “Almost?”

  He slid a hand into her hair, plucking out the remaining pins and tossing them onto the floor. “Aye, almost,” he purred, winking. “There’s another kind of kiss we specialize in, see you.”

  Cilla almost choked. “What do you mean?”

  “I think you know.” He smiled.

  He lowered his gaze, and she knew indeed.

  “Oh, no . . .” Heat scalded her cheeks. “You can’t mean—”

  “Och, but I do.” He reached for her blouse, already unbuttoning. “I always keep my word, Cilla lass. I’m about to show you how good you are.”

  She gulped.

  He folded his arms, looking supremely satisfied. “ ’Tis time you learned what it’s like to be pleasured by a man who lives to please you.”

  Chapter 14

  “Wait.”

  Cilla reached up and grabbed Hardwick’s wrists just as he neared the last few buttons of her top. Already, her breasts felt tight and heavy, her nipples puckered and achy, needing his touch. She bit her lip, holding back a moan. She wanted this, everything, but still . . .

  “The light”—she glanced at the overhead spotlights—“is too much.”

  “Och, nae, sweeting.” He grinned. “There canna be enough light. I would see you clearly.” His gaze dipped to her half-opened blouse, his eyes glittering darkly. “All of you that I can feast my eyes on.”

  “But—”

  He pressed two fingers against her lips, silencing her. “But is a word I dinna acknowledge.”

  “It has its purpose.” She aimed another glance at the spotlights.

  They really were bright.

  Almost blinding.

  So much so they’d surely pick out each and every one of her faults. The little belly roll that suddenly felt quite big and obvious, maybe even a bit jiggly.

  She frowned. “The lights bother me.”

  His smile faded. “Why do I think you mean that?”

  “Because I do.” She glanced aside. She could feel her face reddening. “You heard my talk tonight; the part about the glass curio cabinet that fell on me when I was little.”

  He was on her in a wink, seizing her chin and forcing her to look at him.

  “For truth, lass!” His brows snapped together. “Dinna tell me you’re fashing yourself o’er childhood scars?”

  “It isn’t that. . . .” She hedged.

  The curio cabinet scars were tiny and barely visible. A magnifying glass would be needed to find them. What she’d meant was how she’d reached for something she’d wanted so badly, only to have it come tumbling down on top of her.

  Now she wanted Hardwick that desperately.

  And she didn’t want to risk anything that might send him running from her.

  Stepping closer, he brushed his lips across her brow. “I’ll kiss every one of the wee scars until you forget them.”

  “The scars don’t bother me.”

  He arched a brow. “What then?”

  “It’s, well . . . everything.”

  She lifted her chin, not about to tell him how Grant used to harp at her about her yo-yo’ing weight. Or that he’d badgered her to be like Aussie Elizabeth.

  A request she’d flat-out refused.

  “You’re forgetting one thing.” He folded his arms, his smile going wicked again. “I’ve already seen you naked. And”—his voice deepened, the rich, silky-smooth tones spilling into her—“unless I’ve lost my skill, you’ve already felt my hands on you. I saw how much you enjoyed it. You know I’m not talking about the other times I’ve touched you.”

  He paused, lowering his gaze so that, again, she felt what could only be described as his hand between her legs. A long, strong finger gliding oh, so intimately along her cleft, teasing and tantalizing her.

  When the finger dipped into her, she jumped. Liquid fire streaked through her, taking her breath.

  “Wait till it is my finger, Cilla lass.” He circled his thumbs over the swell of her breasts as he spoke, rubbing her nipples through the lace of her bra. “When it’s my tongue, your world will shatter.”

  Cilla almost climaxed on his words. She wanted his hands on her, playing and toying with her, driving her wild. And she burned for him to touch his tongue to her, to kiss and lick her there.

  But she couldn’t forget her belly roll.

  “Would you like a sample tongue swirl?” He leaned close, whispering the words against her ear. “That, too, is within my ghostly powers, though I’d rather really tongue you.”

  “Yes!” The word burst free before she could stop it. “I mean no. Not . . . yet. It’s the lights. They—”

  He drew back, looking at her. “The lights are of no import.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Though”—he turned a gaze of his own on the blaring spotlights—“I’ll own your modern lights are lacking in grace. Were this Seagrave, and in my day, I’d ravish you by candlelight. As is . . .”

  He grinned and snapped his fingers.

  At once, the awful overhead lighting vanished and a warm golden glow surrounded them. Soft and flickering, it spooled everywhere, broken in places by deep shadow that felt equally inviting.

  Cilla blinked.

  She looked around, her jaw slipping when she saw that the scattering of Uncle Mac’s mock medieval torchlights in the stairwell now burned for real. As did the iron-bracketed wall sconces lighting the vaulted undercroft.

  Wall sconces that—she knew—hadn’t been there a moment before.

  Yet her worktable and broken china tools remained. And, she noted with relief, little Leo still slept where he’d curle
d up on the undercroft floor. The only difference was that a sweet-smelling layer of herbed rushes now covered the stone flagging, and Leo—bless Hardwick for his thoughtfulness—reposed on a soft and warm-looking bed of plaid.

  Cilla swung back to Hardwick. “How did you do that?”

  He shrugged, trying without much success to look modest. “I told you I’ve had centuries of practice. Truth is, I could have conjured a much more splendiferous setting, but I am selfish this night.”

  “Selfish?”

  “Aye, sure as rain, I am.” His eyes glinted with mischief. “I’m saving my strength to please you.”

  “Oh.” Her heart skittered.

  Her knees started going soft again and she drew a great, shuddery breath. It was all she could do not to fling her arms around him and beg him to kiss her again. What she really wanted was for him to kiss her down there.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth, the idea electrifying her. She’d never experienced anything so deliciously intimate.

  Her entire body started trembling, heat streaking through her from head to toe.

  “Och, aye, lass.” He stretched his arms above his head, cracking his knuckles. “I dinna want to expend a jot more of my powers than need be. No’ ”—he lowered his arms, winking—“till I’ve finished with you.”

  “I wouldn’t call that being selfish.”

  “Nae?” He leaned close, his mouth just grazing the edge of her ear. “Then maybe you’re no’ considering how much pleasure I’ll have in the doing. Can you no’ imagine how I’ve ached to kiss every sweet inch of you? To see you spread naked before me and then use my tongue to sate myself on you? Licking, laving, and tasting you until you writhe and scream out your pleasure, begging me to stop?”

  The words spoken, he swirled the tip of his tongue across the curve of her ear, the caress sending shivers rippling all through her.

  “So dinna tell me nae, sweetness.” He nipped the side of her neck. “ ’Tis too late by far.”

  Stepping back, he reached for her blouse again, but before he set his fingers to the remaining buttons, he slid a meaningful glance toward the far wall, where she’d stacked the folding work trays earlier.

  The wall was empty now.

  Until he narrowed his eyes and a tall standing candelabrum appeared. Resplendent, a good dozen fine wax tapers burned brightly in the candelabrum’s curved and swirling arms. A further flip of one finger and a beautiful low-slung bed joined the candle stand.

  Richly carved of what looked to be gleaming, high-polished oak, the lovely chaise-cum-bed beckoned with a lush covering of royal blue velvet.

  Cilla’s heart slammed against her ribs. She knew exactly what he intended to do to her on that bed. He’d just told her, for heaven’s sake, and she burned for every wild and earthy thing he’d promised.

  She took a deep breath, unable to take her eyes off the blue bed.

  A whole battalion of butterflies took flight in her belly.

  “Lass.” His fingers were warm against her breasts, even slipping inside her bra to rub and squeeze her nipples. “I see the bed pleases you.”

  She nodded, too overcome to speak.

  Again, she was hovering near climax. And she was still fully clothed! From nowhere, she remembered the saying about Highlanders being different from other men. Now she knew how true the saying was.

  But it wasn’t complete.

  Highlanders weren’t just different; they were better.

  “The bed is . . . beautiful,” she said then, needing to say something before a very telling moan escaped her.

  Looking pleased, Hardwick grinned and set to undoing the last of her buttons. “The blue”—he tossed a glance at the little bed’s luxurious trappings—“is for your eyes. The rest, of course, is for your pleasure.”

  “And yours?” Her breath hitched as he slid her top down her shoulders and made quick work of her bra, tossing both aside before she even realized he’d removed them. “What about your pleasure?”

  “Ach, but I’ve told you. You are my pleasure.” His eyes darkened as he looked at her nakedness, his heated stare making her nipples tighten and her breasts swell and ache with need. “It is enough.”

  He reached for her, his hands palming and kneading the fullness of her breasts, his thumbs circling and teasing her hard-puckered nipples. Shivers of exquisite pleasure spiraled through her, a thousand times greater than the rousing heated stare caresses he’d already given her.

  His touch, for real, undid her.

  “Oh, Hardwick . . .” She leaned back, causing her breasts to lift, offering herself to him. “I want to touch you, too. . . .”

  “You enchant me.” He leaned down, flicked his tongue across first one, then the other nipple. “I need naught else.”

  But when he swept her up against his rock-hard chest and strode for the low blue-cushioned bed, she knew that she needed more.

  She wanted to please him, too.

  Unfortunately—or not, depending—he was already lowering her onto the chaise bed, his fingers deftly working the clasp of her belt.

  Try as she might, the feel of him undoing and then peeling off her pants—her panties!—robbed her of all cohesive thought.

  She wanted, ached, to be naked with him.

  Her mind blanked to all but the touch of his warm, strong fingers as he pulled off her clothes, tossing aside each piece to fall onto the rush-strewn floor. The flickering torchlight slid over her, casting her body in soft light and shadow. And even she had to admit the effect was flattering, like nothing of this world’s harsh and glaring light.

  Even her slightly too-rounded tummy looked more feminine than fat.

  But before she could think too much about it, he knelt to ease her thighs apart, opening her for his caress.

  Those special Highland kisses he’d warned her about.

  Her mouth went dry and her heart stopped beating.

  It was time.

  “Precious lass,” he hushed the word against her belly, his breath soft and warm. A light, teasing wind across her intimate curls, a barely there sensation so earth-shaking in its intensity, she would have sworn trapped lightning sizzled between her legs.

  “O-o-oh!” Her eyes flew wide and her hips bucked.

  Hardwick chuckled, a deep, low rumble, pure male and brimming satisfaction.

  He looked up at her. “I’ve no’ yet gotten started.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, I’ve told you.” He returned his attention to her belly, nuzzling, nipping, and licking her skin. “Relax, sweet, and let me love you.”

  His hands slid up and down her hips, then moved lower to stroke along her inner thighs, urging them wider. “Now, sweet, open to me. Spread your legs so that I can see and kiss all of you.”

  “O-o-oh ...” His words were pushing her over the edge. Almost there, she did as he’d asked and let her knees fall wide, giving him the access he craved.

  Hardwick looked down at her. For one crazy-mad moment, he almost reached to rip off his tartan binding and sink himself deep inside her, taking her as he knew he daren’t. It’d be heaven if, for one forbidden heartbeat, he could glory in her tight, silken heat. Revel in the sweetness of her legs wrapped around him as he slid in and out of her.

  Instead he drew a great shuddering breath and prayed the binding would hold.

  Then he spread her legs even wider and, with an almost feral groan, he lowered his head and began licking the satiny insides of her thighs. He glided his tongue over her, the torture—and bliss—almost too intense to bear.

  She writhed and trembled in response. “O-o-oh, man . . .” She dug her fingers into his shoulders, holding tight. “I can’t stand it. . . . Don’t stop!”

  “Och, I shan’t.”

  Not for another seven hundred years, if he had his druthers.

  Instead, he thrust his hands beneath her buttocks, squeezing and kneading them as he slid openmouthed kisses along her silky skin. His heart thundered and his en
tire body throbbed at her pleasure.

  And he hadn’t yet even neared her sweet female heat.

  He paused, his grip on her bottom tightening as he braced himself to nibble and lick his way closer. Already the scent of her hot, musky arousal rose between them, tingeing the air and absolutely intoxicating him.

  Opening his eyes, he looked right at her, treating himself to the beauty of her glistening golden curls. The soft and slippery temptation of her sleek, wet need and the way she quivered beneath his stare.

  He swallowed hard, his own need straining against the tightly wound tartan.

  He swore, disguising it as a groan.

  Almost hating himself for the need, he blotted his mind. With all his strength, willing himself not to see the lush golden triangle only a breath away from his eager tongue. Instead, he imagined the pile of bricks and stones generations after him had used to deface his beloved home.

  Closing his eyes to give the image more power, he lowered his head and licked, using pure male honing instinct to run the tip of his tongue first up, then down the damp and fragrant center of her.

  “Ah-h-h!” Her legs stiffened and she near shot off the little bed. “Hardwick!”

  His name on her tongue nearly broke him.

  His eyes snapped open. The sight of her splayed wide—and so close before him—took his breath, leaving only a blazing fire that scalded his lungs and left him wondering why he didn’t burn to a crisp.

  Then she rocked her hips, the movement bringing her nakedness higher so that her soft wetness brushed his chin and the wild tangle of her damp, musk-scented curls tickled the tip of his nose.

  “Living saints!” He jerked his head back, his restraint almost shattered.

  Desire exploding, he yanked his hands from beneath her, fisting them against the chaise bed’s rich blue cushioning. Needing her desperately, he opened his mouth over her, drawing hard, sucking fiercely on the whole of her until only his need to breathe made him tear himself away.

  “Oh. My. God.” She looked right at him, glaze-eyed and panting. Her soft, well-curved body glowed in the candlelight, her wide-spread legs thrashing as she sought to open herself more fully.