Highlander's Portrait

by C. A. Szarek

  Her eyes trailed his body, making note of what she’d seen before; huge pecs dotted with black curls, a happy trail dividing an eight-pack and disappearing into the fabric at his waist. Springy coarse hair continuing down his legs. And…he was aroused.

  She tried not to gulp.

  Turn around. Go back to the other room. Tell him never mind.

  Ashlyn couldn’t have sex with him.

  What would he say if she told him no? He was obviously ready.

  “Aye.” His voice was thicker than normal, but when Eoin gestured to the bed, it was as if his hand commanded her bare feet.

  She went to him in silence, feeling naked despite the chemise that fell to her ankles and had long sleeves. A higher neckline than the one she’d worn beneath Fiona’s gown. Ashlyn had nothing on under it.

  Watching his Adam ’s apple bob told her he was struggling. Holding himself back.

  Is that good or bad?

  Tingles darted all over her body. She wasn’t the least bit afraid of him. He’d never hurt her, she’d felt that from the start. But if he stole a kiss, she’d be a goner. Unable to tell him no. She’d give herself to him in a heartbeat, and that made Ashlyn feel…out of control.

  Why doesn’t it feel wrong? I don’t know him.

  “Thank you.” The whisper fell from her lips and she moved past him to climb onto the fat feather mattress. She heard a groan behind her and the back of her neck went hot enough to combust. She’d just pulled a crawling-on-all-fours with Eoin behind her. Inadvertently given him a show. Hopefully all that fabric covered her ass.

  He didn’t say anything, but there was a lot of grunting before he joined her in the bed, and he placed his body as far from her as physically possible. On the far edge.

  She was making him uncomfortable in his own bed, but she didn’t want to leave.

  Awkwardness settled over them, and Ashlyn spared him a glance. Tried to smile. “What happens while I’m here?”

  Eoin cleared his throat and turned on his side, facing her. He bent his arm and propped his head up with his palm, and she couldn’t help but watch the play of his defined muscles as he moved. “Wha’ d’ye mean?”

  “To my time. I’m…worried about Kate. She’s going to freak when I’m not there…what happened? I don’t remember.” She frowned.

  “I put ye both ta sleep with magic. Doona worry, I placed her in tha cottage in bed. She’s safe.”

  “You followed us!” Ashlyn poked his chest.

  His expression was half-amused, half-embarrassed. “Aye,” he confessed. “My magic confirmed ye had tha Flag.”

  “You knew it was in my painting?”

  He smirked. “My paintin’.”

  Ashlyn stuck her tongue out, but froze when his eyes slid to her lips and stayed. She swallowed, but it didn’t help; her mouth had gone dry. She had to pant to breathe.

  “I…” He leaned forward as he trailed off, giving her the chance to retreat.

  She didn’t.

  Ashlyn closed the distance between them and pressed her mouth to his. He took it from there, drawing her into his chest and pushing his tongue deep, touching hers tentatively.

  This kiss wasn’t like the other two; it was softer, gentler, perhaps a question. She wrapped her tongue around his and slid her arms around his neck. She answered his query with a resounding ‘yes’. Moved closer, kissing him harder.

  Eoin’s hands made their way down her back, aligning their bodies until he was kneading her bottom and pressing his erection into her stomach. He tugged the chemise up, up, up. In seconds his hands would be on her bare skin. His fingertips brushed the back of her thighs, and Ashlyn shivered.

  She moaned, but the cautious part of her brain piped up and told her to move away before things got farther than she could handle. She broke their kiss on a whimper, and stared into his eyes. Put her hands on his bare chest and felt the thundering of his heart. “I’m sorry. We just met. I-I-I…can’t.” Not yet anyway. But she couldn’t tell him that.

  If he was disappointed, he hid it well. “Lass—”

  “Maybe I should just go to the other room.”

  “Nay. Nay.” His pecs heaved against her as he inhaled. “I wish ye ta stay. I willna force ye.”

  “I know,” Ashlyn whispered. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “Never.”

  Silence descended and she hollered at herself to move out of the circle of his arms. She couldn’t make herself go. Ashlyn quivered.

  “Are ye cold?”

  She shook her head. “Not with you holding me.”

  “Good.”

  She needed a distraction, and he’d never answered her. “So, what happens to my time while I’m here?”

  “I will return ye ta tha moment I took ye, an’ nothin’ will be fer tha worse.”

  “Ah. Will I remember?”

  “Aye, unless you wish otherwise.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  Eoin’s gaze roved her face and made her heart skip. “I could make ye ferget. Wit’ magic, if ye wished it.”

  I would never want to forget you. Besides, that’d make her wish to research irrelevant. “Oh.” Ashlyn bit her bottom lip. She heard a soft groan and stilled against him.

  He flashed a small smile. It looked strained.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go?”

  “I want ye wit’ me.”

  She swallowed again. Ashlyn wanted to be with him. In more ways than she had courage for. “Okay.”

  “Close yer eyes, Ash, go ta sleep.”

  His use of her nickname made her pause, but she couldn’t help her smile. A small pang made her miss Kate. “You’re sure everything will be okay…there…with me here?”

  “Aye, lass.” His words were low, and when she glanced up at him, he’d shut his eyes. He rolled to his back, but kept her pinned to his side, with his arm around her.

  Ashlyn stared at Eoin’s handsome face until his breathing fell into a deep and even rhythm. Her belly fluttered. Warmth, from his body where it touched hers, as well as the feeling of safety. Nothing could happen to her if she stayed in his arms.

  Is this my fate?

  She was afraid of the answer, so she left the question dangling in her mind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She spent the next morning obsessing about Eoin. She’d watched him spar with his men in the bailey, his sister at her side until the teen had gotten bored and went off with the MacLeod servants.

  The laird was a beast with a sword in his hand, but graceful, too, in a way Ashlyn never would’ve attached to hand-to hand combat.

  When the men had worked up enough sweat to shed their shirts despite the chilly morning, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Eoin. The play of his muscles as he moved like a dancer, thrusting his huge weapon, rushing forward and back. He parried and clashed the sword against the men’s over and over, sometimes even taking on more than one at a time.

  Eoin was better than any romance hero she’d ever come up with.

  So hot. That she’d already known, Ashlyn had eyes—and hands—after all, but to see him interact with his men, some of them no doubt family, warmed her from the inside out. He laughed with them, showed open affection with arms over shoulders and shared playful punches and shoves, like friends in a locker room.

  He was a fierce fighter, a good leader, a good laird, and the other guys obviously adored him.

  A good man.

  My fate?

  How?

  It was hard to breathe. She couldn’t help but remember last night, sleeping in his bed. In his arms.

  Ashlyn was a fool for rejecting him, yet she equally foolish to consider sex with a stranger from the eighteenth century. Especially since there weren’t condoms or her birth control pills handy.

  Eoin doesn’t feel like a stranger.

  “Lass, I’ve been lookin’ fer ye everawhere!” Angus’ yell made her jump—and look away from the object of her desire.

  “Coming!” Sh
e made her way to the elderly man, away from the small area of tiers set up along the fence in the bailey.

  He regaled her with tales of winged men, Fae Warriors, and incredible magic as soon as they’d gotten to his rooms. Angus even spoke of pink and purple trees, blue and orange grass in the Fae Realm.

  He’d been delighted when she’d asked if he’d be willing to help her research for future books. Although he hadn’t looked all that surprised. The laird had probably talked to him about it.

  Eoin had come through with his promise and had presented Angus with supplies for Ashlyn; a stack of parchment and as much ink as she wanted. Even three different quills to write with.

  She’d been able to take notes when she talked to the elderly man.

  Listening to Angus speak was as enthralling as his subject matter, like a spell. Not only because of his brogue, but that was part of her fascination. However, the man was a hell of a storyteller, and she hung on his every word. A walking, talking history book, and he loved to share anything Clan MacLeod, and his knowledge in general, as well as all the magic stuff.

  But Ashlyn missed Eoin.

  Was he avoiding her?

  He’d been gone from his bed before she’d woken, and disappointment had washed over her. She wanted to see him, speak with him.

  Kiss him again.

  Oh. Stop. You rejected him last night.

  Afternoon rolled into evening, and she’d at least gotten to see him at supper. She’d been seated next to him up on the dais, and he was attentive. Somewhat talkative, but it left her needing more. Eoin had been too polite and proper, seeming to ensure he didn’t touch her.

  When they’d retired, she’d climbed into his bed without much conversation.

  He hadn’t reached for her, and hurt settled low in her belly. He’d bid her a whispered goodnight, then presented her with his back.

  Ashlyn had tried not to cry, and sleep was fleeting that night; despite his presence beside her, she’d felt alone for the first time since he’d brought her to 1755. Calling herself names didn’t fix her mixed feelings, either.

  The next three days passed with the same routine, leaving her aching for more of the laird than the few words exchanged over meals and sleeping next to him in the big bed.

  She’d woken in his arms the night before and watched the rise and fall of his bare muscled chest. She hadn’t had the guts to kiss him, but had burned to do so. He must’ve reached for her in his sleep.

  Ashlyn rolled over and opened her eyes, groaning and cursing the stupid thoughts running on a pathetic loop in her head. Like a bad dream.

  Night four in the past. She couldn’t sleep.

  Warmth bled into her side through her nightgown. It was good, because it was Eoin, but he still hadn’t touched her on purpose. Being against his body again was almost as good as the first night at Dunvegan, but he’d obviously retreated for a reason.

  She propped herself up over his chest and gnawed her bottom lip. Ashlyn stared. Hurting. Even though that was stupid. “How can I miss you when you’re right here?”

  Eoin stirred and blinked. “Lass?” The whisper was thick with sleep.

  She cursed herself and embarrassment kissed her cheeks. Couldn’t feign sleep, either, since she was hanging over him like some sort of stalker.

  Dammit.

  Ashlyn hadn’t meant to wake him.

  He yawned and pushed himself to a sitting position, taking her with him. Eoin slipped his arm around her shoulders. It was the first time he’d initiated physical contact since that first night.

  Her heart missed a beat. “Why have you pushed me away?” she blurted, then winced.

  “What, lass?”

  “You…you’ve been avoiding me. I spend the days with Angus, missing you, despite all the interesting things he tells me. I…want to spend time with you, too.”

  He didn’t answer, but his gaze raked her face, as if he was trying to process her accusation/confession.

  Mortification made words rush out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  “Ashlyn.” Eoin cupped her cheeks, tugged her chin up to make her look at him. His Adam’s apple jumped.

  He was completely awake now, and she wanted to melt into the bed.

  Idiot.

  “I didna mean ta hurt ye, Ash.” His voice was low, sincere.

  Use of her nickname didn’t stop the rush of honesty. “Well, you did. You were all hot and heavy, kissing me all over the place, holding me, then nothing. Pushing me away like a leper.” She shrugged. Tears welled against her will, and Ashlyn called herself every name in the book. Again.

  She’d rejected him; she had no right to accuse him of the reverse. He was going to think she was fickle. Or worse, unstable.

  “Oh, lass.” He sounded pained, and his expression was a mix of surprise and regret. Eoin’s eyes bored into hers. He didn’t release his hold on her face, and thumbed away her tears as they were born. “I thought ‘twas wha’ ye wanted.”

  “It was. Then it wasn’t.” Oh, God, he’s really going to think I lost it. “Eoin, I…” Ashlyn’s words dried up. She swallowed, but it didn’t help.

  He caressed her cheek, and she couldn’t pull away. “I didna mean ta hurt ye,” he repeated.

  Their gazes collided.

  If her mouth was dry before, it was a desert now. Her body thrummed for him, begging in ways she couldn’t voice.

  Eoin seemed to get it. His eyes went from sapphire to stormy, to midnight-at-sea.

  Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. She tried not to fidget away from that unwavering, yet impossibly gentle touch still against her cheeks. It wasn’t a tight grip; why couldn’t she move?

  His lips parted and Ashlyn felt her own answer that call. She tilted her chin up, asking.

  His mouth came down, claiming hers.

  She moved into him, slipping her arms around him and pressing her breasts to his bare chest. The soft fabric of the sleeping gown didn’t let her get close enough.

  Ashlyn wanted it gone. Wanted to be naked in his arms. She shifted; the chemise restricted the movement, made her more aware of the separation between them, and she burned. Her sex throbbed. She ordered her brain to shut off. No matter what happened, she needed this right now. Needed him.

  Maybe she had from the first time he’d kissed her outside the pub in Inverness.

  He groaned and buried his hand in the hair at the back of her neck, pulling her closer still. Eoin shoved his tongue in her mouth, rubbing it against hers, tasting her in a tangle of nips and licks as they both fought to kiss harder, deeper. “Lass,” he breathed against her lips. “I wan’ ye. I need ye. I need ye, Ash.”

  She leaned back. He’d called her Ash again, but it was still delicious in the way it rolled off his brogue. “I kinda thought that’s what this was about. What I was trying to tell you.”

  He stilled. Studied her, but Ashlyn did the same, scanning his gorgeous face, stubbled cheeks. The roughness against her skin made her want him more. His lips were swollen from hers, his complexion ruddy, and his massive chest heaved with his attempts to get control of himself.

  She didn’t want him controlled. She wanted all of Eoin MacLeod.

  “Ye…ye…need ta be certain, lass. I willna let ye go easily.”

  I don’t want you to. Ashlyn couldn’t say that aloud.

  It wasn’t true. Was it?

  How could she have become so fond of this big Highlander in just a few days?

  Fate? Like Angus said?

  “I’m sure I want you,” she whispered.

  Eoin’s answer was another searing kiss and he started tugging at the nightgown, moving his lower body into hers. His erection hit her in the right place, but there was still material separating them.

  When the fabric covering her body was around her waist, his hot hands branded her hips and thighs.

  She moaned. He was so close to where she needed his fingers.

  “Off. This needs off ye,” he breathed, pulling harder
on the chemise.

  “Don’t rip it. I’ll take it off.” Ashlyn regretted having to sever their physical contact, even if it was only for a few seconds.

  He took the same moment to rid himself of the shorts, and she couldn’t help but stare at his erection. She’d seen it before, felt it against her more times than that, but this time…it was going to be hers.

  Eoin was going to be hers.

  Tremors started in her spine and spread to her limbs; even her hands shook.

  “Lass,” he breathed. “Doona make me wait. I canna wait fer ye.” His gaze ate her up.

  She’d always been self-conscious, like any normal woman, but she couldn’t be right then. His gaze called her a goddess. Ashlyn’s nerve endings responded to the visual call, and she tingled all over. The way he was looking at her was as good as a caress, but it wasn’t enough. She needed his hands and mouth on her. All over her.

  “No. Waiting,” she breathed.

  He made a guttural noise in his throat, and grabbed her shoulders, then possessed her mouth again. He kissed her into oblivion, leaving her a writhing, begging mess in his arms.

  Eoin gently pushed her to the mattress, covering her body with his. His heated skin against hers revved her even higher. There was nothing between them, and feeling all of him against her was glorious.

  Ashlyn cried out when he spread kisses downward, tracing her areolas with his tongue. Her nipples ached, they were so tight, and her sex throbbed in time with his teases.

  His hands followed, cupping her before journeying on, and when he crossed the soft part of her belly with seeking fingers, she trembled. Wanted to shove him away from the part of her body she didn’t like in the mirror. But then he went lower, and pressed his thumb into her clit.

  She screamed his name and threw her head back into the pillows, crushing her eyes shut as Eoin worked magic at her core. Her head thrashed but she couldn’t stop; the sensations assailing her took all of her attention. Coherent thought fled.

  He trailed kissed from one hip to another, before licking his way down her pelvis. “I need ta taste ye, Ash,” he whispered.