His mouth was fascinating. Her stomach flipped as she gazed at it. Full and broad. The top lip dipped sharply at the center. She wanted to trace the shape. Recreate it with a brushstroke. His nose was slightly crooked at the center. Likely broken at some point. Had he been in a fight? Or was it the result of a farmyard accident? A sheep gone rogue? She giggled at the thought, imagining a sheep kicking him square in his too pretty face.
He glanced up at her, pausing with the spoon near his mouth. “You’re a strange bird.”
“Me?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “You’re the one acting like Shrek because I invaded your precious space.”
“Shrek?” He blinked those brilliant blue eyes at her.
“Yeah. The movie.”
He stared blankly.
“Wow. You really should get out more.” She glanced around again. As already noted, there was no TV. She spotted a bookcase full of books. That must bet he extent of his entertainment. “Shrek is this hermit ogre who lives in a remote swamp. Kinda like you.”
He shook his head. “You’re a nutter.”
She could only infer that to be an insult. Her indignation burned hot again. “And you’re rude.” She’d never met a more unpleasant man in all her life. Sure. She had basically compared him to an ogre, but he was acting like one.
He scraped his spoon against the inside of his bowl, not even looking at her. “You think it such a good idea to insult your host?”
“You’ve insulted me. Repeatedly.”
“And you’ve invaded my home.” He shrugged one well-formed shoulder and continued to eat. “How is it you came to be here alone? Did you wander off from your family and friends?”
“I’m traveling alone.”
He raised his eyes to her, looking at her for the first time in several minutes. Even across the distance the blue of his eyes was vivid and intense and made her feel shivery inside. “You came to Scotland all by yourself?”
“This is the twenty-first century. Women can travel alone. We even get to vote and drive cars too.”
He grumbled something under his breath that sounded close to smart-ass. “Maybe if you brought someone along with you on this trip, you wouldn’t have wandered off and gotten lost.”
Why did the question feel like a dig to her intelligence? “I didn’t get lost. The bus left me.”
“If you had been traveling with someone else, that wouldn’t have happened.”
The words reminded her how alone she was in this world, and she resented the hell out of him for the reminder. Grams lived in a retirement community for active seniors. There was Gina, but she had a boyfriend who was on the verge of proposing. Soon Thea would be living alone.
“I don’t need a babysitter. I’m an independent woman. I can take care of myself.”
He gave her a pointed look, his gaze skimming her in his too big shirt. “Right.”
She glared at him as he finished eating. Really, there was nothing else to look at. Nothing nearly so pretty at least. Too bad he didn’t have a personality to match his looks.
Sighing, she stood and fetched her phone from her backpack. Might as well check. Still no signal.
“That won’t work out here,” he answered. “No’ in this storm. Even in good weather it’s spotty.”
“What kind of place can’t get service?” she asked testily.
“The kind of place nature intended. Without unnecessary technology or annoying people checking their Instagram every five seconds or taking selfies.”
“Oh, you’ve heard of Instagram?” She arched an eyebrow. “I figured you’ve been living out here in the sticks forever, Shrek.”
He scowled and got up, bowl in hand as he moved to the sink. “I know things.”
Her gaze crawled over that body. She couldn’t help it.
She was twenty-five years old and had precisely two failed relationships where the sex had been less than stellar, no matter how much she had tried to make it good. She’d tried to satisfy her partners. She’d tried to satisfy herself. It didn’t matter. As much as she pretended—and even lied—sex for her had always been … unsatisfying.
After her broken engagement, she figured that was her lot. Eric and Charlie didn’t fit. She guessed no man ever would.
I know things.
His words echoed through her and took on an entirely different meaning. She flushed hot. She knew he didn’t intend for her to interpret his words in a sexual way, but that was what her overactive imagination and overwrought senses heard.
She had no doubt he knew a few things, all right.
Get your head out of the gutter, Thea.
This guy was out of her league. She never would have even attempted to talk to someone who looked like him back home. Not that she came into contact with men like him working at a middle school. She’d met Charlie in college at a park when her dog peed on his leg. Not the most auspicious start to a relationship, she knew. Somehow they ended up on a date after that.
He washed his bowl in the sink and then moved to the fireplace. He added a few logs and stirred the fire. She watched his back, mesmerized at the play of muscles underneath his smooth skin.
Standing, his gaze came to rest on her. “If the road is clear, I’ll take you to the village in the morning.”
The morning. Why did that seem so far away?
She nodded jerkily. “Thank you.”
He moved about the house, turning off all the lights. The house was saved from complete darkness due to the fire. It cast a deep veil of gold-red over the interior of the house.
“Can I get you another blanket?” he asked gruffly, gesturing to the blanket she’d already covered herself with.
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
He stepped up to his bed and removed a pillow from it. Turning, he advanced on her couch. She grimaced inside. Either he was offering the pillow to her or planning to smother her with it. Either way, she preferred he kept his distance.
She shook her head and squeezed the couch pillow tucked beneath her cheek tighter. Still, he kept on coming.
His frowned, extending the pillow. “Take it,” he said.
God. He was so close she could smell him. He smelled like the soap she had used. And something else. Something inherently male and primal that made her stomach muscles quiver.
She snatched the pillow from him, wanting him to go away. Desperate for him to go to his own bed and leave her alone, to take himself as far as possible from her inside this house.
She shoved the pillow under her head and watched his easy gait as he walked to his bed and climbed in. The firelight did amazing things to his skin and body. The palms of her hands tingled with the hungry need to touch. To stroke and feel him for herself.
This was insane. She blamed it on Gina. Her friend’s parting words rang through her mind. Get yourself under the first big, brawny Scot you meet.
Thea knew Gina would heartily approve of this guy for her to work out all her sexual fantasies on, but that wasn’t why she came on this trip. She came here to enjoy herself … to maybe even find herself and think about her future. She’d already figured out she would rather be alone than with douchebags who didn’t love or appreciate her. No more guys who didn’t fit. No more men who wanted to change her. She’d either feel right, feel good, when she was with a guy or she wouldn’t be with a guy at all.
This fixating on a stranger in the bed across from her was wholly unhealthy. She was confident he didn’t entertain any sexual thoughts about her.
She listened as he settled into bed, the mattress squeaking slightly under his weight. His movements eventually stilled and there was nothing but the pop of the fire, the howl of the storm outside, and rush of blood in her ears.
She couldn’t hear his breathing, but strangely enough … she thought she felt it. As though it matched in rhythm to her own. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Sweet Tater Tots. She was losing it. Her grandmother had told her she was crazy when she said she was still going on
her honeymoon. Grams insisted Thea needed to stay home and patch things up with Charlie or she was going to end up one of those old ladies living with a bunch of cats. Never mind she was allergic to cats and Grams knew that.
You’ve messed up two relationships now, Thea. You may never get another chance. You’re not getting younger. Or thinner.
Thea rolled onto her side and curled her knees to her chest. She shoved Grams’s voice out of her head and closed her eyes.
She could not feel his breathing.
She could not feel his stare from the bed. He was not looking at her with those brilliant blue eyes of his and thinking naughty things. No, that was only Thea. It was all in her head. Her crazy head.
She hugged herself and tried to make herself as small as possible.
She kept her eyes closed. Even if she couldn’t fall asleep, she could at least fake it. The night would pass. She’d lay here and wait for the morning.
~
Face to face with the bear, Goldilocks had never seen so fierce a creature. His hungry eyes, his snapping teeth, his dark pelt…
~
Somehow Thea did fall asleep. And she dreamed of him.
She dreamed of that hot body over hers, skin to skin. Pushing and pulling. His hands. His mouth. The delicious weight of him driving into her, taking her so close. Right to the brink of shattering.
She opened her eyes to the fire-cast room with a ragged gasp, her body shaking and panting, just shy of orgasm. She released a mewling whimper, her frustration acute. She’d been close. Closer than she ever came with Eric or Charlie, and this had been a mere dream.
She dragged a hand over her face, her skin feverish to the touch. God, she was pathetic. A woman with two long-term relationships under her belt should have more experience with orgasms.
She was curled on her side on the couch, her shirt—or rather his shirt—hiked up around her thighs. Her hand pressed between her legs, her fingers buried in her heat. She was throbbing there, her sex aching. In her sleep, she’d sought to relieve that ache. The base of her palm pushed right against her bare sex, grinding into her clit as she drove her fingers into her clenching channel.
She wrenched her hand away with a soft gasp and buried the treacherous thing under her pillow as though needing to restrain herself.
Immediately she began to rationalize her behavior. Dreaming about him wasn’t so unusual. He’d been on her mind before falling asleep, and didn’t people usually dream about things that weighed heavily on their minds? She’d been obsessing over him, and why wouldn’t she be? She was trapped in a house with him. It was only natural.
Except the nature of her dream wasn’t exactly natural. Masturbation wasn’t normal. Not for her.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had an arousing dream. Maybe never. Of course it had been ages since she last had sex. Even months before Charlie broke off their engagement. It hadn’t really bothered her because the sex had never been noteworthy. She’d actually convinced herself sex wasn’t all that important in a relationship—or in life.
She wished she knew what time it was. Then she would know how long she had to wait until morning.
“Come here.”
The deep voice sent a wave of gooseflesh over her. Still, she doubted her ears. Why was he awake? And why would he be speaking to her?
“I said: come here.”
Okay, there was no denying it that time. He was definitely talking to her.
She lifted her head and looked toward his bed.
He was sitting up, his upper body propped against the headboard of the bed. He looked relaxed and casual, and yet there was something restrained about him that made her body tingle. An animal magnetism. Like a creature of the jungle, watching its prey and biding its time.
Maybe it was that body of his. It was born of labor and sweat. Muscled and ridged and lean as any warrior’s. It was like he walked right off the screen of Braveheart. He only needed the requisite war paint.
“You want me to come over there?” Still requiring confirmation, she pointed at the bed.
He nodded. Just once. Hard and curt, his expression void of emotion.
She swung her legs over the couch and walked toward his bed with hesitant steps, stopping near the edge, a careful distance from him.
“You’re awake,” he announced, his deep voice an accusing growl.
“So are you,” she countered.
His blue eyes glinted in the dim light cast from the fire. “You were making some verra interesting sounds in yer sleep.”
God, that voice. It was too hot. He was too hot.
Heat fired her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“That’s what you’ve done though.” He paused a beat and she wondered if this was where she should apologize again. “From the moment you invaded my house, you’ve disturbed me.”
“Was I talking in my sleep? I do that sometimes.”
“No. I wouldn’t call it talking, but you were making sounds.”
Her pulse skittered beneath her skin. She was afraid she knew what kind of sounds she’d made. Her body still hummed with need, so she had a fairly good idea.
“I’ll try not to disturb you anymore.”
He stared hard at her, unmoving. Silent and taciturn.
She started to turn around, figuring he was done with her.
“Come here.”
She figured wrong.
Now this was the point when she should ignore him. She should keep going. Return to the couch and slip beneath her blanket. That would be the safe and logical thing to do. That would be what middle school art teacher Thea Hoover from Phoenix would do—a woman who only ever chose safe men.
Men who didn’t work out. Who never worked out. Who ended up being all wrong.
Even though he was commanding her to come closer, he wouldn’t stop her if she turned around and went back to the couch. She sensed that about him. He wasn’t some sadist out to hurt her. He was your everyday run-of-the-mill sheep farmer hermit.
Who wanted her to come closer.
Holy hell.
Moistening her lips, she walked forward on legs that felt as steady as Jell-O. She stopped when her knees brushed the mattress.
He sat forward. The covers pooled around his waist. He gripped the hem of her shirt where it hung to her knees.
“Those sounds you were making…” His eyes fastened on her face as he spoke. “You sounded like a woman getting fucked.”
His outrageous words ran through her like a bolt of lightning, straight to her aching core. “Oh.” The single word escaped her, small and useless.
“But how can that be?” His voice was soft and dangerous. She felt it. It moved through her like a curl of heat. He angled his dark head, those vivid eyes of his intent on her face. “You’re all alone over there on my couch.”
She nodded wildly in agreement, on the verge of saying it was impossible.
But then his hand was under her shirt.
Oh. God. He was touching her. His fingertips grazed the tops of her thighs. She felt like her legs might give out.
“Were you touching yourself over there?” his deep voice husked. “Fucking yourself with your wee hand?”
She was standing with her legs slightly parted. There was just enough room for his hand to find its way between her legs, but even so she adjusted her feet involuntarily, parting her legs wider, granting him access to her throbbing center.
His breathing hitched. “Let’s see then.”
She wasn’t wearing any panties. With no barrier, his fingers slid against her folds. She cried out at the first touch of his fingers on her aching flesh.
His pupils looked darker, larger. “Oh, you’re soaking wet,” he growled, his fingers brushing over her clit.
This couldn’t be real. She was still dreaming.
“Is this for me?” His finger moved on, dipping to her opening.
She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out.
“
Answer me,” he commanded.
She swallowed back a sob and nodded, broken and bared before him and not caring. “Y-yes.”
His thumb moved up, brushing her swollen clit and she shuddered, her hand dropping to the edge of the bed for support. Her head bowed and her hair fell in a tangled curtain, hiding her face. She was grateful for that. Grateful he could not see her eyes rolling back in her head.
“I could hear you from here. All those little moans.” He pushed up with his thumb, pressing just a fraction inside her, but it was enough. Enough to make her gasp. Enough to push her right to the brink of orgasm. “I could smell your pussy from across the room. So wet and cock-hungry.”
She swallowed back a cry at his filthy words. No one had ever said such dirty things to her. It should horrify her. She should stumble away and slap his face like a good little girl who grew up on casseroles and Sunday church.
Instead, she shook. She was so close.
“You’re right there and I’ve barely done anything to you.”
He was wrong. He’d done far more than any man had when it came to getting her off.
Gripping the edge of the bed with both hands now, she closed her eyes and bore down harder on that thumb, riding it and seeking more pressure.
Then, all at once, his hand was gone.
What the hell? She almost fell forward, but her hands on the mattress saved her. She bit back a cry of frustration at the sudden loss and lifted her eyes to him.
His expression had gone dark and feral, and she marveled she had done that to him.
He brought his thumb to his mouth and tasted her. His eyes drifted shut as though savoring her. As though she was something sweet and delicious. Her stomach dipped. Oh. God. Charlie would never have done that. He would have thought it disgusting. He wasn’t a proponent of cunnilingus in any degree, and he had convinced her she wasn’t either.
Clearly she had been lying to herself.
He slid his thumb out of his mouth and leaned forward, bracing his arms on the bed between them, his biceps strained and flexing. “You have two choices.”
Her stomach muscles fluttered. She watched him raptly, mesmerized by his face, his beautiful lips as they formed those words in a voice that was the embodiment of sex.
Glamour Page 27
