Duncan's Rose

by Safi, Suzannah

  That short vision had left him breathless.

  He wasn’t a killer, and even if he did become one, he would surly never harm Miranda. But in the vision, she believed he would harm her—and all because of the damned book. He had to stop her before the book ruined their lives. Rubbing his face with his hands, and breathing deep, he decided he wasn’t going to tell her about the vision. If he did, she would panic and run for her life.

  Now, and only now, Mac realized he couldn’t live without Miranda. He had found his first love again and he wouldn’t allow anything to take that away from him. He sighed. His chest felt heavy and dense. He was burnt out on being alone, without anybody to care for, without a future to look forward to. But why would she stay with a scarred monster like him?

  He craved his relaxing music. He walked to the cabinet and turned on a melodic CD. The music began, a soft piano solo.

  Mac closed his eyes and turned the lights off as he strolled to the deck. He sat on a white wooden chair facing the sparkling silver moonlight on the lake. A small frog jumped by in front of him, chasing another. He preferred dark, starless nights, but tonight was not one of them. It was beautiful, filled with sounds of the cool breeze, insects chirping, and the colors of tree shadows mixed with full moonlight.

  * * * *

  Blanket in hand, Miranda walked over the bridge to the other side of the lake. The deck near the pavilion called to her. It tempted her with thoughts of a floating bed beneath a naked sky.

  She huffed in frustration, horny as hell. It wasn’t enough that Mac left her hanging with a burning desire that fired her senses. She hadn’t planned on the feelings that flowed toward him, the build-up of desire. Together, these emotions stirred her body. She never thought she could feel like this. For two years, her work had consumed her world. She’d left dating to those who weren’t wallowing in the insanity that played out in their heads. For two years, the only sex I’d had was with myself. Energizer had made a killing. Miranda had almost forgotten how it felt to be caressed, kissed, and cared for.

  She had betrayed her mission; she was betraying herself.

  Miranda cursed to herself. “Foolishness is all it was. Thinking you could use your good looks to charm the information out of him. Well, it wasn’t him that all but swooned, was it? Falling at his feet like some sex-starved old maid. Ridiculous!” But then she recalled his glorious touch and bewitching kisses. She moaned.

  Mac still thought of her as Rose. God, when was she going to get rid of Rose? When would he start to think she was Miranda? I want him to want me, not Rose.

  She stopped in her steps. When did that thought sneak into her head?

  She would need time to think about what to do next, and she needed to relax. Miranda continued toward the floating bed in the middle of the wooden deck. The white mattress was topped with fluffy pillows; she threw the blanket onto the mattress and sank into the soft, fluffy, and cool heaven. Soft music came from afar; she figured Mac must be playing it again. She already knew he was passionate about his Scottish music. Who could blame him? Those lilting melodies soothed the senses.

  She glanced around her, noting how peaceful his garden was. She inhaled the cool breeze that swept across the gardens, thick with the perfume of flowers. The beach waves crashing on the edge of the rocks danced along with the music. An orchard of ancient pear trees was clearly visible in the lush, shadowed distance.

  She lay back on the cool mattress and closed her eyes.

  Peace. Melody. She hadn’t enjoyed that for a while. She needed to clear her thoughts of anything that might disturb her inner serenity. She didn’t want to think of anything except tranquility.

  “May I intrude?”

  She opened her eyes; his voice had an erotic softness to it. Miranda adjusted herself on her elbows and looked at Mac. “It’s your garden.” Her heart skipped a beat or two. He rested his arm along one of the wooden pillars that held the deck, and with the other, he held a plate. He studied her before gazing at the lake.

  “I’ve upset you without meaning to,” he said. “This isn’t easy for me, Miranda, and I know it’s overwhelming and hard to deal with. I wanted to apologize for my actions, for taking the liberties I did—without your permission.”

  Miranda rubbed her forehead. “It was partly my mistake, too,” she mumbled, her voice shaking. Her head was down, but she glanced at him warily from under her lashes.

  He advanced toward her. “May I sit with you? I brought you a piece of chocolate whisky gateau.”

  Miranda loved chocolate, and now she was hungry for both the dessert and him, definitely a dangerous combination. She nodded and tried to hide her delight at having him beside her; she moved to the side to allow him to sit next to her, while she remained lying on her elbows. In the moonlight, Mac was so tall and handsome. That man would make any woman want to lick chocolate off him, she thought, swallowing in anticipation. She turned her concentration to the line of oak trees as a balmy breeze swept past, making the flower tendrils dance and the blossoms nod.

  Maybe if she thought about the beauty around her she could forget he was sitting beside her. He stretched out and now lay close to her on his elbows, feeling his weight on the mattress. A minute passed in silence, then his finger gently touched her open palm, tracing a nerve that shot directly to her brain, awakening a blistering desire. His finger moved back and forth along her lifeline of her palm. She looked up as his lashes lifted to reveal eyes as bright as fire trapped in blue glass. “What you’re doing is not fair, Mac,” she whispered. ‘What do you want from me?”

  “I want you. What we have can’t be ignored.”

  She sighed. Oh, I want you, too—every nerve, every ounce of my feminine soul calls out for what you’re offering. But would it be enough?

  “And what do we have, Mac?”

  He turned to his side, facing her now. The deep, haunted look in his eyes quickened the pace of her heartbeats. The stark planes and angles of his face tensed; his eyes searched hers, mute, the rugged line of his mouth pressed shut, every inch of his big, solid frame infused with an indescribable loneliness.

  Miranda couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was still holding the chocolate plate in his hand. Was he going to feed her the chocolate? Oh, God, I hope not.

  Her eyes turned back to his. She had sensed the hidden pain beneath his polished surface. For some reason, she knew what he was going through just by looking at him. She had the strange sensation of knowing exactly how he felt when they first met.

  “Our love has survived more than two hundred years, and a lot of pain,” he answered. “All it wants is another chance at peace, at heaven.” His voice was firm, begging her to understand.

  She closed her eyes, a stinging pain shooting between her ribs. “We don’t even know each other, Mac. This is insane.”

  “We know each other better than any two people in this world.How much more do you want to know? Do you want to know more than what we already feel and know in our hearts? What we feel is the power of desire to belong to each other, and a force of agony if we don’t.”

  “How do you know what I feel?”

  “I sense the soft heart in your ribs, fluttering every time I touch you. The light trembles on your upper lip when you look at my lips, the way your pupils dilate when a naughty thought forms into your head. I see the pink color blossom on your checks from just a brush from my fingers. I felt your body clinging to mine when I held you, as if we had mastered that embrace every day of our lives.” He stopped to take a deep breath. “Our souls are meant to be together, Miranda.”

  Her eyes widened. It was hard to breathe, as if the cool breeze that whispered around them ceased.

  Miranda straightened and held her head between her hands. “How could you say that, Mac? You don’t even know who I am,” she whispered. Her head tilted so she could gaze fully into his face, but anger tinged her words. “And I don’t even know who you really are.”

  He didn’t answer, but placed the plate on th
e mattress beside him.

  Miranda leapt to her feet, about to flee, but Mac grabbed her by the hand. His sudden motion made her lose her balance and fall into his lap. He held her face in one hand and slid the other around her waist, his eyes pleading in silence for her to stay.

  This man was hurting. And one long, searching look into his eyes was enough to transmute her anger at him into compassion. How could she stay angry when he looked so bleak, so obviously in need of tenderness? It dawned on her there might be some greater purpose behind her being on this island, a kind of destiny. She said nothing, but didn’t move.

  The sadness in his eyes told her he was holding something back. He swallowed hard, his heart beating so fast she could feel its pulse against her arm.

  “My name is Marcas Wardlaw,” he whispered softly. “I am the son of Alfred and Elisabeth Wardlaw.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Mac let out a strangled sound, so unlike the assured man Miranda knew. Her first thought was that he’d released the weight on his soul by revealing this terrible secret. But then she caught the flash of fear in his sigh: even now, he feared the outcome of his confession. But, surprisingly, she wasn’t bothered by his words.

  A single tear slid down her cheek. Miranda’s fingertips caressed his jaw; she couldn’t believe he trusted her enough to expose his darkest secret. Silently, she thanked heaven she had kept her mouth shut about her suspicion that Marcas and Mac were one person. And that his own uncle lied to her, but then she knew he didn’t want her to know who Mac was, and that was the reason behind his lies.

  “Oh, Mac.” She leaned her head closer and captured his lips, devouring him with a passionate kiss. An involuntary tremor ran through his body as he lay back and she moved on top of him. His large, strong hands cupped her behind in a gentle squeeze that sent shivers down her spine; his fingers slipped under her short, white nightgown and drew it higher, exposing more of her thighs to his soft but firm touch. Stretching her legs along his body, she explored his mouth with a hungry kiss, plunging her tongue between his lips. He found her tongue and suckled on it gently.

  With one hand, Miranda reached for his mask. Mac‘s head jerked and he tore his mouth from her devouring kisses. He held her hand firmly.

  “No,” he whispered.

  “Please, let me see all of you,” she whispered back.

  “It’ll scare you. I look like an ogre.”

  “You are beautiful; you won’t scare me, I promise.”

  “I was burned, my left arm, half of my back and…”

  “It’s okay, Mac. Let me feel and see all of you,” Miranda pleaded.

  He paused and held back, then slowly freed her hand. She sat on top of him and released one button of his shirt at a time, exposing a wide, muscled chest; she slid his shirt off and let it fall onto the mattress. Miranda looked at his arm and caressed along the scorched skin, the scarring hard under her touch. Then she turned again toward his mask and reached for it, skimming her fingertips along the edge. His body went taut, and again he caught her wrist. She thought he was about to stop her, but realized a moment later he was helping her remove it.

  She took the mask off, exposing the burned, reddish skin on the left side of his face. It wasn’t as bad as she imagined. It was as if fire had licked half of his cheek, reaching the back of his neck. She caressed his burns with the back of her knuckles, and he winced. His eyes searched for any reaction in hers. He probably expected disgust, but she made sure he saw only her true feelings, her enflamed desire, and the truth of what she promised.

  Miranda leaned closer. Her lips kissed his burned cheek without hesitation, the roughened skin under her lips.

  Mac flinched at her slow, intense kisses. His heart raced faster and faster, his chest heaving under her as she gently kissed every burned spot on his face and arm.

  “Oh, Miranda, what are you doing to me?” he said, his voice harsh.

  She clutched the hard muscles of his arms and her body moved against his. She slithered, writhed, and stroked him until he moaned with blazing pleasure under her hungry lips. His flesh hardened under her, straining against the confines of his trousers.

  Mac tore his mouth from hers and pushed her on the mattress. “Oh God, I want you,” he said, his voice quivering. He pulled her nightgown up over her head. His gaze lingered on her full, naked body, scorching her as he took in each exposed part. Heat rose on her cheeks. His hand slid in slow motion from her breasts along her tummy, then trailing his fingers along her legs.

  “You are beautiful,” he breathed.

  Miranda shuddered, not from the cool breeze, but from his hot touch. His fingers made her body tingle.

  Mac unbuttoned his jeans and kicked them off. She watched his long, muscled legs. His member sprang free. He was beautiful and strong.

  Miranda’s eyes widened as her core ached with anticipation at the sight of him. He was huge.

  Mac smiled devilishly. “I’ll be gentle.”

  She had no doubt he would be. He settled between her legs and used his own to widen the spread of her thighs. Joyful waves vibrated through her; she was drunk with the anticipation of his body engulfing hers.

  His hand slid on her breasts, down her belly and into her lower lips. As he reached between her legs, she gasped at the electricity that rippled through her. Against her will, her eyes drifted shut and her head arched in sheer bliss at his touch. He spread her lower lips and found the sensitive bud where all her pleasures were centered. He stroked her with gentle, warm fingers. She arched and pushed against the most teasing fingers she had ever experienced. He was so sensitive, his touch strong yet tender.

  Caught between his teasing, tickling fingers, Miranda tried to control her body, which swayed in longing of the pleasure that awaited her. She knew he was watching her, his eyes drinking from her pleasure.

  Miranda sobbed his name. Her body was helplessly pinned beneath his; his strong arms and the breeze against her heated flesh drew shivers of delight from her body.

  He stretched her thighs wider and held them apart with both hands, trapping her. As he leaned down, his long hair brushed her skin. His tongue lingered on her labia until she thought it would kill her. She took a huge gulp of air.

  With one hand, he parted her lips and aimed for her sensitive bud, as eager for a tease as the rest of her body. Her whole being waited to sizzle in ecstasy. The tip of his tongue circled, barely touching that small part of her, and she moaned as her head turned from side to side. “Oh, hell…” she said, and arched her hips for more, but he held her tight to keep her from releasing too soon.

  “Patience,” he whispered in an erotic tone.

  “You’re killing me with your tease,” she said. “Please, Mac. I want you.” She hoped her plea would make him hurry; she needed to feel his hard length slide into her warm, wet depths.

  He didn’t oblige. He continued licking, then suckled on her bud and plunged his tongue inside her. Her mind shut down, along with her will and any common sense. All of them fell subject to the beating of her heart and the sheer wanton desires trampling through her unruly body. Her breath shuddered, quivered. His wet tongue was as cool as the breeze that licked at her body. Her heart leaped in her chest, like a trapped bird in a glass box.

  He drew himself up and devoured one of her breasts in his mouth, taunting her nipple in small, teasing bites. His wet, hot mouth added to the steam of her body. With one hand, he cupped the other breast and gently squeezed her nipple with his fingers. The resulting whirlwind of sensation made her close her eyes and sigh. She never experienced such pleasure before. She remembered her ex’s taunts of her being frigid, but just for a split second before Mac pulled her back into the maelstrom of lust. Skin to skin, his hand intimate with her flesh, she wanted more, needed to feel more, to have him more.

  She never guessed her body possessed such an astonishing capacity for enjoyment or that a man could discover the secret to pleasing her with unerring ease. This man knew how to fire her up with pl
easures beyond her understanding.

  “Mac,” she murmured, not even knowing what she wanted to say.

  “Yes.” His voice sounded hoarse and far away. “I can’t get enough of you. You are so sweet.”

  She rubbed her flesh against his thigh. His big hands continued caressing her back, her breast, every inch of her, adding to the heated desire building up in her core. “Please,” she said, “I want…”

  Before she could say another word, he settled his hard, warm member and glided it into her. He froze midway and gasped. “Move with me.”

  She tipped her hips to accommodate him. He thrust deep, in one smooth motion, filling her, only to pause for a few seconds so he could feel her. He stretched, filled her. As her insides contracted, her warm wetness drenched his hard member, and it drew a long groan out of him. His muscles became taut as a wire. He thrust again, and again his rhythm quickened. Their hearts were pounding; the mingling beats raced. “Oh, sweet, tight,” he growled.

  “Harder,” she screamed, touching his chest and digging her nails into the muscles.

  Holding her tight, he squeezed her behind, pulling her hips closer and thrusting more deeply inside her until she could feel him reaching the end of her channel, enfolding her whole body against his. In short, sharp gasps, their bodies shuddered in luscious release.

  “Oh yes…yes!” She screamed her release as he growled his.

  He lay on her, half his weight supported on his elbow, and exhaled. His body close to hers, he kissed her forehead.

  * * * *

  They lay beside each other, Mac holding her in his arms. Trees danced as the air around them became suffused with their own pleasure. An hour passed, and Mac was still awake. Miranda’s soft breathing revealed her deep sleep. Mac covered her with the blanket and carried her in his arms to her room. She murmured a few unclear words and draped her hands around his neck. As he reached her room, he carried her to her bed and eased her into it. Her eyelashes fluttered open.