Surprisingly, Gillian felt a smile tug at her lips. "Aye, that does manage to convey the point."
His boots scuffed across a pile of pebbles as he stepped toward her. Gillian braced herself, not knowing what to expect.
But rather than touch, he used words as his weapon. "Listen up, then, because I'm fixing to tell you something about Texans in general and me in particular."
He gently cupped her face in his palm and turned her to meet the bold honesty in his gaze. "Real men keep their promises. I'm a real man, princess, and I give you my word I'll not betray you. You're mine, Gillian Ross. Consider yourself claimed from this moment onward. Legal stuff is just a formality, but one I swear will happen. Now," he reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Where were we?"
Real men keep their promises. Gillian tried to consider the words that rang through her mind, but the impatient hands tearing at her clothing distracted her. Soon she felt the soft caress of the summer breeze against the bare skin of her back, and she moaned with pleasure.
She fought to keep a slim hold on her senses. Promises. Legal stuff. What did he mean?
His fingers tugged desperately at buttons, laces, and hooks, and Gillian couldn't think; she could only feel.
A wild, reckless yearning thrummed in her blood as both her dress and her resistance yielded to his questing hands. She wanted him. Lord help her, how she wanted him. Gillian sobbed with the force of her need.
"I want to see you," he said, his voice fierce and urgent. "All of you."
He dragged her clothing from her body, piece by piece, feasting on her flesh as he did so. Soon she stood naked in his arms, her garments a froth of white and deep blue at her feet. He paused just long enough to gaze at her. "Damn. Gillian. You're a fantasy-in-the-flesh."
He dipped his head and licked her nipple—bare this time—once, twice, before his mouth closed over her. He hummed a satisfied sound.
Gillian instinctively arched toward him, strained against him, and while he suckled, his hands slid over her, stroking and exploring and coaxing greedy shivers from her skin. Pleasure burned through her like whisky. It was torment. It was torture. It was heaven.
"I missed you," he said between the greedy, open-mouthed kisses he trailed across her chest before taking her other breast. Her knees buckled, and she started to slide.
Jake caught her, held her, backed her up against the stone wall, pressing their bodies together, his hard ridge against her softer mound. "You haunted me. My dreams. My fantasies. Make them come true, princess. Here." He slid his hand between their bodies and found her "Now."
Gillian moaned as his touch sent a lightning bolt of desire through her. "I need—"
"Me." He slid one finger into her sheath and stroked the sensitive skin. "You need to be mine."
Just as Gillian needed him to be hers.
The truth of that basic desire rocked her. She needed to belong to him. She needed him to belong to her.
"Aye," she whispered, sinking her fingers into the thick silk of his hair. "And you need me, too."
He growled low in his throat, then took her lips. She returned the kiss greedily. She touched him hungrily. She craved. Oh, how she craved.
Fingers fumbling, she attempted to work the fastenings on his trousers. Jake groaned impatiently and took over the task. Seconds later he spilled hotly into her hand. She curled her fingers around him and slid up and down his length, exploring, teasing, tantalizing. When he sucked in a short, frantic breath, she smiled, delighted with the evidence of her feminine power.
"Witch," he murmured.
"Wraith," she corrected.
He laughed as he pulled away from her, swept her up into his arms, then carried her to a bed of clover. Gently, he laid her down, then rose above her, stroking her skin with a hot-blooded gaze as he spoke in a half-teasing, half-serious tone. "Sorceress."
He bent his head and licked his way down her body. He teased her. He tortured her. Gillian thrashed and moaned and whimpered. She writhed.
His eyes burned and he wore a wicked smile when he paused, poised above the soft curls between her thighs.
"You can't," she breathed.
Seconds dragged by. The world beyond them faded away. The light in his eyes blazed hotter.
"You won't," she panted, anticipation shuddering through her.
He did.
Gillian cried out, her hands fisting in the sweet green grass as his tongue swept over her, stroking, tasting. Then into her, stroking, tasting. Pressure built inside her, taking her up... up... up. Taut with tension. She hung suspended, trapped, at the very brink, and helpless whimpers of need rose from her throat.
"Gillian," he growled, his breath hot against her wet skin. He flicked her once more with his tongue, and then he sucked her.
Gillian flew apart, sobbing aloud as shock waves of pleasure ripped through her, wave after wave after wonderful wave. He licked and probed and sucked, wringing her dry and it felt like it went on forever.
His hands skimmed her thighs, lifting, spreading her open. "Again, Gillian," he demanded, his hot, hard length probing her entrance. "Again."
She whimpered in response.
With one hard thrust, he took her, filled her. His mouth crushed down on hers, branding her, claiming her. His hips pumped and his mouth plundered as he took her up again.
Gloriously lost in the moment, Gillian met him stroke for stroke. Flesh slapped against flesh, primal now, driven by the need to mate. It was sweaty skin and urgent groans and greed for more—harder, deeper, faster. The second climax hit her without warning, a bolt of lightning from a cloudless sky. She clawed his bare back. Nipped at his neck. Cried out, "Jake, oh Jake!"
"Look at me," he demanded, plunging once. "Me." Twice. "Mine." Three times. "You're mine!"
"Yes!" she sobbed, quaking as she welcomed the hot, wet spurt of Jake Delaney's seed. "I'm yours."
* * *
"I'm hot." Jake rolled onto his back and smiled as a cool Highland breeze swept over his sweaty skin. Damn, but that felt good. He felt good. Wonderful, in fact.
He closed his eyes, and inhaled Gillian's heady scent as he filled his lungs with air. He exhaled in a rush, a loud, satisfied sigh. Life simply didn't get any better than this.
"Hot? Did you say hot?"
Jake pried open one eye at the disbelief in Gillian's tone. "I feel like a slice of bacon sizzling on the stove."
Then he reached out, grabbed her hand, and pulled it up to his lips for a kiss. "And you, princess, are one helluva frying pan."
She gasped, then grinned, and grabbed for her gown. "The romance in your soul leaves me breathless, sir."
"So that's what it was. And here I was thinking my kisses stole all your air."
"No, sir. Your kisses stole my good sense."
Lying buck naked atop a Scottish hillside, warm and sated and at peace for the first time in weeks, Jake stretched like a rattlesnake on a sunny rock and smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't meant as one," she groused.
Like any self-respecting snake-in-the-grass, he struck, lunging for her, dragging her beneath him. Once again, their joining was furious and filled with heat, and when she had wrung him dry for a second time, he felt more like an old hound dog run to ground than a viper. "No more," he told her, groaning as he slumped onto his side. "I'll be too worn out to stand up before the preacher. I'll be damned if I'll say my wedding vows on my knees."
Slowly, she sat up. She reached for her dress and wrapped herself in its concealing folds. Her voice trembled as she repeated, "Wedding vows?"
Caution blew in on the breeze and suddenly, Jake wasn't so hot. He reached for his pants. "Yes. Wedding vows. I sorta mentioned it earlier. I came back to Rowanclere to marry you."
She went as still as the old stone wall. Jake tensed a bit himself! Really, she didn't have to look so... stunned. Hadn't he all but said the words earlier?
"That's what you meant when you mentioned legalities?" she asked, her voice th
in and thready.
"Yes."
"Oh."
He waited. Oh? That's all she has to say? Oh? Standing, he shoved his legs into his britches and yanked them on. She watched him, silent and serious, until he folded his arms and glared down at her. Then it turned out she had something else to say, after all, and that something else stumped him.
"Why?" Gillian asked.
"Why?"
"Yes, why?" She leaned forward, an intense light in her bluebonnet eyes, obviously anxious about his response. "Why do you want to marry me?"
The words "want" and "marriage" didn't fit together in any sentence that ran through Jake's mind, but he had enough sense not to mention that. Instead, he threaded his fingers through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck while he prevaricated. "Well, it's kinda complicated."
"Marriage often is."
"Well, this one's apt to be more complicated than most," he grumbled.
She waited expectantly, and a sense of impending doom drifted over Jake like a cloud. He wasn't a stupid man; he knew what she hoped for. She was a woman, and God help him, he knew women.
She wanted wine and roses and silvered moonlight upon a shadowed sea. She wanted pretty words. She wanted a pledge of undying love.
Well, hell. The very idea of it sent a frisson of fear skittering up his spine.
Love meant one thing to Jake. Responsibility. When it came to tying a man down, ropes and chains had nothing on love.
And Gillian's timing stunk. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was free of love's responsibilities. A year earlier or a year from now, perhaps he could have taken a closer look. But now, today, he could promise her anything but that. Love, he couldn't give her. Couldn't she understand that?
She's a woman. What do you think, Delaney?
To hell with it. He'd lay it out like Sunday dinner and she could take it however she wished.
Jake drew a deep breath, then began. "Being friends didn't exactly work for us, did it?"
"No."
"The thing is, I still want to be friends with you, Gillian. I like you."
The color washed from her skin and the sparkle in her eyes died. "You like me."
Oh, hell, Delaney. Where's your silver tongue when you need it? "You're a real nice girl. I like having you in my life. The way I see it, this marriage can be good for both of us."
"I see."
Did she? He'd told the truth when he said it was complicated. Jake couldn't even explain it all to himself. Still, that was the bare bones reality of it. He hated that it turned her a bit green around the gills.
She turned away from him and donned her dress, and Jake couldn't help but mourn the loss of such a spectacular view. She caught him at it and the scorn in her gaze stung.
He tried again. "Look, Gillian, I'm trying to be honest here. I thought you'd appreciate that."
Now temper flared in her eyes. "Honesty? Is that what it is? I must say, Mr. Delaney, this Texan way of wooing is different from that to which I'm accustomed."
Guilt niggled at Jake and put him on the defensive. As a result, the words he spoke were less than well-considered. "Wooing? Who said anything about wooing? I'm not offering posies and poetry. I thought you knew that, Gillian."
Smoothing away the bits of grass and grime clinging to her skirt, she spoke in a voice that dripped sugar. "Perhaps it would be best if you spelled out exactly what it is you are offering."
Jake folded his arms. He hated it when women got all snippy like this. "I'm talking about the traditional British marriage—a convenient one. You marry me for what I can give you and I marry you for... well..."
"Sex?"
"Yes! No! That's not what I mean." He dragged a hand through his hair. "Look, princess, it's a business arrangement of sorts. I can't get to my trust fund unless I get married. If I have my trust fund, I can buy your castle. That'll give you all the funds you need to do whatever you want to do. Shoot, you can handle the whole trust for me, too, if you want to."
"So you say you're offering me marriage so you can access your trust fund. You'll marry me for money? Like David?"
"Dammit, I'm nothing like David!"
She arched a challenging brow and frustration had him clenching his fists. "Look, I never did want the money. I'd forgotten my grandfather created the trust until my mother recalled it to mind. I don't need money to do what I want, which is to—"
"See the world," Gillian interrupted, her voice flat as the Texas plains.
Jake's back was up now, and his gut frothed like milk in a churn. "That's right. I've waited a long time for this. It's my turn. I'm not gonna apologize for it. I've been straight with you about it from the beginning."
"That's true." She shut her eyes, then, and swayed a little.
He'd hurt her. Dammit all, he didn't want to hurt her. "Look, Gillian. A thought occurs to me. Since we're good at being friends, and since it's always nice to have a friend to travel with, if you want to come with me... well... you're welcome."
He wished she'd look at him. He couldn't judge her reaction at all, so being a man, he kept talking, trying to dig himself from the hole. "This marriage is a good thing for both of us. It's convenient for both of us. You get to keep your home. Isn't that what you wanted most of all?"
He watched her eyes flame and her chin come up. Oh, man. He should have shut up when he was ahead. He recognized the look—living with his mother and sister all these years provided a certain education—and he braced himself for a full-fledged tongue-lashing. She surprised him, though, by saying, "You never said, Jake. What do you get? What would a marriage between us bring to you?"
"I get... well... I get you."
"For sex."
Now that ripped the old tartan rug right out from under him.
"It's more than that, Gilly." He wished she could see it. He wished he could figure it out himself. "I'm not trying to buy you, if that's what has your petticoat in a twist. What will this marriage do for me? For one thing, it makes me feel good to think I'm helping you. You and Robyn and that crotchety old man you have stashed in the blue salon. Also, my having a wife will put an end to my mother's matchmaking efforts. That is no small thing, let me tell you. And let's not forget you're in this tight spot because of me and the way I haunted Harrington. Marrying you will settle the debt I owe your family. I'd feel bad setting off on my journey with that hanging over my head." He paused for a moment, then added, "And in all honesty, Gillian, I'm kinda hoping you'll decide to travel with me. It's a long way to Bora Bora. I think it'd be nice to have a friend to pass time with."
She opened her mouth, then suddenly, she stopped. Her eyes narrowed and she studied him. Seconds dragged by like Scooter on a slow day.
When she folded her arms and tilted her head, he knew he had managed to talk himself right into trouble.
"Yes, you are right," she said with a smile. "I do prefer to have Rowanclere as my home. And now that I think about it, I recognize how your plan would be advantageous to me."
"You do?"
"I do. A marriage of convenience has much to offer. I will have my home, the protection of your name."
"Wealth," he interjected.
"Yes, that." She tapped her lips with an index finger and trepidation slithered up his spine. "Also, the point about your mother's matchmaking causes something else to occur to me. I imagine that on your travels—should I choose not to accompany you—you will find that your married state frees you from any similar pressures your paramours might attempt."
"My what?" he croaked.
"Your paramours. Come now, Jake, you surely do not intend to remain celibate during your adventures."
"Well... I... uh... I'll probably be gone for years."
"Aye, I assumed so. And of course, no man or woman should be expected to deny his physical needs for years. So," she smiled brightly. "You say we shall be married today?"
"Huh?" He felt like he'd been knocked in the head with a fence post.
"You arran
ged for a clergyman to arrive today?"
As Jake cleared his throat, he felt the urge to take a step backward, but his feet remained planted on the ground. "Yes. I brought the preacher with me to Rowanclere. He's waiting for us."
"Wonderful," she said as if she meant it. She retrieved her shoes from where he had thrown them in his hurry to have her. Balancing first on one foot, and then the other, she clicked her tongue. "If we are to marry today, I must hurry. We Scots have almost as many superstitions involving marriage as we do about birthing bairns. Will you come down the hill with me now, or do you wish to remain here for a bit?"
He needed time to think. He wasn't exactly certain what had just happened here. "Actually. I think I will stay here for a time," he said, shoving his hands into his back pockets. "Enjoy this pretty day."
Gillian sent a curious glance skyward where rain clouds had started to gather. "Aye. Until later, then." She turned to go, then a dozen steps downhill paused and turned around. "Oh, Jake? What time should I be ready? What time do you wish to have the ceremony?"
"Talk to the preacher. Whenever is convenient with y'all is fine with me."
Jake watched his bride-to-be descend the hill, and in his mind's eye, he saw a man waiting to escort her back to the castle. However, the man wasn't him, but that damned David Maclean.
Shaken, he turned away, stalking across the ruins to where his shirt lay balled up against a stone wall. Bending down, he scooped it up, but when he tried to slip it on, his arms got tangled in the sleeves. Shackled. Paramours. Celibacy. David Maclean. Gillian and David Maclean. Rain splattered his back. Cold rain. Scottish rain. Jake thought he might just get sick.
* * *
"Jake Delaney is an idiot," Gillian muttered as she dressed for her wedding. "A kae-witted mell-heid. Looking for a convenient wife, is he? Well, I'll give him convenient."
In fact, she intended to be very, very convenient. Gillian had a plan. The seed of it had been planted in her brain when she'd watched him up at the watchtower. The man was a martyr on the altar of marriage, to hear him talk, but the message he had conveyed with his stance, his gestures, and aye, with his lovemaking, had told another story entirely. Jake had feelings for her. Gillian was willing to stake her future on it. She didn't fool herself that he loved her, not the deep, soul-binding, forever kind of love like Flora shared with Alasdair. Not the true love that would give her reason to follow him to the ends of the earth—literally, in this case. But he did care for her. His lackluster invitation to join him in his travels told her that much, as did the jealousy he displayed toward David. He cared for her and that was a start. With encouragement and a little time, love could grow, could it not?
Sizzle All Day, Bad Luck Wedding #4 (Bad Luck Abroad) Page 20
