Despair?
Deep beneath the coolness and mockery, well hidden beneath the relentless seduction, was it possible that Dageus MacKeltar hurt?
Don’t read into things, she reminded herself. Face value says the man looks like he wants to kiss you, not give you his babies, Zanders.
God, he’d make beautiful babies though, a primordial, feminine part of her purred. That part of her that still bore the biological imprint from cavewoman days, and was drawn unerringly to the most able warrior and protector.
His eyes glittering, he bent his dark head to hers. Oh, he definitely wanted to kiss her. She knew she should turn away, called herself a fool in every language she knew, but it didn’t help. The lights were down, most of the passengers were sleeping, the atmosphere was cozy and intimate, and she wanted to be kissed. What harm was there in a little kiss? Besides, they were on a plane, for heaven’s sake—how far could it go?
Had she known the answer to that in advance, she would have scrambled across the aisle and sealed tape over her mouth. Duct tape. Several layers. Maybe taped her thighs together for good measure.
The moment his lips touched hers, a sultry storm whipped up inside her, and she sizzled with heat lightning. He rubbed his sensual lips over hers, taking it slow, making her feel needy and reckless.
Slow wasn’t what she wanted. She’d allowed herself a kiss and, by God, she intended to have it. A real one, with all the trimmings. Lips and tongues and teeth and lots of soft sighs. With a little sound of impatience, she touched her tongue to his. His response was instant and electrifying, whipping her inner storm into a tempest of heat and desire. With a low growl deep in his throat, he fisted his hands in her hair, and yanked her head back against the seat, his tongue penetrating deep. She couldn’t breathe around it.
The kiss he gave her was not meant to seduce, it was meant to mark a woman’s soul, and it was working. Dominant like the man, hungry, demanding. Beckoning forth the secret Chloe that harbored hunger every bit as deep as his. He was a dark, seductive shadow, all around her, and she was drowning in him. In the spicy scent of leather-clad man, in the sleek wet glide of his tongue, the strong hands in her hair. And she dare not make all that sound that trembled inside her. It was unbearably erotic, being forced to take such a kiss in absolute silence.
His hot tongue thrust and withdrew in blatant mimicry of sex, and she felt herself getting hopelessly wet, just from his kiss. The man made a woman feel like she was being devoured, eaten up, lap by delicious lap.
When he stopped and traced the pad of his thumb over her swollen lips, she panted softly, staring, unable to say a word. He searched her face, clearly liking what he saw in her glazed eyes, the evidence of the mind-numbing effect his kisses had on her. With a low, satisfied laugh, he pressed his thumb against her bottom teeth and forced her mouth open wide, clamped his hands on the sides of her face, taking her in an open-mouthed, deep-tongued kiss. Stealing the breath from her lungs, then giving it back. Making love to her mouth, letting her know how he would make love to her in all kinds of other places.
When she was whimpering against his lips, he drew back, his gaze smoldering. Lifting her jean-clad legs, he pulled them across his own, positioning her so she leaned back against the window, giving him better access.
“If you wish me to stop, lass, say it now. I won’t ask again.”
Some other woman must have shaken her head “no,” because Chloe knew she was supposed to say “yes.”
And it certainly must have been some other woman who slipped her hands around the nape of his neck, beneath his soft black leather jacket and into his hair.
It was definitely some other woman who slid them hungrily down his rock-hard chest.
He caught them in one of his own and pushed them aside.
“Doona touch me, lass. No’ now.”
He shushed her protests by pushing one of his fingers between her lips. He touched her tongue, then traced the outline of her lips. Slowly, he trailed that damp finger down her neck, along the edge of her V-neck sweater, stopping in the valley between her breasts. She watched him, mesmerized. He was so incredibly beautiful, there in the shadows, his sensual lips parted, his eyes narrowed with desire. His breath was warm against the damp path he’d left, teasing nerve endings to fiery life.
When his dark gaze fixed on her breasts, her nipples puckered into hard peaks and her breasts felt swollen and heavy. God, the man was intoxicating! Even his gaze was potent, making her skin sizzle, making her frantic for more. The mere thought of his hot, wet mouth greedy on her nipples made her weak with desire.
With a glance so rife with sexual promise that it took her breath away, he tugged the blanket from her waist, back up to her neck. Then he slipped his hands beneath the blanket, and Chloe’s head dropped limply back against the window, her eyes fluttering closed.
She should stop him. And she would. Soon. Really soon.
“Open your eyes, lass. I want to see you watching me when I touch you.” A soft command, but command nonetheless.
Her lids lifted languorously. She felt as if he was sucking the will out of her with his touch, leaving her limp and utterly vulnerable to his demands.
He slipped his hands beneath her sweater, impatiently unhooked her bra, and bared her breasts, palming them roughly. Oh, yes, she thought. This was what she’d been wanting since the moment she’d seen him. To be naked with him, to feel his hot, big hands branding her bare skin. She was melting into a puddle of soft, feminine heat in the hands of a master, and she couldn’t gather the will to care. He cupped her breasts, kneading and plumping, tugging her nipples between his fingers. His breath hot against her skin, he ran the tip of his tongue up her neck, then glided his mouth over her chin, to her lips, taking her in a bruising kiss, fingers closing on her nipples, pinching lightly. He continued the relentless barrage against her senses until she was helplessly arching her hips up from the seat.
Suddenly he broke the kiss, and pulled away, his eyes closed, his jaw tightly clenched. A breath hissed from between his gritted teeth. The sight of him fighting for self-control, the proof of the effect she had on him, sent a primitive, erotic thrill through her. The sight of him so aroused that he was in pain was beyond arousing. It had the same effect on her desire for him as gasoline splashed on an open flame.
She should stop him. She was helpless to stop him.
Then he opened his eyes, their gazes collided and she knew he knew exactly what she was feeling. Lost. On the edge. Hanging. In terrible need. He slanted his mouth over hers, sucking her tongue deep into his mouth.
A tiny convulsive spasm began to shiver inside her, and with it came the dim memory of where they were: On a plane, with nearly a hundred people around!
God, what if she came?
God, what if she screamed when she came?
“S-stop—” she panted against his lips.
“Too late, lass.”
He cupped her intimately between her legs, through her jeans, pressing the heel of his palm hard against the vee between her thighs, and she nearly cried out from the exquisite pleasure of his touch there, where she was so empty and ached so desperately. His breathing harsh, he moved his hand in perfect rhythm, expertly finding her clitoris through the fabric of her jeans, using the bump of the inseam to create the perfect friction against it. Oh, the man knew how to touch a woman!
“Let go, lass. Give it to me now.”
His husky growl pushed Chloe helplessly over the edge.
The noise that might have escaped her then, had he not crushed his mouth hard to hers, would have embarrassed her for perpetuity. Might have awakened the whole damned plane. She fancied it might have caused turbulence.
Her cries muffled, Chloe exploded. Helplessly, wantonly, lost, one of his big hands on her breasts, the other between her legs, she had a complete meltdown, shuddering against him, clamping her legs tight around his hand.
He took her cries with his tongue deep in her mouth, muting her, but for a tin
y whimpering noise.
The pleasure was devastating, it crested and broke into a thousand shimmering pieces inside her. Her whole body shuddered and—had she been able to make a noise—she might well have done what she feared, and screamed.
But he took all that sound, his hot tongue devouring, thrusting deep, stealing her breath. He knew exactly how to touch her to keep the pleasure coming, his hand relentless between her legs, not letting up for a second and, as her first orgasm started to ease, it sort of stuttered and became a second one that sent her right back into a meltdown.
He kissed her while the aftershocks trembled through her, demanding kisses at first, tapering to soft, slow kisses as her tremors eased. She clung to him, unable to move. And though she’d just had a simply stupendous double climax, she ached, hot and wet. She’d been sated and yet—in no way sated—perhaps only finally, fully awakened.
Irrevocably awakened.
Oh, God, what have I done? He’s addictive!
They stayed like that for a long moment, forehead to forehead, both breathing unevenly. Then, with a lingering caress, he withdrew his hand.
He was motionless a few moments, then she heard a sharp intake of breath and a pained groan when he reached down and adjusted himself.
She fisted her hands and squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think about that part of him he’d just touched. That part she’d caught a glimpse of when he’d dropped his towel, just enough to feed her insatiable curiosity.
No wonder Katherine had said she was dying without him.
There was no way she could let such a thing happen again. If she permitted even one more kiss today, she’d be in his bed. He was too sexy; she was already far too infatuated with him, and once in his bed, her defenses would come crashing down and she’d lose herself.
Why not just toss your heart out the airplane window, Zanders? a small inner voice snapped. You’d have about as much promise of a safe landing.
Dageus MacKeltar was more man than she could handle. She was a little-leaguer, clutching a ratty, secondhand mitt, trying to play ball with the pros. Just one good ground ball would knock her on her ass. And the game would move on without her.
Neither of them said a word, just sat in the dim shadows of the plane, trying to regain control.
Chloe was suddenly afraid that she might never get it back around him.
She was dozing again, and Dageus was paging through the third Book of Manannán.
Or trying to.
He was concentrating as well as any man in acute sexual agony could be expected to.
Not at all.
He kept seeing Chloe’s flushed face: her lips swollen from his kisses, the skin around her mouth chafed from whisker burn, her eyes sleepy-sexy with desire as she reached her woman’s peak and shuddered against him. Twice. Clung to him—as if she’d needed him. He’d held her heavy breasts in his hands. He’d touched her between her thighs.
He’d needed her so desperately that he’d nearly cast a Druid spell to fog the minds of the passengers, and pushed as far as she would go. Had contemplated taking her to the bathroom with him. Only her maiden state had stopped him. He’d not spill Chloe’s virgin blood like some barbarian, in a two-by-two room with cardboard walls.
She’d have gone farther, had he pressed. Might have permitted his hand inside her trews, but had he gone that far, there would have been no stopping. So he’d kept his hand safely outside her trews and settled for releasing one of them.
He’d never felt such lust before. Though tooping took the edge off, it was wont to leave him strangely wanting. Touching Chloe made him think there might be some eventual satisfaction he’d never before achieved.
In the meantime, he was rock-hard and in pain.
Still, he brooded, he supposed it was a fair trade-off, for though he was in an agony of sexual need, their intimacy had mellowed the fury within him. Where earlier in the penthouse he’d been afraid of what he might do, her kisses had given him back a measure of control. Not much, but enough to work with.
In the past, he’d always needed to complete the sexual act to gain respite, but not with Chloe. Merely kissing her, touching her, bringing her pleasure had calmed him, had cleared his mind a bit. He made no pretense to understand the how or why of it. It had worked.
He would accept that—that Chloe would tie him in knots, but preserve some measure of his sanity. What a boon her kisses would be on Scottish soil.
Och, the woman had something he needed. His instincts had been right when they’d said “mine.”
And that started a whole new train of possessive thoughts. Thoughts he could do naught about at the moment, so he took slow deep breaths and forced his thoughts to the pressing issues at hand.
What was to come anon would require all his wits and will. Once he was in Scotland, he knew the changes would speed up again. Changes he had to find a way to stop.
And to do so, he had to face his brother.
Drustan, ’tis me, Dageus, and I’m sorry I lied, but I’m dark and I need to use the library.
Aye, that would go over well.
Drustan, I failed. I broke my oath and you should kill me.
Nay, not that, not yet.
Och, brother, help me.
Would he?
Bletherin’ hell, you should have let him die! his da had shouted when, back in the sixteenth century, Dageus had summoned the courage to confide what he’d done.
How? How could I do that? Dageus had shouted back.
In saving him you destroyed yourself! Now I’ve lost both my sons—one to the future, the other to the black arts!
No’ yet, he’d protested.
But the look in his da’s eyes . . . it had said he’d believed there was no hope. Horrified, Dageus had fled through the stones, determined to find a way to save himself.
And now he’d come full circle, back to asking his clan for aid. He hated it. He’d not asked for help, not once in his life. ’Twas not his way.
Exhaling sharply, he accepted the scotch he’d requested from the flight attendant, and downed it in a single swallow. As the heat exploded inside him, the tightness in his chest first intensified, then eased. What could he say? How to begin? With Gwen, mayhap? She could work her feminine miracles with his brother. God knew, she’d been a miracle for Drustan.
He pondered various ways to approach him, but it was more than he could stand thinking on, so he forced his attention back to the text, needing something tangible to work with.
An hour later, just before landing, he paused, hand poised above his notebook. He’d finally found something worthwhile. The only mention he’d yet discovered about the fateful war that had occurred after the Tuatha Dé Danaan had left. Naught but a brief paragraph, it spoke of thirteen outcast Druids (so that was how many were inside him!) and of some heinous punishment they’d suffered. Though it did not elaborate further, beneath it was a notation that referred to the fifth Book of Manannán, as he’d suspected.
And if memory served him, the fifth volume was in the Keltar library.
Chloe mumbled softly in her sleep, drawing his gaze again. Reminding him that someone had tried to kill her—because of him.
He glanced at her bandaged hand and fierce protectiveness flooded him. He would let nothing harm her ever again.
He needed answers, and he needed them fast.
11
For the second time in as many days, Chloe had the strange and immensely irritating experience of walking down a crowded street with Dageus MacKeltar. The first time had been in Manhattan yesterday, and the same thing had happened there.
Men got out of his way.
Not because he was impolite or barged rudely down the sidewalk. On the contrary, he moved with the sleek grace of a tiger. Sure-footed, perhaps a bit predatory. And men instinctively circumvented him, going out of their way to give him wide berth.
The women, now they were a different matter. They were the irritating part. They’d reacted the same way in New York
, but yesterday it hadn’t bothered her as much. They moved aside, but barely, as if unable to resist brushing up against him, their heads turning twice, three times. One woman had shamelessly pressed her breasts against his arm in passing. On several occasions, Chloe cast an indignant glance over her shoulder, only to catch several of them ogling his behind. She might be small but—blast it all—she wasn’t invisible, walking along at his side, with his arm around her, his hand resting on her shoulder!
Not that he noticed the rubbernecking going on. He seemed oblivious to his effect on women. Probably so used to it that he no longer paid it any heed.
She longed for such oblivion, because watching so many women eye him hungrily was putting her in a bad mood. She cast more than a few pissed-off looks behind them.
The intense intimacy on the plane had stirred dangerously mushy feelings in her.
Face it, Zanders, you aren’t the kind of girl who can be physically intimate with a man without getting emotionally involved. You’re just not wired that way.
No kidding, she thought grumpily. She was having territorial feelings. Feelings she couldn’t afford, for he’d certainly not evidenced any territorial feelings about her. Fortunately, as she watched women stare at him, irritation was making short work of softer emotions. She savored the anger, preferring it to waffling in uncertain emotions. Anger was refreshingly tangible.
The moment they’d stepped off the plane in Inverness he’d grown cool again. Preoccupied. Businesslike. Collecting their luggage, striding briskly to the rental car agency. She’d had to repeat three times her request that he stop in Inverness for a coffee she desperately needed after traveling for fifteen hours. She wasn’t about to meet his family in the throes of caffeine withdrawal.
After so thoroughly losing control of herself on the plane, his detachment hurt. He’d kissed her into a stupor, given her her first-ever climax, then withdrawn in every possible way. She should have known, she brooded. What did you expect, Zanders? A declaration of intimacy just because you let him touch you intimately?
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