by Amy Quinton
Particularly from women who were sister to one of the few people he called friend. Because honestly, he didn’t trust himself to keep her happy should they decide to make something more of this—thing—between them. If they did, he would have to marry her, of course. But he just didn’t know if he could ever trust her—or anyone, for that matter—enough to keep them content, for eventually, that distrust would eat away at their relationship and with it would come misery for them both.
Then, Dansbury would kill him in truth and rightfully so.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“Nae.” He meant it. Besides, when did men ever want to talk about it? He hoped she didn’t press him, for he now knew she had the power to make him confess even his darkest secrets. His deepest desires.
And honestly, there were no words to be said, no words he could say. Right now, her arms were simply comfort for a man starved for affection.
He was truly ravenous for it.
And it wasn’t long before her soothing, supportive embrace wasn’t enough.
It might have been a shift of his arm or a twitch of her knee as she adjusted her position, but whatever the cause, he slowly became aware of her curves—voluptuous lines and edges that flared and contracted. She was a heady combination of sensual beauty and fierce independence. Och, she fit him just right. On top of all of that, there was her warmth and her womanly scent. Together they painted a complete picture that accurately described everything he’d ever desired in a lass.
God, he should have predicted this end. How many nights had he woken to tangled sheets as he recovered from a heated dream involving him and this very woman in his bed? Still, he ignored the danger of her temptation, though perhaps it was intentional on his part as he daren’t acknowledge his guilt.
It no longer mattered. He was gone.
To a point.
He turned his head and kissed her stomach, a light but lingering kiss that whispered of a need he’d buried deep for a very long time.
Dare he acknowledge it? Dare he allow his need for this woman to overcome his fears of distrust? This was his friend’s sister.
He felt her fingers tighten in his hair as she pulled him closer, an unspoken approval of his actions.
He accepted her tacit consent and stood then, slow and steady. As he did, he skimmed his hands up her sides, feeling his way, learning her shape so he could remember it in the future when he was once again alone. He framed her breasts, then continued up and over her shoulders and gently, ever so gently, caressed the sides of her bare neck.
God, her skin was so soft...
He cupped her cheeks, cradling her face as if he could capture her essence in the palm of his hand.
She reached up and touched her fingers to his and her eyes—oh, her eyes—he could have fallen into their depths and resided there for an eternity. He saw in those dark orbs an endless well of longing.
It was his last thought before the dam broke, and he claimed her lips with his own.
Passion exploded, ignited by their kiss and fueled by the pent-up desire that had been rekindled and building for days. Months, even. His lips explored hers, learning once again their full, plump shape and their sweet, addicting taste. He rediscovered the corners of her mouth, the full pillow of her bottom lip, the defined edges of her upper. She opened to him and he dove in, his tongue greeting hers and stroking—no, dancing—in a tangle of burning want.
She moaned as her hands tousled in his hair at the back of his neck, her fingers driving him wild and urging him higher. His hands left her face and wandered down and around her waist until he could lift her up on his desk. He laid her back, scattering his papers and mail to the floor as she descended, a reckless, desperate response.
She settled back on the soft inset leather of his desktop, and he studied her a moment, committing every detail to memory as he prepared to worship this woman who had somehow managed to coax her way into his life.
He had Mel laid before him: his desk, her shrine. How often had this scene played out in his dreams?
Far too many times to recount.
He knelt before her, humbled by her—her perseverance, her wit, her passion. Slowly, she sat up on her elbows to watch as he ran his hands up her quivering legs, lifting her skirts along the way.
“Doona move.”
She rubbed her foot along his arm and smirked, then blew him a kiss.
He smiled. He couldn’t help it. For one moment, he read astonishment in her eyes.
Were they truly so rare, those moments when he shared a smile with her?
Too soon, she returned his smile with her own and laid back, spreading her legs as she went, opening herself to him. A gift he would cherish for the rest of his miserable, lonely life.
He continued working her dress up, higher and higher, kissing a path up her legs along the way as he followed the edge of her dress with his lips. He caressed her lightly in between kisses, raising gooseflesh on her curvy limbs. He heard her laugh and felt her squirm, and he realized she was ticklish, his touch almost too much for her to bear.
He tormented her further, kissing and nipping, but never enough to make her pull completely away.
Finally, he neared the pinnacle. His aim, her core.
Scandalous woman. She wore no drawers; nothing impeded his way towards his goal. He inhaled slowly, taking in the smell of her arousal
Her arousal for him.
He dove in. His tongue found her pulsing nub while his fingers unerringly found and filled her sopping wet core.
Oh, God, she tasted divine. Sweet and salty and one hundred percent ambrosia.
He feasted. Relentlessly. Like a man starved for food. He licked with the tip of his tongue, then sucked, then licked and sucked some more. All the while thrusting his fingers in and out, then quirking his finger just so to hit that spot deep inside, the one that had her arching her back in an urgent, desperate plea for more. She whimpered now, no longer able to restrain the vocal manifestation of her need.
It made his cock jump with every burst of her erotic song. Again, with every thrust of his finger. His hips moved of their own accord, mimicking the rhythm he set.
All too soon, her whimpers became faster, higher, and he knew she was near. He latched onto her nub, sucking hard while she tensed for one heart-stopping moment…
…and then toppled over the edge with a raw moan that sent fire racing down his spine. On and on, he suckled her as she bucked helplessly against the leather, her legs tightening around his neck until he thought she’d break his damn neck.
Her fingernails bit into his scalp and it was all he could do not to join her in release. Still, he carried on tonging her pearl, dragging out her orgasm until the sensations became too tense, and she pushed at his head.
He pulled back, slowly, the smell of her sex lingering in his nose. He closed his eyes. Ah, nectar of the Gods, indeed. He would never forget her smell, her unique taste. For the rest of his life, it would color his dreams.
He helped her to sit up and straighten her skirts. Their eyes met and they laughed as they observed the obvious mess of each other’s hair, a result of their wandering fingers.
She turned shy of a sudden, which was a bizarre demeanor for such a bold woman. “Can I…?” She looked toward his kilt, tented with his barely leashed desire. He knew what she was asking.
He pulled her close and cupped her face, looking deep into her eyes. “Nae, lass. No’ yet. I need…I need more time.”
He did. He wasn’t ready. This was a gift for her. For bringing light into this life once more.
Besides, taking it further meant the connection would be too deep, more personal. He wouldn’t be able to pull back—to guard himself—once they crossed that line.
Even now, it may already be too late.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Morning, A Few Days Later: The Back Gardens, Greenwood Park
Amelia lounged back, propped up by her elbows, across a tartan blanket laid
out over a lush field of grass, her face lifted toward the sun. She could feel the heat of its rays as they kissed her skin. She took a deep breath, the air fragrant and fresh, and tried her damned best to capture a sense of inner peace off the gently blowing breeze. She trained her ears and could just make out the rustle of leaves from distant trees and the sounds of birds singing amidst their branches. That and the drone of a distant bee added to the idyllic setting, reminding her that, like it or not, life carried on, despite what troubles might haunt a person’s soul.
Truly, it was a glorious day to be outside, and she would look to any casual observer as if she were utterly at peace in her repose. And it all would have been thoroughly perfect if other, weightier matters didn’t persistently tug at the back of her mind. Harmony was an elusive myth that teased her, riding out of reach on the wind. The thought of it brought a few light tears to her eyes.
How long had it been?
Amelia shook her head and squeezed her eyes tight. For one perfect moment, she would forget…or at least, pretend to do so.
Amelia took a second, deep breath. Oh, to capture one more nugget of tranquility before reality intruded, that was all she wanted. Really, how long had it been since she’d felt so safe, despite everything she knew to be going on outside these grounds? Five years? Ten?
Had she ever?
Lord Sharpe had claimed she could trust MacLeod. And she did; there was no question about it.
On top of all that, memories of MacLeod—a man so thoroughly stoic, yet passionate in the heat of his love-making—taunted her. His touch had sizzled across her skin, making her feel boldly sensual and beautiful. Despite the decadent desire she had seen in his eyes and felt in the heated glide of his hands, he remained quite untouchable. Still, there was something drawing them together, an attraction neither of them could deny.
This morning, Amelia had Alain for company while MacLeod attended to business of some sort or other. Regardless of his difficulty communicating, Alain was an absolute delight to be around. At times, they sat in companionable silence, with not an awkward moment to be felt between them. Never mind that inside, she valiantly fought the intrusion of unwanted memories.
At other times, she had more than enough to say for them both. Of course.
Though the atmosphere was sublime, this morning more than her own troubles imposed upon her thoughts.
Amelia glanced over at Alain, so like his brother in looks. He, too, had raised his head toward the sun. He might have favored his brother exactly were it not for his easy-going manner and slighter build, having not walked for some time. Still, his legs were strong for a man bound to his chair, which was an odd notion, considering.
She wanted desperately to ask him about it, though it was deemed by anyone with any sense of propriety to be rude to enquire. Would he take offense at her boldness if she were to do so, anyway? MacLeod certainly would. But somehow, she didn’t think Alain would.
Even though she was somewhat hesitant to broach the subject, she couldn’t resist, her curiosity, as usual, getting the best of her.
“All right, Alain. I have a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.” She picked at her blanket as she spoke, the action betraying some of her discomfort at asking so personal a question.
She chanced a glimpse at Alain. He looked down at her, his brow raised in question and an easy smile on his face, encouraging her to continue. “I’ve noticed you have some strength in your legs? Was it me or did you not kick MacLeod under the table at dinner the other night?”
Alain held up both his hands as if to say guilty as charged and said, “Yes,” followed by a laugh.
Interesting.
Amelia rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin in her hands, his positive response giving her the courage to be bold. “As I thought. So, can you walk? If only a little?”
Alain shrugged.
“Having that sort of strength implies you can, at least physically…” she hedged.
Alain shrugged again.
“Would you be willing to try…for me?”
Alain studied her for a moment, and Amelia held her breath while she awaited his decision. It seemed an eternity passed before he cracked a smile and dipped his head, only once, but a definite yes.
“Really?!” she all but squealed with delight. As she’d fretted over this puzzle last night, she’d hoped beyond anything that he’d agree to try. As it was, she could already feel tears welling in her eyes at the thought of this man succeeding in such an endeavor. Sometimes she was such a watering pot.
Amelia jumped up, excitement and more than a little hope lifting her heart. She didn’t know whether she was more excited to see Alain succeed, or to see the hope in MacLeod’s eye when he learned of Alain’s success.
She watched as Alain released his footrests so they would be out of the way. She loved that there was no hesitation in him once he’d made up his mind. How alike MacLeod in that respect.
Once stowed, he looked at her intently before pointing to the wheels beside him. She followed his gaze and heard him say, “Yes?”
Guessing his intent, she asked, “Do you want me to hold the chair steady for you while you stand?”
He smiled once more, pleased, and dipped his head with an obvious, “Yes.”
“Oh, all right, then.” Amelia stepped before him, rather than behind. “I’ll stand before you like so, thus if you feel the need to steady yourself, you can grasp my shoulders or my arm as needed.” She braced her legs in case he required to do just that.
Alain nodded, and his look turned serious as he concentrated on the task ahead of him. Amelia’s heart raced with anticipation. She imagined the joy she’d see on MacLeod’s face when he finally saw his brother stand again. She closed her eyes, briefly, and prayed with all her might that this would work, a lone tear escaping down her cheek at the thought.
She always did wonder at her propensity to become teary when she was happy, or in the grip of strong emotion.
Alain began to slide forward, his feet searching for purchase on the stone walk. He shuffled them a bit before finding the precise way he preferred.
Amelia watched his feet until they stilled, then she looked up, square into his eyes. “Ready?”
He nodded, not a single hint of hesitation furrowed his brow.
“Right then, on three?”
He nodded again.
“One…”
He gripped the arms of his chair right behind where hers held onto this chair for dear life.
“Two…”
He scooted a bit further, his jaw clenched and determined, so remarkably like his brother’s.
“Three!”
Alain, though shaky and slow, pushed himself up and out of his seat. He took the time to secure his legs, and for a moment, she thought he would fall back, but then he lightly touched one hand to her shoulder and with a renewed surge, steadied himself completely.
They stood there for several minutes, his smile as bright as the cloudless noonday sky. Hers matched his equally, she was sure. He was doing it! He was standing, his touch only light and there purely for reassurance.
She smiled at him, tears of joy welling up in her eyes. “Oh, Alain, you did it!” She crooked her head, wondering at his ability to do so on his first try.
Amelia twisted her lips with a knowing smile, “You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”
He shrugged, but then nodded, a twinkle brightening his eye. Right then and there, she was almost overwhelmed by this man’s courage and strength. That he could smile and remain so confident and easy-going despite his disadvantages was humbling.
And more than a little curious. “Had you planned to show Alaistair soon?”
He scowled a moment, but nodded anyway. She was confused by this; why would he hesitate to show his brother what he could do?
If he had been practicing, perhaps he could do far more than she’d first considered. “Do you think you could take a few steps forward for me?”
Ala
in hesitated, but for only a moment, his gaze on the ground. He looked up at her and nodded once, his confidence secure.
“All right, then. On three again?”
Once more, he gave her his habitual single nod, coupled with a gentle squeeze to her arms. This time he held on to her, lightly—almost reverently—with both hands. She held onto his waist in return, as if they were preparing to waltz, rather than seeing whether this man could walk. If only.
Amelia locked eyes with him, focused. “Great. On three, we’ll take two steps—you forward, me back. One…two…”
Alain made to slide his foot forward.
“…thr—”
“No!”
Her count was interrupted by an absolute roar of fury from across the green.
Chapter Twenty-Six
MacLeod roared as he bolted across the lawn, but he was too far away and far too late. He watched helplessly as Alain tried to take his first step and then, as predicted, came tumbling down on top of Mel, both of them landing in a heap upon the rigid stones beneath them.
Stones that could crack a man’s skull in a matter of seconds.
MacLeod leapt over a hedge in his path as he raced the shortest distance to his brother and his…Mel, barely breaking his stride and never slowing in the least. It felt like it took half an hour to reach them, though in reality he was there in a matter of seconds.
What were they thinking?
He reached for Alain first, who was on top, and as gently as possible, lifted him and set him in his chair using his foot to hold the chair in place so it wouldn’t roll away from them. Fear commanded his muscles, making him stronger than ever.
Still, he took a moment to lean down and look his brother in the eye, his voice far steadier than he felt. “Are you all right, Alain?”
His brother clenched his jaw, his own frustration and anger apparent, but he nodded his head once.
MacLeod, relieved, touched his hand to his brother’s cheek, a light scrape the only evidence of the mishap.
