Evelyn snorted softly and hurried to the nearly dead fire in the hearth. If she was going to stay, she needed to keep warm, else truly find herself ill. Exhaustion tugged at her body, but her mind twirled around in the rain, imagining what would have happened had she risked kissing Grey. Would she be moaning like the woman in the barn? Her body tightened at the thought, her nipples pearling against the fabric of her smock.
If she’d have leaned toward him, the breadth of a book spine, and kissed him, would she have decided to give Grey her maidenhead? Scarlet was right in that disgracing herself would be a solid reason to break off the despised betrothal, and Father was gone, so he couldn’t slap her or roar at her until the vessels popped out on the sides of his head.
The fire caught on the tinder, and she held the flame among the dried pieces of peat and twigs. The coals from an earlier fire were still hot and helped the kindling catch quickly. She sat back on her heels, her gaze staring behind the small flames, though she didn’t see ash-coated stone. She saw the shadow of a broad, powerful man, raising his kilt to let the rain wash away the soap.
The only male anatomy she had seen before Grey were in art pieces and dour anatomy books. Never had she seen such a large male rod on a statue or painting, except for the pagan idol in the art book. Evelyn glanced behind her to the long table where she’d left the tome. Tossing on two small logs, she walked over to it and ran her fingers down the leather cover. She opened the book to the page of Michelangelo’s David, staring directly at the naked man’s rod. “Small,” she whispered. Like Alana and Kirstin and even Scarlet had said. Not like Grey Campbell at all.
Even under the cover of storm clouds and darkness, she’d once again seen his impressive largeness. It matched the rest of him, all toned muscle, tall and broad. Even his presence felt mountainous and powerful, yet she’d felt safe in his arms. She blinked as realization penetrated her musings.
I trust him. Why else would she feel safe with him, in the dark, practically naked and vulnerable?
She flipped to the page where the Greek sculpture of Pan stared out, his enormous rod standing tall, like a weapon brandished before him. Grey was large, but not that large. Pan looked grotesque. She leaned forward to study the statue in the dim light.
“Some late night study?”
Grey’s voice snapped Evelyn upright, and she sucked in a loud gasp, slamming the book shut. She whirled around, hands braced on the edge of the table, and leaned her backside against her knuckles. She inhaled a ragged breath. “You scared a year of my life away,” she said, one hand going to her chest. Good Lord, Grey. All her earlier thoughts about kissing him, seducing him, flooded her.
Grey clicked the door shut behind him and walked over. “Apologies.” He glanced at the book on the table. “Reviewing some art?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said walking to the second table where an atlas lay open, though she barely saw the new continent that England had been settling across the Atlantic. She slid a hand over it and breathed deeply to calm her wild heart. “I was looking through the books that were left out.”
Grey wore a clean shirt and kilt, but his feet were bare. She crossed her arms under her breasts. “And what are you doing lurking about at night?”
Grey’s fingers caught the edge of the art book, and he flipped it open. “I couldn’t sleep, either, and I saw the light from the cracked door.” He looked up, his gaze connecting with hers. “Just wondering who was spending the night in my old room.”
He was baiting her, but the slight grin playing along his lips changed it from a hostile endeavor to mere teasing. She smiled back, some of the nervous tension broken. “It is a lovely room,” she said, turning. She inhaled loudly. “I love the smell of books. Don’t you?”
“Aye,” he said. She looked back at him as he walked to the shelves, his hand sliding down the spines like a caress. “Ye have a fine collection.”
Evelyn watched his hands moving with gentleness and a type of reverence as he peered closer to read the spines. She could imagine the feel of his fingers sliding along her own spine. A sudden tickle in her throat made her cough.
He turned away from the books, his face tightening. “Have ye caught cold from the rain?” Striding up to her, he placed a hand on her forehead.
“I…I am hardy,” she said, her eyes tipping up to see the edge of his hand. “Just a tickle.”
He dropped his hand but remained close and inhaled through his nose. “Not a hint of fish, only lemon,” he said.
A smile formed on her lips despite the nearness of his large, powerful frame, making her want to fidget. “Thank you for thinking of it, else I would dream I was sleeping in a fishmonger’s net tonight.”
“And…I hadn’t a chance to apologize for the barn…the noises.” He studied her face.
“’Twas not your indiscretion,” she said, folding her hands before her in the creases of her white robe. The back of her was warm from the fire, but her front, turned toward Grey, was slightly chilled. Could he see the hard tips of her nipples through the thin linen?
“Beltane night can be raucous, and couples give in to wild temptation,” he said, and crossed his arms over his chest. His smile had faded to be replaced by something else, something that made Evelyn’s heart pound. He lowered his voice. “Have ye heard a coupling before?”
She shook her head casually, as if her stomach wasn’t flipping about willy-nilly. Was he asking her if she was experienced? “No. Although I have come across lovers kissing in the gardens at King Charles’s court, but nothing as…loud and wild as…” She lifted her arm to point in what she thought was the general direction of the barn in the woods.
He stepped around her to tend the fire, adding another log. “Ye spent a lot of time at the king’s court?”
She turned, watching his broad back as he bent over. The strength was evident, the muscles lengthening under the fabric. Her fingers tingled with the memory of holding on to his neck and back while he carried her. “Uhhh…uhhh, yes, I mean no, not really. When Father had business at Whitehall Palace, he would take Scarlet and me to be seen.” Although Scarlet was the one who was put on display while Evelyn, with the unpopular ideas that women are more than broodmares, was kept in the shadows.
His brows lowered. “Seen? I’m sure the aristocratic cocks attended ye.”
She chuckled. “No. That was Scarlet. I was the one sneaking away to the library.” She raised her hands to indicate the shelves. “The king has a massive collection of books.”
“I hear he has a massive collection of mistresses as well,” Grey said, leaning against a bookshelf beside the hearth. Even though he seemed to relax, his arms crossed in what should be a look of ease, there was a predatory hardening of his face, as if he could render death in the space of a heartbeat.
She cut her glance to the left as if more interested in the books than the topic. “I have heard the same, though he stayed away from the odd girl with all the opinions.”
“Ye?”
She gave a small curtsy, bowing her head, as if introducing herself. “A determined manner is considered unattractive in a female.”
“Only to a weak man.”
His comment caught at her heart, and she stared at him, weighing his words for truth. “Really?” she asked, her voice breathless. She looked away and cleared her throat. “I mean to say…” She opened and shut her mouth before latching onto her thoughts. “That is not the opinion of most, at least in society circles in England.”
She looked back at him, and his gaze pierced hers, riveting her to the spot. “In the wilds of the Highlands, determination is what keeps ye alive.”
“I believe,” she said slowly, “that a woman should be as determined in her opinions as a man.” She waited for a telling sign that he thought her daft: a glance away, a tightening frown, or a loud explosion like her father. “That a woman is just as intelligent as a man.”
“Some lasses are more,” he said, his brow lifting.
Evelyn�
��s breath stopped.
He came away from the wall, dropping his arms. “I have found that each man and woman has their own strength, and they do not always correspond to their sex. Lasses, however, are not afforded the same opportunities.”
Evelyn took a step closer to him, her fingers curling into tight fists as her heart pounded. “We are not.”
“Which is why I do believe that your school is important, to give opportunity to both lads and lasses so that they may all help the clan survive. Given the opportunity, a woman could contribute to the strength of the kingdom or even the world in other ways than birthing a brood of children.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice bursting forth. “Exactly.” He believed in her cause. A man, a powerful chief of a clan, believed women to be equal to men. The squeeze of excitement flooded her. “I feel exactly that,” she repeated, an open smile across her face.
She felt like laughing or dancing or… Evelyn’s breath came in shallow draws as she stared at the handsome, wild Highlander who had not only listened to her but had formed his own words in support of her ideals. The exhilaration bursting in her gave her courage, and she stepped before him. “So, you are not put off by a determined woman?”
He tipped his chin downward though his gaze kept hers. It was a seductive pose, a sinful look, and Evelyn’s stomach flipped about. “Nay,” he said, his voice rough. “Unless she smells of fish.”
It took two heartbeats for his words to penetrate, and Evelyn’s smile grew, as did Grey’s. She laughed, her fingers flat against her lips. “Well, I don’t smell of fish. I smell of lemon balm.”
He stepped closer, his large body coming into the space before her. “Aye, lass, ye do. Lemon and fresh rain and warm woman.”
Evelyn’s laughter cut off as he raised his palm to slide along her cheek, his thumb grazing her bottom lip. He was a mountain before her, blocking everything: all worry about the school, all the fantastical plans of escape from her betrothal, all the pitying glances from people at the English court, even the guilt of her flippant words about smoking out vermin. They all vanished in the space that encircled the two of them, alone together in the dark night. A very powerful man who appreciated her determination and mind, and a woman who was about to turn into a puddle of longing if he didn’t—
Grey’s arm wrapped behind her, pulling her so that her lower half pressed against him. She could feel his hardness through the thin layers of her robe and smock. But his face moved closer before she could worry or wonder at its size, the warmth of his lips touching hers. The hand on her cheek guided her head to the side, so that their mouths could mold together, moving like an undulating flame as heat surged through Evelyn’s body.
His kiss. It was so much more than a mere pressing of mouths. It included the strength of his arms wrapping around her, the feel of his rock-hard frame, the warmth of his body, and the faint lemon smell mixed with a pine and leather scent that seemed to cling to Grey. The kiss included all of it, and every detail reached inside Evelyn, freeing her from the world she’d always had to face and fight. Here in Grey’s solid embrace, she was free to fly.
Evelyn’s fingers wrapped within the hair at Grey’s nape until she slid her hands across his back and down his arms. The feel of his bulging biceps under her fingertips caused a river of heat to flow down through her to her core, and she pressed herself against him. He answered her with a low growl in the depths of his throat, a carnal, almost animal sound that spurred her pulse.
She clung, and her pelvis rubbed against him through his kilt. His hands spanned her back, stroking, as their kiss turned wild. Evelyn opened her mouth and felt him enter, tasting her. Timidly she did the same. “Och, lass,” Grey said against her lips, reaching up to cup her cheeks with both hands, directing their faces to slide against each other. They breathed each other in, Evelyn with shallow inhales.
He pulled back slightly to look down into her face. Her hands rested between them on his chest. He shook his head slowly. “There is a wildness between us.”
“Yes,” she said on a whispered exhale.
“It will take us over,” he said, his gaze dipping to her breasts, and she realized that her robe had fallen to pool at her feet. With the fire behind her, Grey must have a silhouetted view of her naked body beneath the smock. Evelyn watched his gaze wander over her, making her skin tingle.
His lips were parted, and this mighty warrior, who could throw a 150 pound tree, seemed a bit breathless. The thought gave Evelyn courage to lean in to him, tipping her face to his. “I am bound by propriety all day. Perhaps the night is a time for wildness to take over.”
Grey stared down into her eyes, and she placed her palms on his chest, her fingers toying with the tie at his throat until it came undone. “Evelyn,” he said, and the sound of her name across his tongue sent another surge of longing through her.
She slid her damp lips against each other. “I know much from books, but nothing about this feeling inside me. This heat,” she whispered, and he stared silently. “Teach me, Grey Campbell.” Her voice dropped even softer. “Teach me to moan and thrash like the woman in the barn.”
“Evelyn, ’tis not something that can be undone.”
She smiled gently. “Even if ladies are not taught the details, the fact that it cannot be undone is practically beaten into us from childhood.” Evelyn worked the white shirt up from his kilt until the edge sprang free. “I know that breaking one’s maidenhead stings, but I’ve heard whispers that it is worth the pleasure.” She gazed up into his intense silvery eyes. “I know how animals mate but little else. Teach me, Grey. Teach me what wildness is all about.”
He hesitated, and for a moment Evelyn was afraid he’d refuse. Her worry crept back, worry that the closeness in the rain was due to only the passion in the storm around them. Perhaps she’d misread the feel of his kiss just now. Could he not—
Grey’s arms crushed up around her, engulfing her in his strength. His warm, sensuous mouth descended, stealing her breath as he kissed her. Evelyn raised her hands, holding his face before hers to melt into him. The heat burned away all of Evelyn’s thoughts and worries. Only the taste of Grey, the smell of clean, rain-damp skin, the rush of passion igniting between them, only these things made up Evelyn’s world.
She slid her hands up under his shirt, thrilling at the feel of his naked, hot skin. Her thumbs grazed his nipples, and he moaned against her mouth. Breaking away in one swoop, he yanked his shirt off over his head, letting it fall to the floor with her robe.
“Good God, you are beautiful,” she whispered as she stared at the muscles of his chest, a light sprinkling of hair across it. His biceps were corded with relaxed muscle, and she ran the pads of her fingers up and over them. They mounded upon his arms like boulders, hard and strong. He drew her back in for a heated kiss, and once again, Evelyn surrendered willingly to the melting within.
She felt the press of his rod between them, and her hands dipped down to slide under his kilt. Running her fingers up the muscles of his thighs, she came to the top and tentatively ran them up the skin. Grey groaned against her mouth. She wrapped her hands around the thickness, velvety skin over his rock-hard length, and he shuddered.
“Stroke up and down, lass,” he said, and she did, marveling at the feel of him in her hands. She felt his stones below and knew that he was at his most vulnerable, surrendering himself to her touch. It made her feel powerful and beautifully wicked.
Grey let go of her and with a tug of his belt, the heavy folds of his plaid fell between them and to the floor. Looking down, Evelyn’s inhale stuttered as she saw his largeness jutting upward. A primal heat pulsed within her, making her ache. He was magnificent.
Grabbing the blanket she’d left on the table, Grey opened it to lie over a chair before the fire. She watched him stalk over to the library door. “’Twas a bedroom with an indoor brace,” he said, lowering a wooden plank over the door. They were locked inside, alone. “Sit,” he said. Wild heat nearly crackled in the ai
r as she sat, watching him pad across the floorboards. His muscles flexed and contracted with each step, as if he were a sleek predator, his long, thick member riding high before him. Evelyn felt herself clench, and she squirmed in the chair, pressing her hips down into the padded seat.
Grey stopped before the mirror, lifting it to bring over. He set it beside the fire and turned it to her. He murmured something in Gaelic. It sounded almost reverent, and his hand moved along his shaft.
Evelyn’s breasts ached, and she lifted her hands up underneath them, squeezing them as he watched. With a slow pull, she untied the front and lowered the white linen, letting her breasts spill out to fill her palms. Grey groaned. Her knees spread in the chair as if nature’s wildness itself was taking over her body. “That’s it, lass. Do what feels good.”
“Does that feel good?” she asked, looking to his hand on his cod.
“Aye, but it will feel even better when your body strokes it.”
His words brought another surge of heat, and Evelyn opened her lips, her breath coming faster. Her hand dipped to her spread legs, and Grey knelt before her. His fingers caught the edge of her smock, rucking it upward over her knees and her bare thighs until her woman’s vee was exposed to his sight.
“Och, lass,” he said, bending down. Evelyn held her breath. “Watch,” he whispered, and she looked over him to the mirror, placed in such a position that she could see him as he kissed her intimately. Evelyn squeezed her breasts and threw her head back as heat shuddered through her. “Grey,” she breathed.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, and she leveled her head to see herself in the mirror. The sight raced chills and heat across her skin.
She turned to meet his gaze. “More.”
“Aye, Evelyn,” he said, drawing her close so that her legs straddled him, hugging against his bare skin. “Much more.” His hands worked her smock up her back and over her head. Naked, she rubbed herself along him, reveling in the feel of bare skin against bare skin. She dropped so that her knees met the ground and reached to touch him. He groaned, and the sound of his pleasure tantalized her.
The Scottish Rogue Page 18
