Bad Boys In Kilts (26 page)

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Authors: Donna Kauffman

BOOK: Bad Boys In Kilts
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The soul kiss continued as their bodies moved together, almost the more intimate of the two joinings. She felt his body gather, tighten, as he moved deeper, faster. She met him thrust for thrust, grunt for grunt, and when he finally came, they both cried out.
He gathered her close and buried his face in the curve of her neck, pressed his lips to the pulse point he found there, then rolled them gently to their sides. She felt thoroughly loved and wonderfully replete ... which probably explained where the sudden lump in her throat came from. It had, after all, been a very long day, fraught with a lot of emotional highs and lows. It was only natural to feel a bit weepy.
Tristan shifted up, grabbed a couple of pillows and stuffed them under his head, then pulled her up next to him, cradling her in the shelter of his bigger, stronger body. Tucking her close, he pressed his face to her hair and slid one of his legs across both of hers. Never had she felt so cosseted, so cared for ... so completely and utterly safe.
She pressed a small kiss to the center of his chest, then snuggled in and let sleep overtake her. She’d sort out the avalanche of emotions tomorrow when she was rested and thinking more clearly. For now, she was going to enjoy a night of deep, undisturbed sleep. In Tristan’s arms.
“Thank you,” she whispered, not sure he heard her, nor that she wanted him to. She didn’t want to explain all the reasons she felt that way, most of which had very little to do with the physical pleasure they’d just shared. Because then she’d have to explain them to herself.
Tomorrow. She’d deal with everything tomorrow.
Just as sleep claimed her, she felt him smooth back her hair and press his lips against her forehead. “Aye,” she thought she heard him murmur. “ ’Tis thankful I am, too, luv.”
Chapter 10
T
hey’d awakened at some point during the night and crept out to the kitchen, like two thieves in the night, whispering for no reason, only to have to stifle bursts of laughter and a squeal or two of surprise when one or the other would snatch the other close for a quick kiss or teasing squeeze.
Tristan had let Jinty out into the stormswept, early morning hours for a quick run while the two of them made quick work of the stew he’d left warming in the covered pot on the stove. Then he’d made her squeal quite loudly when he’d tossed her over his shoulder and taken her back to bed, where he’d stripped his t-shirt off of her and spent a delightful hour exploring her exquisitely sensitive nipples, then making love to her once more. He’d intended to go slowly, to savor it more, savor her more. But she’d surprised him and taken control, rolling him to his back, straddling his hips. From the moment she’d sat up, shaken her hair back, and grinned at him, he’d been completely lost. He gripped her hips and let loose, each of them taking the other for a wild, fast ride that left them both breathless and laughing in delight.
She was absolutely irresistible to him. He told himself it was simply because she was something bright and shiny-new to play with ... intoxicating and initially addictive. But as he’d lain next to her afterward, watching her sleep well past the wee morning hours, he wondered about that. He felt as if he’d known her forever, his comfort with her was so utterly complete. It had been but one night ... and he already didn’t want to imagine a morning where she wouldn’t be nestled beside him. He’d been alone thus far in life, and he was comfortable with that, but he’d never been lonely. When she left ... he would be both.
Tristan shifted slightly in the armchair so the thin, early-morning light sifting through the window just behind him would illuminate his sketch pad somewhat more brightly. He didn’t turn on the bedside lamp. He wanted to capture the sunrise precisely as it was, with the light gradually sliding across his bed, across Bree’s body and face. His hands moved swiftly, with easy confidence, as he studied the tableau laid out before him.
He looked over the rough charcoal sketch, but even his overly critical eye liked what he saw. He flipped to a fresh sheet and began again, this time drawing her legs, tangled in the sheets, one foot tucked beneath her other ankle. He smiled, liking the fact that he already knew she liked to hook one foot over his ankle in her sleep and draw him close, keep him close. He’d awakened about an hour earlier to find her sprawled next to him, flat on her stomach, her face turned away from him ... but hooked at one ankle ... and with her hand comfortingly pressed to the center of his chest. He’d lain there for the longest time, thinking he rather liked the sensation of being claimed, liking that she’d felt proprietary about him, even in her sleep.
It should have made him feel cornered or trapped, which was typically how he reacted when someone got the least bit clingy. But those former someones weren’t Bree Sullivan. With her, he wanted to be a marked man, wanted her to want him, wanted her to want more of him.
Wanted her to want to stay.
He continued sketching. Another of just her feet, one of her hand, clutching a fistful of bed linen. His body stirred, remembering what those fingers had felt like, clutching a fistful of his hair. He wanted her again. Had never stopped wanting her, even when his body was too spent to do anything about it.
He flipped another page and did a few quick studies of her face, not quite smooth or serene, even in sleep. He wanted to soothe away the last of those hollows, see the shadows leave her entirely. He imagined he would be able to recreate her face at will for ages to come, without ever having to lay eyes on her again, so permanent a mark had she made on him. He studiously avoided thinking about that day, the day that she’d leave here. Perhaps even today.
He absently rubbed at the spot on his chest, soothing the immediate aching sensation that very thought had incurred. For all that he was artist and dreamer, he was also a pragmatic realist. Flock owners, landowners, had to be. He’d already put a call in to Alastair Henderson’s repair shop, leaving a message that he’d need the older man, or his daughter, Kat, to come out with their tow truck at their earliest convenience. He smiled a little, imagining his future sister-in-law’s reaction upon finding a very tousled and happily content woman tucked away under his roof. She’d tease him mercilessly, for certain, then immediately hunt down Brodie to tell him all about it. But she’d also be sincerely happy for him. And it was that fact that had given Tristan what little peace he’d been able to scrape together about this whole ordeal.
He wanted Bree to stay. For however long she thought she could manage it. Sure, he knew he was only asking for greater heartbreak when the time ultimately came that she had to go. But he knew life was too short and too unpredictable not to cherish the things that made a man happy and fulfilled for whatever the duration of that happiness. It was something he’d tried to tell his oldest brother, Dylan, on several occasions. Not that he’d listened. He’d shrugged off his baby brother’s insight, saying he’d dealt with his grief and had moved on with his life. Even though it was quite plain to anyone with even a passing knowledge of the tragic circumstances of Dylan’s recent past, that nothing could be farther from the truth.
But his brother losing his wife so abruptly had only underscored Tristan’s beliefs in holding on tightly and enjoying fully whatever life brought his way. He paused in his sketching and watched Bree snuffle softly into her pillow. She might only be in his life for a short time, but his heart had immediately recognized her as someone very special. He didn’t bother to analyze it. A waste of far too precious time.
Yes, he’d shamelessly and selfishly do whatever he could to keep her here for as long as possible, if he thought she’d benefit by it in some way as well. If it was better for her to go ... then he’d respect that. But she’d said herself she needed a safe haven, needed a place to step out of the insanity and regroup. He could give her that, wanted to believe that was why their paths had crossed, if for nothing else.
And Kat and Alastair Henderson could help him in that endeavor. He’d enlist their help in keeping Bree’s identity under wraps, keep her from any unnecessary intrusion by the world at large. His village might be filled with nosey, opinionated busybodies who, in his estimation, spent far too much time concerned with the business of others ... but they were also fiercely loyal and protective of their own.
And if Bree was in Tristan’s care, then by extension their loyalty would convey to her as well. If he asked them to help him maintain her privacy, he knew they’d rally for him. It was one of the things he cherished about life out here. And they knew, each and every one, that he’d do the same for them.
He smiled a little, his sketch pad forgotten as he watched Bree begin to stir and stretch. Yes, he’d willingly endure endless ribbing from the same townsfolk whose help he intended to enlist, but that was part and parcel of the deal. The outside world would be persona non grata ... but the gatekeepers would assume full access to this new chapter in his life. Payment for services rendered.
Tristan was surprised to discover that the prospect of being the focal point of village gossip for the immediate future didn’t bother him so much. In fact, it shocked him somewhat to realize that he rather fancied the idea of taking Bree into Glenbuie, introducing her around. But not quite yet. He hadn’t gotten his private fill of her yet, and he was feeling quite greedy and proprietary over her himself.
He slid the sketch pad to the floor and stood, stretching the kinks from his back and shoulders, having lost track of the hours he’d spent in that chair, capturing every detail of Bree for all posterity. Images that needed no recording as they’d be perfectly preserved in his mind’s eye for the remainder of his days. Of that he was certain. And yet, it had felt so wonderful to translate those images, his view of her, to paper. He’d felt freed, his creativity finally unshackled and available to him again, to command at his whim. He’d never again take that gift for granted.
She rolled to her back, and the invitation was too much for him to pass up. He crawled onto the bed, stretching his body out on top of her, eliciting a surprised little grunt. Before she could fully awaken, he rolled to his back and pulled her across his chest, tucking her against him and hooking his legs around hers to keep her nestled atop his body.
To his everlasting pleasure, she immediately snuggled closer. “Mmm,” she managed, then pressed a sleepy kiss to his throat.
“Hungry?” He’d already fed Jint and let her out for a run. His stomach had grumbled earlier, but at the moment he hungered for something else.
Bree wriggled on him a little, as evidence of his newly awakened hunger grew. “Is that a proposition?” she mumbled, yawning and stretching a little.
He groaned as her hips pressed against his, and had her flat on her back beneath him an instant later. “Would you like it to be?”
Her eyes blinked open, but took a moment to focus. She stared at him for a long moment, then her lips curved in a slow, sweet smile. “And here I thought coffee was the only thing that could perk me up first thing in the morning.” She surprised him by coming very suddenly awake, pushing him to his back and straddling his hips. “Did I mention I’m a morning person?” She pressed her thighs against his hips and pushed down on him.
He choked a little as his body surged fully to life. “No, I dinnae believe so,” he managed. “But I rather like that you are.”
“Do ye now,” she said, in a rather good imitation of his highland burr.
“Aye,” he said, grinning and tugging her down on top of him. “Aye, that I do.” He kissed her, and thought he could quite easily get used to this byplay being the start of his every day. All he had to do was convince her of that.
She tried to pull away. “I should brush my teeth and I likely look a fright—”
He kissed her soundly. “You’re nothing but stunning to me.”
She snorted, which made him laugh. He loved how unconcerned she was about herself. “Well, I’ll feel better if I’m cleaned up a little.”
“I can take care of all of those worries.” He rolled up to a sitting position, making her grab at his shoulders. He tucked her legs around his waist as he swung his legs off the side of the bed. “Hold on.”
She did without hesitation. “Where are you taking me?”
He kicked the door open to the bathroom. “Scrub my back and I’ll scrub yours?”
“Heavenly idea,” she said, kissing her way up the side of his neck, nibbling on his ear.
“We might only make it as far as the sink if you don’t stop teasin’ me.”
She tugged his earlobe between her teeth, then ran the tip of her tongue along his jaw. “And that should bother me because ... ?”
“I’ve forgotten,” he admitted, letting her feet drop to the floor beside the tub so he could reach in and turn on the spigots for the shower. She slipped out of his arms when he tried to kiss her again, and stepped toward the sink, but he turned her right back into his arms. He gathered her close, kissing her until their smiles faded, and soft moans of need took their place as steam filled the air. “I’m no’ sure I’ll ever have enough of you.”
Her arms tightened around his waist. “I feel as if I’ve awakened into some kind of fairy tale.” She laughed a bit dryly. “And I was supposedly already having one of those.” She smiled up at him. “I’m liking this one far better, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“I dinnae mind a’tall. In fact, I’m rather pleased.” He pushed her hair back with fingers. “I’d like ye tae stay with me, Bree. For as long as life will let ye.”
Her smile stayed, but her expression shuttered a bit. He hated being the one to do it, but it was a subject that needed broaching. He’d have much rather pretended that she had no other concerns, no other life, than one here with him. Which, of course, was the real fairy tale.
“We’ll get your car taken care of,” he told her, continuing to toy with her hair. “I’ve already placed a call to a friend in the village. They should be here sometime this morning. Is there anyone you should contact? Let them know you’re okay?”
“One or two. I’ll reimburse you,” she said quickly. “I’m sure my cell is toast. As is my laptop and everything else I had with me.” She didn’t sound quite as bereft about that fact as he’d have thought.
“I’m really sorry about that,” he said. “Don’t worry about the calls. Your work—”
She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, drowning what little I’d managed not to already trash was a merciful death. I—I haven’t exactly been coming up with ... well, anything inspired of late.”
“I can’t imagine it wasn’t brilliant.”
She laughed and patted him on the chest. “Thank you for that, my staunch and loyal supporter. Don’t take this personally, but you have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m quite capable of writing complete rubbish, I assure you.” She shook her head. “Although at this point, to be honest, I’m so my own worst enemy, I couldn’t judge the relative merit of anyone’s work, much less my own.”
“I can’t pretend to understand the pressures put on you, but I do know the feeling of being abandoned by your own creativity.” His smile was a shade wry. “I like to pretend I can draw, paint a little. Lately, a child with a pot of finger paints could do more inspiring work.”

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