Catch Me If You Can (25 page)

“Maura,” he said again, only there was this thread running through it this time. Not a command. More a plea. His fingers dug into her hips.

Instinctively, she unlocked her wrists. Reached for him.

His expression opened then, his eyes so fierce and dark
and filled with…
She couldn’t put a name to it. He met her reaching grasp, and all but yanked her up into his arms, spearing her more fully down onto him, making them both gas
p deeply as he wrapped her tightl
y against him.

Her mouth found his as she gave in to her most visceral needs and began to ride him. They grunted, groaned and all but sobbed with relief as they thrust and pumped and bucked against each other with wild, almost animalistic abandon. He had one arm tight around her back, his other hand tangled in her hair. Her nails raked his back, dug into his shoulders.

And then he reached behind her, yanked the pillows away, flinging them unseen across the room before
pushing her onto her hack, settl
ing h
is weight between her hips. Settl
ing himself inside her. So
perfectl
y inside her. And, shockingly, something calmed between them, if you could call it that. Instead of driving himself and her over the edge, he slowed, pushed up onto his elbows and brushed the tangled hair from her face as he framed her cheeks with his palms. He continued to move inside her, slower, steadier now, as if the bloodlust of their need for one another had been sated somewhat. Allowing them both to savor each stroke, instead of wasting what they’d built up in a mindless frenzy of thrusting body parts.

He kept his warm palms against her face, looking deeply into her eyes as he moved deeply inside of her. She didn’t know what he was feeling, or perhaps was too afraid to assign anything so powerful as what she swore she saw in his eyes, to what he could be feeling. Not yet Surely not yet. They were strangers.

And yet, when he slowly lowered his mouth to hers, joined his tongue with hers as he took her harder, faster, and finally, blessedly over
…
she couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d been like this before. Right here in this tower. Again. And again. When he came, the words that echoed through her, resonated within her, as incredulous and unexplainable as it was, were, “Finally. Finally, you’re back where you belong.”

And when they’d both finally spent themselves in a rocking, shuddering release, when they couldn’t wring
one more wracking thrust of pleasure from it, he rolled to his side, pulling her with him, tucking her against his chest, tangling his legs with hers, his chin nestled in her hair, as they both allowed their hearts to slow, their breathing to even out. Her mind was racing even faster than her heart, and yet she willed the tumble of thoughts and emotions away. She simply wanted to feel. To let the waves of pleasure continue to ripple through her, spreading farther an
d farther out, calming her, settl
ing her, as she came back down to earth.

She didn’t want to think about that instant when he’d come inside her, here
in her bed, in this centuries-
old tower chamber. She didn’t want to think about the talks they were going to have about his involvement in the property, and the inevitable effect it was going to have on them. And most of all, she didn’t want to think about him leaving.

Because whatever it was they had just shared was a finite, once-in-a-lifetime thing. No matter how amicably they settled the rest, he would go when they were through. There was no altering that. No altering that his place was half a world away. And that her place was irrevocably here.

Their destinies were different. And she couldn’t stop that fleeting thought from returning, that irrevocable sense that once again, they were going to allow themselves to be torn apart by circumstance. That once again they were going to ruin their chance to unite for all eternity.

He pressed a kiss against her temple just then, blessedly taking her mind off her obviously orgasm-induced delusional thoughts. But nonetheless making her eyes burn at the sweetness of the gesture. How did a man who’d just taken her like some jungle god, turn around and touch her in a way that made her feel so special and revered?

Oh Maura, you puir foolish lass. Ye’ve gone and let him into yer heart.

Aye,
she thought, nestling against his warmth, his strength, that she most shockingly had. Sure, she was fascinated with tales of the past, of her family history, that of the land of her birth. There was a romance to those tales, certainly, but she did not consider herself personally to be a romantic woman. She was a pragmatist, a realist. God knows she’d had to be. The intelligent, modern woman who knew what she wanted and did her best to get it. Whether it be funding for renovating her family’s ancestral home, or a slaking of her more base needs. She went about achieving both the same way. With careful planning and conscious decisionmaking.

Neither of those things came close to describing how she’d handled this affair with Tag. Affair. Even the word was somehow an affront to her. To that unnamed part of her that wanted to suddenly believe in fanciful fairy tales. The heretofore unkn
own romantic that had apparentl
y resided within her all along, just
waiting for the right moment…
or the right man, to set it free.

Her eyelids grew heavy as he toyed with her hair. A languid sort of bliss stole into her body and she let herself fall under its sway. Surely after a restful, restorative spot of sleep, she’d awaken clear-minded and focused once again. Not to mention sane.

W
hen she did wake, hours later, the room was dark except for the glow from the embers in the fireplace. She wasn’t sure how clear-minded she was, but she knew one thing: she was alone. Yet, she didn’t feel any sen
se of alarm or abandonment. Mostl
y because Tag’s pants were still draped haphazardly over the chair by her wardrobe.

She smiled then, and
indulged in a very long, self-
satisfied stretch. Another woman would probably have awakened feeling at least a shred of shame. After all, she’d taken two men to her bed in the past three days. But she was feeling too much like a tabby with a belly full of fresh cream, one who’d just found a big, fat ray of sunshine in which to doze away the afternoon, to allow herself to wallow in self-loathing. Besides, she had no doubt that would come back into play at some point.

She rolled over to her side and stared at the flickering embers of the fire Tag must have started at some point while she slept. She wasn’t one to forge long-term relationships, but she also wasn’t one to dally about with more than one man at a time. Nor was she one to hop from one man to the next, discarding lovers like day-old bread. But it wasn’t like she’d gone looking for this, for him, now was it?

And she could hardly be blamed, considering the reason she’d discarded her last lover, if she’d taken advantage of a rather serendipitous situation to indulge herself. It was hardly her fault that that occasion had come so soon after Jory had been booted out of both her bed, and her life. It wasn’t like she lived in the land of opportunity, after all, that she could so cavalierly dismiss one when it presented itself, now could she?

She snorted and rolled to her back to stare at the domed ceiling. “Such dedicated rationalization,” she murmured, but she still refused to let guilt creep in. She was an adult. An unattached adult. Who could take as many men to her bed as she pleased. Whenever she pleased. So there.

She tossed the covers aside and drew her legs over the side of the bed with a sigh. Who was she kidding?
Och, yer a slut, Maura, that ye are.
Which did nothing to explain the impish grin that lit up her face a moment later. “But a very happy, satisfied one.”

Well, so much for self-flagellation.

But the truth of it is,
she thought as she quickly tippytoed her way across the chill flooring that was bared between the thrown rugs,
my only regret about
Jory was trying to make him into someone he was most definitely not.
And that was a man she could have a future with. She snagged her bathrobe off the bathroom door, then as an afterthought, shut it behind her. She wasn’t used to having guests up here.

Which had been her other critical mistake. Not bringing Tag into this place she’d kept so sacred, her tower chamber. But bringing Jory there. It was surprising how right she felt about Tag’s presence in her private rooms, in her bed. Of course, the sacrosanct feeling she’d always extended to her most personal space here, her one haven in the vastness that was Ballantrae, had been shattered when she’d found Priss and Jory desecrating it.

In fact, she’d wondered how she’d recover from that violation, much less how she’d ever sleep in her own bed again. A smile curved her lips. “Well, it no longer appears that’s going to be an issue.” In fact, she couldn’t have imagined a more perfect way of reclaiming it.

She’d often been asked how she could stand living in such a huge, empty place. But Ballantrae, the castle and the grounds, from the loch to the tenant farms, were so steeped in family history, she hardly felt alone here. In fact, at times, she felt downright crowded.

As a child, she’d had this fanciful idea that the inhabitants of the portraits that lined every nook and cranny of the place were watching over her, making sure she lived up to Sinclair standards, didn’t disappoint all they had done to keep Ballantrae steady and strong for so many centuries. She’d been made aware at a very young age, as soon as she was able
to understand in fact, the mantl
e under which she’d been born. The responsibility she’d be groomed to take over.

Of course, she’d assumed her Uncle Niall would live a far longer life, and that her inherited burden wouldn’t become a direct responsibility until she was much older. As it turned out, she’d been only a little over a year out of university, living in a tiny flat in Inverness, when Niall had taken so ill. A pneumonia that he couldn’t seem to shake had eventually claimed him the winter before her twenty-fifth birthday.

She stared into the narrow mirror above the sink. That had been such a bleak time, so overwhelming. To go from the excitement of getting her own place, starting her own career, separate from the demands of her heritage, to just live a normal life for a bit.

She brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face and made a meager attempt to unsnarl her hair. It was full of tangles and knots. A glimmer of her smile returned. Sex with Tag was like a full-contact sport
.
Next time she’d do well to wear a helmet and pads for protection.

Her smile flickered, then dimmed. Next time. Would there be a next time? Would she be even more a fool to allow him more access to her head, to her heart, than she already had?

She sighed and leaned in to turn on the shower. To think she’d ever thought she’d truly let Jory into her heart. He was fun, he made few if any demands on her, and he was just smitten enough with her that she could sway him to see things her way on just about every occasion. The perfect boyfriend, so she’d thought at the time. Perhaps the right mate. He wasn’t a serious person, no, and seemingly had no real ambition in life, but he didn't add stress to hers, easygoing as he was. She slid out of her bathrobe and stepped under the stinging spray of the shower.

And then there was Tag, who was nothing if not a giant complication in every way. There was nothing remotely easy about him. And yet he’d claimed more of her in the short time they’d been together, broken past more barriers, touched her more deeply, than she’d ever realized was possible. And despite the fear and trepidation that struck into the very soul of her, she couldn’t help but think back and wonder,
had I really been re
ady to settle for anything less
?

She let the hot needles of water pound at the muscles of her shoulders and back. She’d met a man now who made her think even when he made her laugh, who was thoughtful and witty, sharp-minded and intelligent. Who also happened to make he
r knees go all shoogly with littl
e more than a glance from those hooded eyes of his. He wasn’t the least bit malleable, nor did she have any illusions about controlling him in any way.

Nor, truthfully, would she want to. Most of what intrigued her about him was wondering what he’d say, how he’d react, what he’d do next. It was exhilarating, actually, even as it was disconcerting. She didn’t like feeling so unbalanced, so removed from being completely in control. And yet she could hardly wait to get done here and go find him.

She massaged shampoo into her hair.
Which,
she thought as she winced through snagging a few more snarls in her fingers,
begged the question of what was she going to do with him when she did find him?

She closed her eyes and stepped under the spray. She knew what she wanted to do with him. In fact, if he were to join her right now, she could all but ensure the two of them could spend a very delightful time conserving hot water together. Sighing, forcing the accompanying visuals of slick tanned skin and clever soapy fingers out of her mind, she shifted out of the spray and reached for the conditioner. She’d have to use half the damn bottle, most likely.

She was doing her best to ignore the other part of
what had happened while she and Tag had b
een deep in the throes of lovem
aking. She paused in the act of working conditioner into her tangles.
Lovem
aking.
It had certainly been hot and sweaty and intense. Sex at its finest. But—and here was where her heart squeezed a bit—there had been those moments
…
those amazingly tender and sweet moments, where sex didn’t begin to describe what they’d been sharing. She sighed again, this time with no small amount of angst. “Bollocks.”