Elizabeth English - The Borderlands 02 (25 page)

He rolled over to face her, then rubbed his nose
against hers and crossed his eyes.

When she laughed it was all right again, it was the
two of them and not just her alone, wondering what she was supposed to do next.
He kissed the tip of her nose, her eyes, and then his lips were on her neck,
his breath warm in her ear. She shivered, her fingers moving through his soft
fine hair, trailing over his shoulders, so broad, so strong, feeling the
separate muscles beneath his rough wool tunic.

His hair smelled of rain and heather and the faint
scent of sandalwood clung to his clothing. When he lifted his head and looked
down at her she traced his lips with one finger, marveling again at the way the
hard line of his mouth could relax into such a charming smile.

He bent to her and began to kiss her mouth, so softly
that she could barely feel his lips on hers, and it was like the night they had
first met in the forest, a kiss that wasn't a kiss at all but the seal of a
pledge made long ago, in another place, another life... Oh, they belonged to
each other and always had—how could she ever have doubted that?

When he teased her lips apart she opened to him with a
little sigh. His fingers trailed over her foot in light, caressing strokes,
moving to her ankle, her shin, but stopping always at the hem of her shift. She
edged the skirt a little higher, and when he found the soft spot behind her
knee she gasped with pleasure, and then she knew it was all right, everything
would be all right between them now.

She leaned up and kissed his lips, then threw off her
shift, laughing at her own boldness. Feeling very wicked and delightfully
wanton, she whispered, "Why are you still dressed?"

In one fluid motion he was on his feet and pulling the
tunic over his head, then untying the laces at his waist, kicking his trews aside.
She caught her breath, staring.

Brodie had only removed the necessary portions of his
clothing and that under the coverlet. But she suspected that he would have
looked nothing like Alistair did now, with his broad shoulders and slender
hips, the breadth of his chest covered with a mat of golden hair that narrowed
as it trailed over his hard flat belly...she followed the line of it with her
eyes and caught her breath.

He stood without moving, letting her look at him, and
when her eyes moved at last to his face her fear vanished, for this was
Alistair, not Brodie, and she could see how dearly his control was costing him
as he waited for her to make the next move.

"Can I—?" she said, reaching out a tentative
hand.

"Oh, aye, you can. Please—like that...ah,
Deirdre, wait."

"What?" she asked, pulling her hand back.
"Did I do something wrong?"

"Nay. 'Twas right. Verra right.  Just—wait—while
I think of something—something verra dull—"

"What?"  She sat up. "What are you
talking about?"

He gave a choked laugh. "I almost—that is, ye
nearly—ah, God, I'm no better than a boy with you!"

"But what—?"

"Later. I'll explain it all later, I promise,
anything ye want, but now—" He lay beside her and looked deep into her
eyes. "Nay, not now," he whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth.
"Not yet. Not until ye ask, I swear it."

"I—I'm not sure what you mean," she said
with painful honesty. "What exactly am I supposed to ask? And when?" 

He bit his lip, his eyes bright with something that
looked like laughter. "Deirdre, don't worry about any of that now."

"But I want to—"

"Shh."

He drew one finger across her lips and the laughter
faded from his eyes as he eased her down beneath him.

"You'll know," he whispered.

She nodded, not really understanding, and slid her
arms around his neck.

"There's naught to be afraid of," he
promised, bending to her.

Deirdre reveled in the heat of his body against hers,
the strength of his arms enfolding her. But as his hands and lips moved over
her with increasing urgency, the wonderful feeling of abandon began to slip
away as she instinctively braced herself against the pain to come.

But she would not let him guess. This meant so much to
him, and he was trying so very hard to please her. She deliberately relaxed her
muscles and quickened her breathing to keep pace with his. When he kissed her
breast, she allowed a tiny moan to escape her lips.

Alistair sensed that he was losing her. She returned
his kisses eagerly, sighed at his touch, gave every show of pleasure. But none
of it was real. Even as she pressed closer to him, he could feel her body
vibrating with tension. He redoubled his efforts, using all his skill, every
trick he'd ever tried or even heard of to kindle an answering response, as
though somehow the mere force of his desire could
make
her want him. But
the harder he tried to draw her with him, the more surely she slipped from his
grasp.

"Now," she whispered. "Please,
Alistair," and he knew it was not excitement that brought the tremor to
her voice, but anxiety to have it over. And she was right to be frightened, for
if he took her now, all unready as she was, there would be no joy in it for
either of them.

Fool, he raged at himself. It was too soon; God
damn
him, he had known that, and he should never have come here tonight. But he had
needed to see her, to talk with her, and now he had made a damnable mess of
everything.

He wanted to tell her it didn't matter, they didn't
have to do this now, that he would be content just to hold her while she slept.
But the moment for that had passed. She was offering herself to him, at God
knew what cost, and if he refused her now she would be humiliated beyond
bearing.

Christ's wounds, how did this happen? I love her so
much, but whatever I do now, she will be hurt.
Never in his life had he felt so completely helpless.
And looking into her eyes, he knew she felt the same.

But, then, he thought, seeing the faintest glimmer of
light in the darkness, that was how Deirdre expected to feel when lying with a
man. It was all she knew.

With a sudden movement he flipped over on his back and
pulled her with him so she sprawled across his chest.

"What—?"

"Wait," he ordered gently. "Here,
now..."

He raised her until she sat astride him. Then he fell
back and rested his hands beside his head, palms upward.

"There we are," he said, speaking as though
this was perfectly ordinary, the most common thing in all the world. "'Tis
your turn, Dee."

"My—?"  She bit her lip uncertainly.
"What do you mean?"

"I mean 'tis up to you," he said easily.
"Do what ye like with me...or nothing at all."

Just as he had begun to fear he had made things even
worse, a smile touched one corner of her mouth.

"So I have you at my mercy?"

"Entirely. Go on, lass, do your worst. I can take
it."

She traced a hesitant fingertip across his chest and
down his belly, her smile deepening when he drew a hissing breath.

"So I can do that?"

"Aye."

"And this?" she said, her hand dipping
lower.

"Oh, aye. And—and—ah, Dee, that, too ...
especially that."

She pulled her hand away. "And if I said to stop
now...?"

"Then we would go to sleep," he said, his
voice a little ragged. "Together, if ye like, or I could leave. 'Tis for you
to say."

She drew both hands down his arms, then bent and
nipped his bottom lip, her breasts crushed against his chest and her hair
falling softly about his face. "But I thought that once a man got started
on this sort of thing, he could not stop."

"Some men, perhaps," Alistair said, his
breath coming more quickly as the sweet curve of her bottom shifted against
him. "Not me."

She kissed his neck, then traced her tongue lightly
over the curve of his ear. The feel of her warm breath sent a shiver racing
through his body when she spoke again, a hint of laughter in her voice.
"You sound very sure of yourself." 

She sat up, shaking the hair out of her face, and he
stifled a moan as she deliberately rolled her hips.

"I am. Quite. Sure."

She took his hands and brought them to her lips, then
laid them on her breasts. He caressed her, fingers trailing lightly over her
taut nipples, lingering on the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips.
She began to move against him, tentatively at first and then with deepening
excitement as she began to understand her power over both of them.

"You are so lovely, Dee," he whispered
harshly. "Ye canna know."

She shifted and for a moment Alistair thought his
heart would burst as he felt them on the verge of joining. He began to reach
for her, but her voice halted him.

"If I said this was enough...? she asked
breathlessly.

"'Twould be...enough. But please, ah, God,
Dee..."

He groaned as she lowered herself slightly.

"And this?" she insisted. "Would you
still stop if I asked it?"

He nodded, beyond speech now, and turned his face into
the crook of one arm, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fisted his hands
in the coverlet. Gently but insistently, she turned his face to hers and looked
into his eyes, and oh, God, he couldn't wait, not now, but still she hesitated
and sweet Jesus, what did she want from him?

He did not know how he managed it, but he lay
unmoving, and just as he was certain he could not bear another moment, she
found whatever she sought in his eyes. He held her gaze, gasping with a
pleasure so intense it was inseparable from pain when finally, drawing out the
torment almost past endurance, she took him inside her.

He waited, barely breathing, as she grew accustomed to
him. Heart pounding, hands clenched, certain he would die at any moment, he let
her take her pleasure of him.

But it was worth it. Oh, God, it was worth it all, for
he had never seen anything so beautiful as Deirdre at this moment; cheeks
flushed, lips parted in a soft moan as her eyes fell shut and she lost herself
entirely. She threw back her head, her back arched; he saw the flush spread
down her neck, felt the silken brush of her hair against his thighs...

"Now, Alistair," she cried. "Now. Come
to me."

His own cry mingled with hers as he thrust deep inside
her, and at last, at last they came together, bodies taut and straining, and
she was able to accept all he had to give her with a joy he felt more keenly
than his own.

L
ater they lay curled together, Alistair's head resting
on her breast, his legs twined with hers. It wasn't possible to be this happy,
Deirdre thought. And yet she was.

"There are so many things I understand now,"
she said, not realizing she spoke aloud until he stirred and kissed the hollow
between her breasts, then lifted his head to look into her face.

"Such as?"

"Oh, the songs and stories," she answered
vaguely, "things people said..."

His hair was tousled, his eyes sleepy, and he looked
very young and vulnerable.

"They said things about you, Jennie Maxwell and
the others. One said that you knew how to pleasure a lass and she
laughed—" 

That girl had seen him like this, Deirdre realized
with a sharp stab of jealousy, had held him in her arms and felt his warmth
against her.

"You did this—with her—and others, too," she
added, surprised and a little angry, unfair as she knew that to be. She
remembered the girl's curling brown hair and bright blue eyes, the way she had
blushed and laughed as she talked about the night she had spent with Alistair.
But I could never laugh about this, never, Deirdre thought, suddenly desolate
and alone.

"Who is this 'her' you're speaking of?"

"Annie Maxwell," Deirdre said reluctantly.

"Oh."

"Oh?  That's all you have to say?"

"What do ye want me to say?  She's a nice lass
and we had—well, we had good times together—"

Deirdre rolled over and buried her head in the pillow.
"I have no wish to hear about it."

"Then why the devil did you bring her up?"

"I don't remember. Goodnight, I’m very tired now
and I think I'll go to sleep."  With that she pulled the pillow over her
head.

"Annie Maxwell enjoyed a tumble with me and any
other lad she fancied," Alistair said distinctly. "I'm glad to know
she remembers me kindly, as I do her—" He pulled the pillow away. "I
liked her and she made me laugh, and there was no more to it than that."

"But when I think of you, with her..."

"'Twas a different matter altogether," he said
gently. "I never loved her, Deirdre, nor any woman. Only you."

Joy swept through her, more powerful than anything she
had experienced this magical night, a feeling so new, so completely unexpected,
that she was speechless with the wonder of it.