Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Notorious in the West\Yield to the Highlander\Return of the Viking Warrior (32 page)

Chapter Eleven

I
n that moment, when he'd turned and begun to leave, Cat knew she must stop him. Whether curiosity or some need to have something she'd never had before, she only knew that she would regret it for every day in her life if she did not. Was this just sinful desire for him? She knew not, she just felt.

And for only the second time that she could remember in her pitiful life, she wanted to reach for something. She wanted to fight for what she wanted.

Her body became a thing unknown to her as soon as he arrived. Her lips burned. Her body ached and grew moist with his every glance. Every word spoken in that deep voice he had caused the growing heat to spill into her veins. Even her breasts swelled and her nipples tightened with each passing moment of trying to resist his call.

She wanted him.

The thought shocked her, but it was the truth.

The feeling of it shocked her.

Cat tried to ignore the ever-present desire she read in his eyes all through their supper and tried to vanquish its effect on her with more of his fine, rich wine, but every second with him stoked a response deep within her.

She wanted him, God and Gowan forgive her.

She'd been honest when she offered her trust. Oh, she had no doubt about how this night would end, but he'd shown her more consideration and more honour than any man had, for he'd not done what he wanted when he wanted whether she said aye or nay. And now that she'd said the words, she waited and watched as he delayed what she now accepted was inevitable, for he had seduced her and she had fallen.

After a scant few breathless moments, he reached for her and dragged her up to him. His mouth was hot against her. This was no mere kiss—he meant to possess her, to bend her to his desires and to take her completely. This kiss foretold it all.

Cat let go and fell into him. She felt his arms wrap around her, holding her up, holding her to him.

He moved around her like a storm then, his mouth on hers, tasting her, his hips grinding against her so she could feel him. Parts of her long dead came alive then, every place on her skin tingling as she let him lead the way to damnation.

He lifted his mouth and traced a path of kisses and touches of his hot tongue along her chin and down on to her neck. Her head fell back, allowing him closer, and he took it with a masculine chuckle that she heard and felt. Cat closed her eyes and waited for the next touch, the next caress, the next.

Then he was gone. But not really, as he moved around behind her. His hands covered her breasts, holding her up against his hard body. She let her head rest back on his chest and he nudged it to one side and found her neck, suckling on it and kissing it as she could only gasp and surrender to his every touch.

When would he join with her? When would he enter her body? Would it hurt as it always did? This pleasure coursing through her, something unknown before, seemed a fair exchange for the pain she knew would come when he took her.

She arched against him then, as his hands slipped inside her gown and shift to her skin and she felt his strong fingers and hands cupping her flesh. When he began to rub the sensitive tips and the underside of her breasts, she might have moaned. When he laughed, she knew she had.

‘Ah, Cat,' he whispered in her ear. ‘I so like to hear you being pleasured.' He licked and then bit the edge of her ear, causing her body to arch again. ‘Let me hear your pleasure,' he urged.

He moved again, one arm across her breast, holding the other, teasing it, rolling the tip between his fingers, making her wetter with each touch. She felt his other hand sliding over her stomach, over her hip, getting closer to the place between her legs. She wanted to open to him, let him touch there, make him touch there. She lost her breath as he rubbed her through her clothing, panting and waiting, always waiting.

He gathered up the length of her gown and shift and took hold of her leg in his hand. The shock of such a caress forced another gasp, but now, the cool air of the room against her naked skin did not make her cold. His hand caressed up and up, sliding between her thighs until he reached the curls there.

Her legs fell open then and, if he'd not still held her up with his arm around her and his hand there, she would have crumpled to the floor. She reached up and grabbed at his shoulders, trying to keep from falling.

‘I have you now, Cat,' he whispered again in a heated breath against the skin of her neck. ‘Let me have my way as I've dreamt of doing. Let me pleasure you, lass.'

Catriona could not have said any word at that point, let alone nay. She craved the next movement of his hands, she wanted them...there. She wanted to feel him there.

When his fingers slipped into the moisture beneath the curls, she screamed. It was too much. Too much. But each touch, each caress, made her want more. By the time he stroked her deep and slid his finger forward, she wanted him to go back. The flesh there swelled as he urged her towards something with hushed, heated words.

He never took his hand from between her thighs, but he moved and she found herself on the floor with him at her side. The candles made the room too bright for such a thing as this for he could now see her, see her flesh exposed, see her breasts and now her legs and that place. So she closed her eyes, afraid of his appraisal after having had so many women before her in this very position.

‘Open your eyes, Cat. Look at me.' His voice, always so deep and appealing, now grew deeper and huskier as he ordered her. When she did not, he took her mouth again, plundering it with his tongue until she lost her breath and her mind. ‘Look at me while I show you what pleasure can be between us.'

Could she watch this? Could she look upon him as he touched her so intimately? Opening her eyes, she met his gaze. Intense, heated, his amber eyes seemed to glow with arousal as he moved down to kneel between her legs. If she'd forgotten that his fingers remained between the aching folds of flesh there, his caress reminded her. Now, when her body arched, they could both see it. Embarrassed only until she watched how his eyes darkened and his nostrils flared in arousal, she let her legs fall open to him and waited.

His black hair reflected the glow of the candles in the room as he leaned down closer and closer to her legs. What was he doing? As his mouth kissed the skin of her thighs, his gaze never wavered from hers. He would not. He could not. He...

Did.

Her vision dimmed as his mouth claimed the place where his fingers had caressed. Strong and hard, he slipped his tongue along the flesh there until she could not see or breathe or think. Her fingers scratched along the wooden planks of the floor, seeking some hold that would keep her from screaming out.

As her blood raced through her pounding heart, her body arched and arched, forcing her hips from the floor and pressing them against him, begging for more, for deeper, for more. He never slowed or quickened his pace, his tongue teasing and exciting and tormenting her flesh in even, long strokes until she screamed. But it was not enough. Something waited ahead of her, of them. Her muscles tightened, waiting, just waiting.

When he found some spot there and latched on to it with his lips and even his teeth, she lost everything that she was and shattered beneath his touch. Pinpricks of light flashed through her eyes, her body undid itself, pouring out some release. Aidan's voice pierced the silence, urging her on in a fierce whisper she could not resist. The vibration of his voice against that sensitive, swollen flesh gave her more pleasure as she did as he ordered and screamed out her pleasure to him.

Barely able to open her eyes, she lifted her head and looked at him. The smile on his wicked mouth spoke of his absolutely male satisfaction at proving a point, but when it turned into something else, something more intense, she shuddered against the promise. He turned the promise into something real when he leaned forward and kissed her again. Open-mouthed, she kissed him back then, mimicking his tongue's actions with her own, sliding hers deep in his mouth, tasting all that he was.

Cat reached up and wrapped her arms around him, sliding her fingers through his hair and allowing herself to touch him as she'd wanted to for too long. Aidan pulled back for a moment and unbuckled his belt and untied the laces on his trews. He lifted his manhood out and skimmed his hand over the engorged flesh.

He would join with her now. He would take his pleasure now after giving her so much. Cat laid back down, took a deep breath and waited for the inevitable pain that would follow now.

‘Are you well?' he asked her. She'd gone from alive with passion and in the throes of her release, one he gave her, to...to...this almost dead thing that laid beneath him unmoving, hardly breathing. The lovely flush of arousal was being replaced with a gaunt shade of what passed for fear. ‘What is wrong?'

Though his cock would argue, he would not simply take his pleasure on her without regard for that fear. She'd closed her eyes tightly and would not look at him. Aidan reached out and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. ‘Catriona, I pray you, tell me what is wrong?'

Cat opened her eyes then and shrugged. ‘I am just readying myself,' she whispered in a tone that was so wrong, as though she expected the worst from what they would do now.

Rage filled him and he wanted to find and tear apart whichever man had caused her to act like this. She mistook what his expression must look like and began to shake her head.

‘Take your pleasure. I am ready,' she pleaded, grabbing for him as he moved off her and tied his laces. Her eyes appeared huge in her ashen face and he could see the tears gathering.

Aidan MacLerie had never once forced himself on a woman not willing and this would not be the first time. Whether she spoke the words or not, Cat did not consent to this joining. He leaned back on his heels, took her hands and helped her to stand.

‘Do you not want to...?' she asked, in a quivering voice.

‘Aye, I do.' He showed her the proof of his raging desire by taking one of her hands and placing it over clothed but still erect flesh. She gasped, but did not pull her hands away from him. ‘But that can wait until you are ready.'

Or until I can make you ready,
he thought.

And he would. Aidan wanted the woman writhing in an explosion of passion, not barely able to suffer his touch as she was now, shaking and filled with fear or some strong hesitation that spoke of past mistreatment.

He helped her retie her laces, closing her shift and gown and shielding the voluptuous breasts he'd discovered hiding there. His cock throbbed again, reminding him of their thwarted satisfaction. With the musky smell of her own arousal and release still on his fingers, he helped her to one of the chairs and sought the cup and wineskin.

‘Here,' he said, placing the cup in her trembling hands. ‘Drink this down.' He'd not noticed any whisky among her cooking supplies. He would bring some or send some to her on the morrow. Sometimes wine was not a strong enough spirit. Sometimes only the brewed and aged
uisge-beatha
would handle life's woes.

She sipped from the cup until he gently guided it up so that she drank it faster. Then, he went into the bedchamber and brought a blanket out and wrapped her in it. After stoking the fire in the hearth, he sat and watched her, waiting for the shaking to stop. Once he realised it was taking too long for her to calm down, he lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedchamber.

Aidan half-expected her to struggle, but she only watched in silence as he stood her on her feet, tugged down the bedcovers and lifted her into the centre of the large bed. The look of acceptance baffled him until he comprehended that she thought he just wanted to tup in the bed and not on the floor. He had been the fool—he'd paid for a bed large and comfortable enough to suit him and instead, he'd almost taken her on the floor in the other chamber.

Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he tucked her into the bed...alone. Her hand on his stopped him from leaving.

‘Aidan,' she said. ‘I would ask...'

This was, he decided on hearing it, one way he didn't wish to hear his name said. He pressed his finger to her mouth, stopping her from any kind of pleading.

‘Sleep now. We can talk on the morrow.'

‘But you...' She tried to explain something, but he did not like the way it sounded either.

‘Take your rest. We will sort this out between us,' he promised.

And they would. He'd felt too much passion within her to not want it all. He knew there could be even more. And he wanted to be the man, mayhap the first man, to taste it all. She laid back against the pillows then, her pale complexion nearly the same shade as the linens that covered the bed.

‘I will bank the fire and put out the candles, worry not,' he said, leaning over to kiss her.

He wanted to taste her mouth, but settled for a soft touch of his lips to her forehead. He blew out the candle on the table by the bed and took some time to light a fire in this hearth, though with the thick layer of blankets on top of her, he doubted she would take a chill. Aidan knew her gaze followed him as he worked on the fire and then left, pulling the door closed a bit.

Trying to do the gallant thing and leave her be was the most difficult thing he'd done in a very long time, but it felt right. He laughed to himself then—he'd done more ‘right' things since meeting Catriona MacKenzie than he had before. She could be very good for him.

She would be very good for him.

They would be good together.

He walked around the common room and put out the candles, banking the fire and preparing to leave. Instead, he sat in the chair she seemed to favour and waited for her to fall asleep. In the silent darkness, her breathing echoed to him. Some time passed and he thought on her reaction to him.

What could have been done to her that she reacted so? Lying like a dead thing, eyes scrunched closed tightly, her body lifeless beneath him? He suspected he knew the truth of it, but it turned his stomach to think of a woman, any woman, being misused like that.