Highland Heat (11 page)

She smiled as affection—no,
love
—surged through her in response to his sweet words. “You think too highly of me.”

“Nay,” he murmured, and kissed her again.

She could kiss this man forever. His mouth, his taste, his heat. His calloused thumb rubbed small circles over her thigh, and she sighed with pleasure.

He released her thigh and wrapped his arm around her, pressing her against him as he rose, bringing her to a standing position along with him.

“Come. This will be easier on the bed.”

“Not the floor?” she asked, teasing.

He chuckled. “Next time,” he said, and his voice was so low and rough with desire that her breath caught in her throat.

He led her to the bed, his arm around her back, and at its edge he stood behind her and slipped her robe off, first one shoulder then the next. The robe slid to the floor and he left it there. He moved her braid to the side and kissed the back of her neck, wrapping his arm around her body and cupping her breast in his hand. She reached up, gripping his strong forearm to steady herself.

“I want to see you naked,” he murmured. “I want to see you without a stitch of clothing. I want to feast my eyes on every inch of your body, Grace.”

She closed her eyes as fear froze her. The fear and embarrassment were natural responses, she told herself, born of years of modesty and hiding her body from others. But Duncan wanted to see her. He found her beautiful. She pushed those frigid feelings aside and grabbed the edges of her nightgown. He drew back a bit as it fell to the floor. Then his hand slid over her back and down the curve of her waist and over her buttocks.

“You're so soft,” he murmured appreciatively.

She stood still, her eyes remaining closed.

“I want you so bad, Grace. Feel how much I want you.” He reached for her hand, then guided it back and pressed it to his erection.

Her breath caught. He was swollen and hard against her palm. Would it fit inside her? Was it possible?

“God that feels good,” he said. “Squeeze it, lass.”

She leaned back against him, pressing her hand between their bodies and squeezing tightly over his hard length.

He groaned softly, and she turned to face him. “Now you,” she said boldly. She looked down to the plaid wrapped around his waist. “Take it off.”

He grinned at her. “Assertive, aren't you? I like it.” He undid the brooch that held his plaid in place and it fell to the floor, leaving him completely naked.

And not naked like the Greek and Roman statues. Naked like a God, perhaps, with his penis erect and straining from his body, hard and strong. Now she knew why he was worried he'd hurt her.

She was rendered speechless. She looked up to his face and saw that he was watching her carefully, a worried wrinkle digging between his brows.

“You're…” she breathed. But she was unsure how to finish it. Fantastic? Perfect? Incredibly well endowed? She had a feeling that no matter what she said, it would be insufficient for all that she felt about him at this moment. She was simply overwhelmed.

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his firm chest.

Even through all these tangled emotions she felt safe with him. Utterly safe. And strong. Like nothing terrible could happen to her as long as they were close.

His erection pressed against her belly, and she sighed.

“I've never been so close to anyone,” she murmured.

“Neither have I.”

She pulled her head back and looked him in the eye. “Surely you have. You're not a virgin.”

“Nay,” he said seriously, “I'm not. But it's never been like this. Never so open. I've never stood naked before a woman and never had one stand naked before me. And…I've never felt this way before.”

“What way?”

“Close,” he said simply.

She didn't understand. If he'd engaged in carnal congress with women before, wouldn't they have been closer than this? “What do you mean?”

“Close. Not only in the body, ye ken? I feel connected to you, Grace. I've passed my heart into your keeping, to either break or nourish.”

She held him tighter. “It's not like this every time?”

“Nothing like this,” he said gruffly.

Those three words gave her a rush of pleasure. She pulled back, took the hand of his good arm in her own, and led him the few steps to the bed. She climbed up, aware of her nakedness, of his eyes on her.

She reclined against the pile of pillows and reached her arms out to him. “Come.”

Duncan was on the bed in half a second. He straddled Grace, his weight resting on his knees. Leaning down on his good arm, he kissed her, long and languid and slow, caressing her mouth with his lips and tongue, reveling in her fresh, clean taste. His cock lay heavy against her stomach, and she arched her back, rubbing her belly against him as if she enjoyed the sensation of his heat stroking over her cooler skin.

He'd never kissed anyone who was so soft. There were no imperfections in her skin anywhere—no calluses, scars, or spots of any kind. It was all pure, creamy pale skin, most of which had never seen the light of day. But he was seeing it now, and it was perfect.

He moved downward, trailing kisses over her jaw then her slim neck and across her collarbone. She was slender but not skinny, with rounded curves at her hips and breasts and bottom. He moved over one of those curves now, the top of her breast, balancing himself on his elbow as he cupped it in his palm, kneading as he pressed his lips into the soft mound. He traveled up until he reached her nipple. He brushed his thumb over it, finding it already peaked into a hard nub.

Above him, she gasped. Duncan knew that some women were more sensitive here than others. Question was, how sensitive was she? He couldn't wait to find out.

“Ye like that, lass?” The words rumbled across her skin as he spoke.

“Yes.” It was no more than a breath of sound.

He pressed his lips on the firm nub and flicked his tongue over it. “Do ye like that?”

“Yes.” This time it was a groan, and he smiled against her skin.

Very sensitive, then. Very sensitive, indeed. That was good, because he could spend hours feasting on these bonny breasts.

He took her nipple into his mouth and suckled. He kissed and sucked and played with her until she moaned and writhed beneath him. And when she said, “Oh, Duncan. Please…” He surged up, moved her legs apart and settled himself on his knees between them. He lowered himself again, this time with his mouth pressing to the pink flesh between her legs.

God. She was so wet, and she tasted like heaven. Maybe this woman was heaven personified. As the thought struck him, he realized this was not beyond the realm of possibility. Maybe he'd at last found heaven in a woman's arms.

He stroked the sensitive spot between her legs, and she cried out, her body jerking under his hand. He moved lower, pushing his thumb inside her and his mouth just above, suckling there as he had her breast.

The orgasm built quickly—or maybe it had already been near the peak when he'd moved his attention between her legs. But in a few moments, her legs went stiff on either side of him, and then her body convulsed, and she cried out.

God help him. He hoped the doors were thick. But the thought was just a flash, and he turned back into the sweetness of her, licking her through the orgasm as she whimpered and trembled and shuddered.

Finally, her muscles started to relax as she came down, and above him, she murmured, “Ahhhh”—a sound of utter contentment. Only because he had a hint of the devil inside him, he licked her again, firmly, and she gasped and jerked away from him.

He looked up, grinning. “Sensitive, eh?”

She nodded, her eyes shining.

“It's like that for a man too.”

“It almost hurts,” she said in a breathy voice, “but it's a…” She frowned, thinking, a furrow digging between her brows. “It's a pleasurable kind of pain.”

“Pain and pleasure can be very close companions,” he murmured, crawling back up her body, dropping kisses over her belly and breasts as he moved.

He held himself over her, staring into her eyes. “Are ye scairt, lass?”

She gazed at him, her clear blue eyes sparkling with heat. “No,” she breathed.

He kissed her, murmuring, “Sweet, brave Grace.”

She wiggled beneath him. “I want you.”

And, God, he wanted her. If he didn't have her soon, he'd surely burst into flames. He adjusted himself, but it was awkward given the limited use of his arm. Still gazing into her eyes, he said, “Take my cock in your hand, love. Put it where you want it to go.”

She nodded and without hesitation took him in hand and guided him into the notch between her legs.

Duncan's eyes almost rolled back in his head. Her center was scorching hot against the sensitive head.

He knew Grace felt his shudder, because her eyes flashed in the firelight and she tugged him closer, until his entire cockhead was buried in her warmth. A groan resonated from him before he could stop it. His arse quivered as he fought the primal urge to thrust with all his strength into her.

“Do it,” she whispered.

Shaking, he moved the scantest bit deeper. Grace's breath caught, and Duncan froze, feeling like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, his arms cartwheeling in the attempt to stop himself from falling.

“No, Duncan,” Grace said, moving her hand away from his cock to grip his biceps, “don't stop.”

God, he hoped she meant that. Because he couldn't stop. Not for a second longer. He let go, stopped fighting it, and sank his cock into her.

Pleasure exploded through his body. But at the same time, although her expression didn't change, Grace went tight around him, and the flush seemed to drain from her cheeks.

Calling a halt to his body's insistent instinct to move, Duncan blinked hard, trying to rein himself back in. “Grace, are ye all right, lass?”

She closed her eyes in a long blink, then nodded up at him.

Hell, all his muscles were quivering with restraint now, sweat beading at his temples.

“Didn't you hear me?”

He looked at her quizzically.

“I said,” she breathed, her eyes narrowing, “don't stop.”

“Oh
Christ
,” he said on a moan. And this time he did let go. He pulled out and pushed inside her again. She gasped, her fingers closing even tighter over the flesh of his good arm.

He didn't stop this time. He sank into the pleasure her body gave him. Drowned in it. It consumed him. Overcame his body in a rush of sensation—a rush of the kind he'd only ever dreamed about.

He'd always thought that to join with a woman was one of the world's greatest pleasures. But he'd never joined with a woman like this—never with a woman he had deep feelings for. That made every sensation a hundred times more intense, more meaningful. Until each time he pushed his cock to the hilt inside her, the pleasure seemed to wrap around his heart. Around his very soul.

It didn't take long until Grace was arching against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, making whimpering noises that clearly had more to do with pleasure than pain. Her channel, which had been sinfully tight around him, grew even tighter. A vise of sheer torturous ecstasy that was bringing him quickly to the brink.

He wasn't going to last. But he had to, damn it. Because, miraculously, Grace was nearing her own climax. Her sex was trembling, her body shuddering, her breaths coming in short gasps.

Duncan held on by sheer force of will, watching the woman beneath him climb to the peak. By the time she reached it, sweat poured down Duncan's temple. But when she came it was worth it. Her muscles went rigid, her mouth opened in an O of pleasure, she cried out his name, and finally she lost all control, her body seeming to soar beneath his as the orgasm swept through her.

He held his weight on his forearm, his hand tightening in the soft blond locks of her hair. And when her body started to relax once more, he somehow found the presence of mind to pull himself out of her body. He pressed his pelvis to her hip, rubbing himself there as he poured onto her pale, perfect skin, marking it with his seed.

Grace lay on her back, dazed. Moving seemed far too great a task. Her muscles—every single one of them—had turned to jelly. Frissons of pleasure still streaked through her in little bursts that made her shiver.

Duncan lay beside her, seemingly as dazed as she. But after a few moments he rose and slipped off the bed. A minute later, he returned and stroked a damp towel over her, first on her skin where he'd spent himself, then between her legs. She looked lazily down, seeing the cloth come up streaked with blood.

That got her to moving. “Oh no…” She struggled to rise, but he pressed her firmly back down.

“But…did I make a mess? I must—”

“Nay, 'tis nothing.”

“But—”

“Shhh.” He tossed the soiled cloth aside then lay back down beside her, gathering her to him with his good arm. He kissed her tenderly on the shell of her ear.

He was so warm. So strong. The feel of his skin against hers was an almost overwhelming sensation but one she was certain she'd never tire of. He made her feel so small, so feminine. And so beautiful. She'd never in her life thought of herself as any of those things, and yet here she was. It was enough to calm her, to soothe her worries about bloodstains and other irrelevant matters.

The only thing that was relevant right now was Duncan. How he'd made her feel. How she'd made him feel. How astonishingly perfect they were together.

She buried her head against the firm skin beneath his chin, and moments later, she'd drifted into a deep, sweet sleep.

Duncan squeezed his eyes shut as Grace's warm, deep exhalations washed over the skin of his chest.

The feeling spread through his chest and over him. Grace. Her intelligence and strength and bravery. Her sweet smiles, her bonny body, her blond hair that even now shone like burnished gold in the dwindling light of the fire. The way she looked at him with understanding and interest. The way she trusted him.

He'd give his life to protect this woman. He'd give anything to protect her. To be by her side. To fall asleep like this every night for the rest of his life.

He wanted her. More than that, he wanted to marry her. He wanted
all
of her.

But that couldn't happen. They both knew it couldn't.

Duncan was a man who always found the positive in a situation. He knew how to do it in this case—be grateful for the time they were given. Which was, by far, better than no time at all.

But when it came to Grace, he was greedy. He was thankful for what they'd been given, but he wanted more.

Truth was, from the first moment they'd met, he'd wanted more of Grace Carrington.

He sighed in frustration. Damn him. Leave it to him—Duncan Mackenzie, a son of a Scottish shepherd—to fall madly, irrationally in love with the daughter of an English nobleman.

The question was, how far would he go in order to have her?