Highland Song (27 page)

Swearing silently, Slade stripped, washed himself, pulled on the clean clothes he brought with him, and yanked his pants back on. Only then did he begin on his chest. He was reaching for his clean shirt when Lainie's voice came from the darkness.

"Slade?"

"I'm dressed," he said tightly. The strain of his heated emotions overwhelmed him. His self-control vanished.

Slade could not fathom the depth of his reaction to Lainie. He had never felt this way before. He had always been careful not to align himself with women who walked a dangerous line--women who sold themselves to make a living. He preferred to go without rather than to dally with soiled doves. Yet he wanted Lainie like hell burning, no matter how many other men she might have had.

"Thank you," she said.

"What for?"

"Not dishonoring me."

"Your choice of words is unique for a…"

He watched her stiffen and saw the smile vanish from her face.

Slade choked in the back of his throat and didn't finish the sentence. He didn't like thinking of Lainie as Bertram's mistress. With an irritated sound, he turned his attention back to straightening out his shirt so he could put it on. Then he had a better idea. He wanted her to touch him again.

"Help me, would you?" Slade asked, holding out his shirt. "I'm still damp from my bath and the shirt keeps sticking to my skin."

Lainie cocked her head sideways and looked cautious.

"Why?" she asked, with a curious note to her voice. "Ye will be dry soon. Then ye can slip it on."

"Never mind. It wasn't part of our agreement, was it? Dressing me--" Yet he held out hope. He wanted to think she had begun to like touching him.

She shrugged her shoulders and took the shirt from Slade, shaking it out. He watched with eyes that burned for her. To Slade it was obvious just how familiar she was with men's clothing.

"Where did you learn that?" Slade asked.

"I have two brothers," Lainie reminded him. "And people in our keep that I was responsible for. There were times," she began on a wistful note.

"Then you won't mind helping me?"

She smiled slightly as if she was unsure where this was going. He thought she looked as cautious and weary as a deer ready for flight.

"Of course not, hold out your arms."

He did as was told and she slipped the shirt on, pulling the sticking fabric over damp skin. The backs of her
hands,
grazed his body and he inhaled a swift deep breath.

"Fasten it for me?" he asked blandly, unable to ignore the feel of the backs of her hands against his flesh. It seemed he burned everywhere she touched him. And he wondered why he wanted to torture himself.

Lainie's eyes widened. "You cannot fasten your own shirt?"

"I wouldn't want you to do anything you didn't want to do. It wasn't part of…"

"Our agreement," she muttered, reaching for the first tie. "I suppose you'll want me to undress you next."

"Are you volunteering?" he asked hopefully, watching the expression on her face flit, change and dance as quickly as the moonstruck shadows. And realizing the thought of her undressing him hardened every part of him. "I'm sure I would be pleased to accommodate your wishes."

"Nay," she said quickly. "Undressing you is definitely not part of..."

"Our agreement." He flashed a smile, watching her brows furrow together in concentration.

She gasped slightly, her fingers shaking while she tried to make sense of the ties. His grin widened.

The smell of roses hung in the night air, permeating Slade with her fragrance more deeply than even the scented soap had. Why did she touch a part of him he'd thought long dead? Why did he want to believe her lies?

It's just as
well,
I've already decided not to take her back to Bertram. If I did, I'd have to kill him for whatever wrongs he did to her,
Slade thought grimly.

If he did do anything wrong.

"You're done," Lainie said.

"I don't think so. You haven't tucked the shirt in yet." He was a fool to continue this.

"What! The wee clootie has taken hold of your brain, Aaron Slade." I dinna intend to tuck your shirt into your britches."

"Clootie?"

"Little devil," she told him.

"Lainie dear, it's not like I'm asking you to undress me. I could you know."

Lainie cocked her head again as if she were trying to read his schooled features. "But tucking your shirt in--it's too--intimate."

Slade grinned.

"I could do what pleases me the most. I could touch you. And that is part of our agreement--anytime, anywhere. As it stands now, I'm leaving you in complete control."

"Slade."

For a moment, Lainie looked as if she were going to bolt. Instead, he watched her inhale a sharp breath of air then she reached for Slade. The top fastening was still undone so it didn't take her long to begin the task. If Slade weren't so fascinated by her, he would have laughed.

As if he burned her, she started tucking in his shirt at the back and working forward.

Seconds later, Slade's breath rushed in as he felt the pressure of Lainie's fingers slide across his aroused flesh.

She made a little gasp of her own and tried to jerk her hands out of his pants. "Slade, I can't."

Slade caught her wrists and held her fingers where they were, where he had wanted them to be for so long he almost lost control at her mere touch. "You can," he gritted out between clenched teeth. "Finish what you started."

"Slade, no. I can't do this." Lainie tried to remove her hands.

"Easy little fox. There's nothing down there that's going to hurt you. And you've unfastened enough pants to know it as well as I
do
." He breathed in deeply, wishing for so much more than she seemed willing to give him. The mere thought that she'd given this to Bertram and refused him sent a wave of frustration shooting inside.

She shook her head and moistened her lips as if she wanted to speak but only a low little moan came from her lips. Then, "I haven't. I haven't, Slade. I haven't done this before."

Slade didn't want to argue with her. He only wanted her to keep touching him.

"I'm tempted to see where this will go, but Jericho could be around the corner. I'll settle for another one of your kisses…"Slade said.

"Nay…"

Lainie tried to remove her shaking hand. Her futile efforts only served to rub her fingers over his aroused flesh once more. He watched her close her eyes then open them again. She moistened her lips.

Slade moaned low in his throat, pleasure pure and sweet burning like a wildfire shot through his body. He looked hungrily at the soft lips only inches from his mouth. He wanted to possess her, to touch her everywhere. Even while sexual thoughts drove him he wondered at the seeming innocence that stood before him.

"Don't move--" he began roughly.

"Let go of me."

"--or else I'll pull off my britches," Slade continued in a rough voice, his fingers circling her wrist, "and see that we finish what we started here right now, and to hell with anyone who might be following us."

"I'm not part of this. You started this. I don't want…"

"Don't move--" he warned harshly.

Lainie froze.

Slade's breath hissed out in a rush. With infinite slowness, he began to ease her hands from his britches,
then
stopped. They were stuck right where he wanted them. Balled into tight little fists her hands weren't going anywhere.

"Lainie, open your hands. Now!"

"What do you want from me?" she wailed.

"Do it," he told her, wishing this didn't have to end. "Slowly, little fox. Very slowly, open those tiny little fingers." And he silently cursed himself for a fool. He had brought this on himself. He'd had too much fun teasing her and watching her passion filled eyes hunger for him.

Lainie opened her hands. As she did, she touched all of him, every inch of aroused male flesh. Her breath rushed in and her eyes widened.

A groan emanated from Slade. He felt as if he was being strung tight and she looked as if she was ready to bolt. He eased her hands from his britches, but instead of letting her go as common sense would have dictated, he pulled her wrists up and over his shoulders. He reveled at the feel of her body next to his. He felt her breast harden against his damp chest.