So she marched straight into the kitchen and tore immediately into Jock MacGugan’s wife’s cloth-wrapped packet of fresh-baked scones. To her delight, she discovered they weren’t just scones.
They were
scones
.
Huge, oven-warm, and light as air, they came in two kinds: cheesy scones, the likes of which she’d seen only once before, and apple cinnamon. Both smelled scrumptious, and, smeared thick with creamy Irish butter and homemade bramble jam, they tasted even better.
Mindy ate them all.
She was just licking the crumbs from her fingers when the air behind her stirred and she felt a soft kiss on the bared skin of her nape. She jumped, shocking pleasure ripping through her as the light brush of a beard tickled her neck. Then two large, strong hands gripped her arms, pulling her back against a well-muscled chest.
Bran of Barra’s deep voice teased her ear. “Hungry, were you?”
Without seeing his face, Mindy knew he was smiling. She did feel his plaid rub against her. Its heavy wool was warm and rough, smelling faintly of woodsmoke.
Her senses ran riot.
He chuckled and slid an arm around her waist, holding her close as he nipped gently down her neck. “I’m pleased to see you enjoying yourself, Mindy-lass.”
His amusement dashed cold water on the hot tingles racing through her.
“You said you wouldn’t kiss me!” She jerked free, spinning around to face him.
It was a mistake.
Full-bodied, real-looking, and sexy as ever, he had heat in his eyes that almost singed her. She tugged at her sweater, backing away until she bumped into the minuscule refrigerator.
“Och, lassie, you wound me.” He stayed where he was and clapped a hand to his chest, managing to look both guilty and devastatingly appealing. “Would you believe me if I told you that I just cannae help myself?
“Besides”—he reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him again—“I meant true kisses. Little nips along your neck don’t count.”
“Oh, yes, they do!”
He laughed. “You won’t say that after I’ve really kissed you.”
Mindy looked up at him, sure she couldn’t breathe. “As we’ve decided there won’t be any such kisses, that’s a moot point, isn’t it?”
She jutted her chin, knew she’d never looked haughtier.
Bran of Barra tweaked her nose. “I like a maid with spirit, so dinnae think you’re dissuading me.”
“I’m not a maid! I—” Mindy clamped her mouth shut, realizing too late how that sounded.
Sure enough, the blaze in his eyes turned to a slow, dangerous smolder. “That I know, sweetness,” he purred, his rich burr watering her knees. “But you may as well be—as you’ve ne’er been loved by a true Barra man!”
“Never been—” The scald on Mindy’s cheeks kept her from finishing.
He grinned.
“So it is, Mindy-lass.” He curled his hand around her neck, let his fingers toy with her hair. “There’s no point in no’ stating what’s true.”
“Ahhh . . .” Her objection trailed into nothingness when he tightened his fingers around her wrist and looked at her with such intensity that she could feel all the manliness and power inside him.
His strength—and the desire she could almost see beating through him—rocked her to the core, making her light-headed and dizzy.
She moistened her lips, her heart galloping.
“The truth, sweetness, is that neither one of us wants this. Yet”—he put a hand beneath her chin, lifting her face so that she was forced to look at him—“here we are.”
Mindy felt her jaw set. The blaze inside her was making her desperate. “Here we are what? Aren’t you always here? This is your Barra, isn’t it?”
“Mine, aye, though . . .” He paused, something indefinable flaring in his eyes. “No chief worthy of the title would deny that our holdings never belong to just one man. Why do you think thon fisherman and his friends willnae allow anyone but Barrachs to rebuild my tower?
“They won’t because it’s theirs, too.” His words, the passion in his voice, made Mindy’s breath catch. “That’s the way it was in my day and”—he paused, his pride almost a presence in the room—“I’m right pleased to see that hasn’t changed! We chieftains ensure that all is well, looking after our own and seeing to the right o’ things. But the land, Mindy-lass, the land belongs to us all.
“And you’re right. I am always here. But”—he smoothed his thumb over her jaw and she trembled beneath the caress—“I’m here, with my friends, in my own place and time. It isn’t my wont to visit Barra of the moderns.”
“But you’re here now.”
“Aye, that I am.”
“You seem to be here every time I turn around.”
“That, too.” He sounded very serious. “I’ll no’ be denying it.”
“Why are you, then?” Mindy knew she sounded breathless. The intensity of his gaze and the way his thumb kept circling over her cheek made normal speech impossible.
The man needed a license to wield such behavior!
And she was going to self-combust if he didn’t stop looking so deeply into her eyes.
“Ach, lass.” He shook his head slowly. “Surely you know I’m here because of you.”
“Me?” Mindy blinked, her heart stalling. “Not because of the tower?”
“The tower does interest me.” He grinned. “I willnae lie. But I could watch the work better from my islet than inside this wee bit cottage.”
Mindy glanced aside. “It really isn’t a good idea for you to be here.”
“To be sure.”
“Some would say it’s mad.”
“No doubt.” He slid his arms around her.
She found herself gripping his plaid. “Really crazy,” she argued, although the tingles racing through her said otherwise. She wanted him—hoped he’d at least kiss her—and the desire she felt building inside her was so against everything she believed in and had expected.
She’d had it with men—especially
Scots
men—and she certainly didn’t need to be dallying with a kilt-wearing, sword-carrying Highlander who didn’t even bother to deny he was seven hundred years young.
A ghost!
Yet, there she was, trembling with anticipation, burning with a need she’d never felt for any man.
He was just looking at her, his arms holding her tight, and already she understood the cheesy phrase found so often in Scottish romance novels: that the hero’s lovemaking set the heather ablaze.
Or was it the hills?
Either way, she was on fire.
And Bran of Barra knew it.
Triumph flared in his eyes and he even looked about ready to whoop. When he tightened his arms around her and grinned, she could almost see the word
conquest
flashing in the air between them.
He lifted a hand to stroke her face in a rough, claiming gesture. “So you’re finally ready?”
Mindy swallowed.
Her mouth felt like sawdust.
“You needn’t tell me.” His voice deepened, his burr doing wicked things to her. “I can see it all o’er you. But I’ll keep my word that until you admit—”
“Admit what?”
“That you want this.” He took her chin in his hand and lowered his head to lightly flick her mouth with the tip of his tongue. “My kisses.”
“I don’t!” Mindy lied.
“I say you do,” he challenged her, looking down pointedly at how she’d splayed her hands across his plaid, even plunging the fingers of one hand inside his shirt.
She followed his gaze and flushed.
But she didn’t remove her hand.
She couldn’t. The warm strength of his powerfully muscled chest felt so good beneath her fingers, and the light scattering of crisp, ginger-colored hairs she’d discovered there positively intoxicated her. She kept running her fingers over them, unable to stop.
He had a warrior’s body.
Everything about him thrilled and excited her.
And—she could tell—he burned with wanting her.
She gulped. She was keenly aware of the thick, hard ridge of heat pressing against her hip. And it wasn’t the hilt of his sword. She’d glanced discreetly down to make sure. It was all him.
Pure Highland man, eager and ready.
“I . . . uh . . .” She bit her lip, knew she was lost.
Bran of Barra’s eyes gleamed in a way that should have sent her dashing out the door. Not that he’d have let her go. His arm was like an iron band around her, crushing her to him so tightly, she could hardly breathe.
She tried to focus. “This isn’t the place—”
“Nae.” He pulled back to look at her. “No’ for what you’re thinking. Only the grandeur of my own tower chamber would suit for that. But”—he tightened his arms around her again and she was sure their bodies would soon catch fire—“a mere kiss can be anywhere.”
She almost choked. “I doubt there’s anything even remotely
mere
about your kisses.”
“Aye, that’s true!” He laughed, his eyes twinkling with pleasure.
Mindy trembled, sure she was melting.
She
was
damp, God help her!
In fact, that part of her had never tingled with such abandon. The sensations were overwhelming, almost unbearable, but deliciously so. Could be, she’d been frigid until now, at this moment and with this man, and she hadn’t even known it. She did know that she was close to climaxing just from being in his brawny, Scottish arms.
As if he knew, he lowered his head again and began nibbling on her ear. Then, as quickly, he feathered kisses along her jaw and down her neck. His hands were doing wicked things to her back, totally turning her on.
Who knew a touch to the back could be so sexy?
“Just say aye, sweetness.” His tone made her feel hot and cold—the little kitchen was spinning away. . . . “One simple word and—”
“Yes!” Mindy clutched at him, clinging hard.
“Lass!” His hands swept upward, biting hard into her shoulders. He pressed his lips to her hair, rubbing his cheek against her. For one crazy- mad moment, she was sure he was trying to drink in the scent of her, branding her on him in a savage, primordial way that excited her so much, her knees nearly buckled.
She
was
shaking.
“Gods, but you’re sweet.” His voice was husky, the words soft against her temple. “Tell me you need my kisses, Mindy. I’d hear you say it. Now—”
“Yes, now!” She thrust her hands into his hair, tangling her fingers in the thick, cool strands. “Kiss me, Bran, kiss me, please—”
He gave a ragged groan, cutting her off as he slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her deeply. She twined her fingers more tightly in his hair, pulling him close and opening her mouth wide beneath his, welcoming his tongue when he plunged it between her lips to slide and twirl against her own.
He kissed and kissed her, ravishing her mouth in a way that could only be called that:
ravishing
. Or, perhaps, it was more like plundering. Whatever it was, nothing had ever felt more perfect and right.
She couldn’t get enough of him, ached to have his entire hard, solid body naked against her, skin to skin, and without a sliver of air between them. Need surged within her and she returned his kisses with a passion wilder than she’d have ever believed possible.
The feel, scent, and taste of him electrified her—his savage, all-slaking kisses were almost a torture to bear, so exquisite was every touch, each dizzying, breath-sharing tangle of tongues. Every rasp of his beard was an erotic ecstasy that sent her spiraling, tumbling into an exultant whirl of hot, shivering need.
She was unraveling, coming undone. He slid his hands over her breasts, cupping and plumping them, then spreading his fingers over her, squeezing her fullness, before he began rubbing her nipples with his thumbs.
“Bran . . .” She swayed against him, felt the world’s most thunderous orgasm cresting when he nudged her legs apart and slid his rock-hard thigh between. He thrust his hips against her, encouraging her to—
She didn’t need coaxing.
“I can’t stand it. . . . Ooh!” She pressed into him, grinding herself on his leg, not caring about anything but the sizzling heat flaming between them.
The world exploded, the kitchen’s stone floor tilting crazily. From somewhere, the phrase
wild monkey sex
shot through her mind—but he hadn’t even touched her there!—and then everything shuddered and went black. . . .
“Ahhh . . .” She gripped him tight, holding on for dear life.
His tongue plunged into her mouth, swirled hotly over hers, then withdrew, only to thrust even deeper on its return. The intimacy of his kiss made her gasp and writhe, the feel of his thigh rubbing into her softest, most tingly place drawing out the best climax—
“Odin’s balls!” He leapt backward, bending almost double as he clutched his side. “Agggh . . .”
Mindy sagged against the counter, panting. She nearly slid to the floor—she’d gone that limp and weakkneed—but the fiery blue sparks shooting from the pommel stone of his sword stopped her.
Passion sluiced, she stared, aghast.
She’d seen his sword glow before, but always from a distance. She’d even talked herself into thinking she’d imagined it. Now, up close and personal, the blaze was daunting. Like Fourth of July sparklers, the glittery blue flashes fizzed and crackled and—Mindy’s eyes rounded—they almost smelled like burnt sulfur!
The smell hung in the air, as did a tinge of smoky blue haze.
“Oh, God!” She pointed before she could stop herself. “What
is
that?”
Bran groaned. He bent lower, bracing one hand on his thigh and grabbing his sword hilt with the other. Breathing hard, he closed his fingers over the spark-shooting pommel.
“It’s the devil- damned reason I shouldn’t be here!” He glanced up at her, his face a mask of agony.
