Hope Everlastin' Book 4 (9 page)

Lachlan stiltedly nodded.
He stared at the enticing poutiness of her lips and wondered how it
would feel to have them embrace him. The thought nearly made him
spill his seed. He held back with all his willpower, trembling with
the strain, his heart hammering wildly behind his chest.

Beth caressed his nose with
hers then sank to her knees, her hands trailing down his chest
during her descent. He rolled his eyes heavenward but closed them
when she helped him to step out of the remains of his clothing. A
second more passed. Hoarse breaths pumped in and out of his lungs
then became trapped in his throat when something warm and soft
encompassed the end of his cock. He spasmed almost painfully when
her tongue stroked him, the texture both maddening and
intoxicating. Every flick of her tongue or slide of her mouth made
him jerk in sheer pleasure.

It wasn't quite as
gratifying as being inside her but it was a damn good bit of
foreplay in his opinion.

His testicles became
rock-hard. He realized he couldn't hold on much longer, and he was
put off at the idea of his seed spilling into her mouth.

With a guttural, "Beth!" he
gripped her arms and pulled her onto her feet. She looked at him,
dazed, as if believing he wasn't pleased with her
actions.

"Ye're so grand!" he
gasped, wound his arms around her and kissed her
passionately.

He was reaching a point of
mindlessness, need outweighing his determination to hold on until
they could attain gratification together. Ending the kiss, he
hugged her, burying his face into one side of her wet, curly
hair.

"Fegs, lass," he groaned,
"if we dinna slow down—"

"Now," she said, her tone
strained, tight.

Lachlan looked into her
eyes, unsure of her meaning.

"Don't worry about
me."

"Lass?" he probed with
uncertainty.

She reached down and curled
her fingers around him.

"Fegs," he
breathed.

He positioned her against
the sink, lifted her left leg and supported it with a hand. She
strained on the tiptoes of her right foot to give him better
leverage. The instant he slid inside her, fierce shudders swelled
through him. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she kissed him.
Sounds of pleasure rattled in her throat as he made precise
thrusts, still determined to pleasure her before he went over the
edge.

Beth began to take control,
moving to sheath as much of him as possible. Lachlan was titillated
by her boldness, further aroused by the fact she was no longer that
shy young woman who'd had so little confidence in herself when
she'd first arrived at the house. His thrusts grew gradually more
forceful each time she groaned in a way that told him this was what
she wanted. He kept himself focused on her needs, her pleasure and,
somehow, managed to overcome his body's urgency to release
itself.

Beth broke the kiss.
Panting hard, she tilted back her head, giving him access to the
graceful lines of her throat. He ran his lips and the tip of his
tongue along her jawline and down her neck. She quivered in his
hold. Her fingers kneaded his nape, sometimes roughly, urging him
on. On. On.

"Oh God, Lachlan!" she
gasped, and squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh God. You feel
so...
good."

"Look at me."

She did so
immediately.

They stared into each
other's eyes as sensations built layer upon layer within their
heated bodies. Her eyes widened amidst an expression of sheer
wonder, while his were black with passion, his features taut, jaw
clenched. A sound of startlement escaped her. Lachlan growled deep
in his chest as his own orgasm coursed through him. They clung to
each other, riding the storm of sensations, shuddering, quaking,
gasping in the throes of their love-making's offerings.

For long seconds afterward,
they remained embraced. Sweat mingled with the residual mud
clinging to their skin.

Releasing a long breath,
Lachlan planted a brief kiss on her lips and peered adoringly into
her eyes. "You have spent me, lass. I've no' the strength to move,
let alone climb into the tub."

"No?" She grinned as she
traced a finger along his lower lip. "If you're planning to sleep
beside me tonight, then I suggest you get into that tub with
me."

He playfully arched his
eyebrows. "You do, eh?"

She nodded, her eyes bright
with laughter.

"Efter you," he said,
stepping back and giving her a partial bow at the waist.

Beth lowered herself into
the water. It was still surprisingly hot, but not enough to be
uncomfortable. Deliah had added bubble bath. The remains of the
iridescent bubbles swirled around her as she settled frontward,
making room for Lachlan to sit behind her, his bent legs to each
side of her. When he rested his arms and the back of his head along
the porcelain rim, she nestled into him, her head using his chest
for a pillow.

They were contentedly
silent for a time then Lachlan said, "Tis a sin to feel this bloody
good."

Beth smiled and absently
caressed the back of his thighs. "I'll wash your hair if you wash
mine."

"Right now?"

It was almost a groan, and
she chuckled. "The sooner done, the sooner we can go to
bed."

The muscles in his thighs
tightened. "Bed. Oh, aye. No' to sleep, I hope."

"I thought you were
exhausted."

"I'm resilient," he
chuckled. He turned her face to him and bent his head to kiss her
mouth. "Especially when it comes to lovin’ ma womon." He
straightened back. "Beth, we need to marry soon. For our sakes and
the babes."

"Need to?" she asked
stiffly.

"Aye."

She turned enough to look
him in the eye. "We don't have to do anything. Lachlan, lovers
don't always marry, these days."

He scowled. "No? Weel, I'm
an
auld-farrant
mon
wi' an
auld-farrant
attitude."

"A what
attitude?"

"Auld—" He frowned
thoughtfully then carefully pronounced, "Old-fashioned."

"Ah."

"Had I ma druthers, we
would have married afore I first made love to you."

Beth locked her teeth then
dipped her hair into the water. She briskly scrubbed her scalp with
her fingertips and combed the strands with her fingers. Lachlan
watched her in silence, the scowl again intact, his thoughts grim.
She took an inordinately long time to rinse the muck out of her
hair, but he knew she was doing this to make him think over what
he'd said.

She could take a week, but
he wouldn't change his mind. The more he learned about this decade,
the less he liked. What kind of society didn't encourage marriage?
Or was this merely her opinion of nuptials?

She finally sat up and
flipped her hair behind her, spraying him in the
process.

"Beth, are you no' willin’
to marry me? Is tha' it?"

Without looking at him she
said, "I don't recall you asking me."

He thought about this and
his scowl darkened. "Beth, will you marry me?"

"Yes," she said simply,
scooping water into her hands and splashing it against her
face.

"Aye?" he asked
hesitantly.

She turned and shot him an
amused look. "Aye."

His face broke out in a
broad grin. "You like to make me squirm, dinna you?"

She grinned,
nodding.

With a laugh, he wound his
arms about her and brought her against his chest. "You wee wanton
tease."

"Wee, am I? I'm certainly
big enough to keep you in line!"

"Aye," he said contentedly.
"Ye're mair womon than the likes o' me deserve—but I'll no' decline
yer offer to make an honest mon o' me."

"My
offer?" she chortled.

He nodded, grinning from
ear to ear, his eyes lit with mischief.

"You're
incorrigible."

"Insatiable, too. Comes
from you bein’ so devastatingly sexy, love. Makes a mon think o'
naught but havin’ you twenty-four hours a day."

"I would be bowlegged in no
time."

He laughed. "All the easier
to slip atween yer soft thighs," he said in a mock wolfish tone. To
his delight, her face turned crimson and she looked away. "Is ma
soon-ta-be-bride blushin’? Efter me havin’ you at the sink just
moments ago?"

She cleared her throat. "I
remember me having
you
at the sink."

"Do you now?" He coiled his
arms snugly around her. "Weel, the truth is, I dinna care who had
who, as long as we have each other thegither."

"Have each other
thegither," she murmured and looked at him. "Does that make sense?
Each other thegither, I mean."

He shrugged his broad
shoulders. "Does to me."

"Hmmm. Oops. I hear little
voices coming from the nursery."

Lachlan cocked an ear.
"Ye're right. But I dinna think little voices could be heard from
there."

She stood and stepped out
of the tub. Lachlan watched her rinse her breasts at the sink, then
pad out of the bathroom.

With a grin, he sank
beneath the bubbleless murky water.

* * *

In one part of the cellar,
Wade Cuttstone—a.k.a. the Phantom—glared at the flame flickering on
the two-inch stub of a candle on the table in front of him. He was
cold and hungry, both of which magnified his hatred of his dank
solitude. His life had somehow become overly complicated. At every
corner, his mission met with bizarre twists and turns. He couldn't
count the times he'd nearly gotten his hands on Laura
Bennett.

Tonight, he'd been about to
leave the closet in the nursery when all hell had broken loose.
He'd gotten outside via several of the passages to the first floor,
and had nearly been seen by reporters.

What had brought them to
Baird House?

Why were they shouting
accusations of "fraud"?

It all had something to do
with a ghost, but he hadn't encountered one. With his superior
mental abilities, he would know if a ghost existed within this
house. Within the town, for that matter, although he hadn't picked
up on that winged woman.

Now she was a surprise. He
still hadn't fully grasped her purpose. Was she a queen
begetter?

Was she the one leading the
human women astray, creating the future generations who would
destroy the planet with their chemicals and
overpopulation?

His ice blue eyes narrowed
as he gripped the handle of a jeweled dirk and jabbed the sharp
point into his right palm. He didn't wince at the pain, nor pay
attention to the rivulets of blood oozing from the wounds. His gaze
remained locked on the squirming flame, as if staring at it hard
enough would afford him the answers he sought.

Perhaps the Guardian was
testing him.

Why else would he have been
seen by that runny-nosed brat in the backyard then confronted by
none other than the esteemed detective, Winston Connery,
himself?

The boy and the man should
have died that night, but the winged wonder had intervened. He
would have to repay her for that bit of folly. Her wings would make
an interesting conversation piece on his wall in the parlor of his
small flat. Of course, no one would ever see them. He had no
family, and had never bothered to acquire friends. In his line of
work, no one could be trusted.

And then there was this
third woman, called Beth. A begetter of twins. She'd tapped into
him tonight. No warning. She was suddenly there, draining his
energy, and it had taken all of his willpower to telesend his
outrage to her in warning for her to cease her invasion.

And that man, Lachlan. He
was another threat, although not as serious a one as the woman.
This man didn't possess the attention span to traipse through the
psychic channels for very long at a time.

A thought occurred to
Cuttstone and he stopped mutilating his palm. Grinning, he laid the
dirk on the table and leaned closer to the flame.

Perhaps the woman and man
were allies, sent by the Guardian to aide him in his unending
quest. Since their arrival, static clogged most of the psychic
airways. Connery had been cut off from mentally locating him, cut
off from picking up trace impressions of his presence.

Allies.

How far would they be
willing to go to help him to rid the world of Laura Bennett and her
future offspring, and the winged queen of the
infestents?

If only the Guardian would
stop sending him cryptic messages.

A cold draft swept through
his hideaway, extinguishing the flame and plunging him into pitch
darkness. He remained motionless, not even blinking, mentally
scrambling to remember if he had thought or said anything that
could have offended the Guardian.

C
hapter 4