Julia London 4 Book Bundle (115 page)

The thought jarred her, and all at once, Kerry was on her feet, in the midst of the other dancers. Holding her skirts tight, she kicked her feet in time to the music, her heels lifting higher than anyone else. Snatches of Arthur’s face rushed by her as she leapt and twirled, leapt and twirled, laughing almost hysterically when Big Angus caught her arm and linked it through his, spinning her faster. Red Donner quickened the tempo, pushing the dancers into a frenzy of movement; someone collided with her and she stumbled backward, but Thomas caught her and heaved her into the crowd again.

She danced on, ignoring the perspiration beading on her back, too intent on using the time-worn tune to purge her of this insane longing, or at least tamp it down to the black hole in which it belonged. But as hard as she danced, it did nothing to ease her anguish—if anything, it only seemed to increase it. Myriad thoughts tumbled through her head; her mind and heart warred with blatant physical desire, the impropriety of her thoughts, and the overwhelmingly prurient longing to have a night of lovemaking that she would never have again. The very idea drained her of reason; she was caught in a web of physical desire, entrapped by unfathomable passion that rose up like a beast within her, stirring the rabid hunger for his touch, for the solace only he could give her.

When Red Donner ended the jig, Kerry collapsed on the grass, catching her breath as others around her laughed. She could not stop herself from seeking Arthur’s gaze; he was still leaning against the keg, still watching her. His gaze was more intent, harder than she had ever seen it—she could feel it piercing her consciousness, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Her stomach leapt; she faltered then, breaking the gaze between them and looking around at the others. But it was no use—she could feel his gaze boring through her still.

————

When the last of the whiskey was drunk, the little group began to stagger off toward their cottages in twos and threes, their laughter drifting up in the silence of the cold night. Arthur noted that Thomas had left early on having imbibed more than his fair share of the whiskey, stumbling up the rutted path to his loft above the barn. Big Angus hoisted the community pot onto his shoulder and he and May made their way to the cottage they shared below the white house, talking softly with one another.

Arthur remained, watching the last of the McKinnon clan without really seeing them—his mind’s eye was still full of the vision of Kerry dancing. She had sprung into their midst like a wood nymph, graceful and light on her feet but demonic in her intensity. It was a provocative image, one he could not scrape from the back of his eyes. One that inflamed him.

When there was no one left but Arthur and Kerry, he watched her again as she moved to douse the little fire, remembering her skirts held high, the turn of her ankle as she leapt into the air. She glanced up at him and smiled shyly as she fingered the tail of her long thick braid. “I’d wager you’ve naught seen a harvest celebration such as this.”

He had never seen a harvest celebration. “Can’t say that I have. Found it right entertaining.”

Kerry’s smile faded a bit; she clasped her hands behind her back. “You might miss our customs in London.”

That was an understatement—she had no idea how much he’d miss everything about this little place—the work, the scenery, the camaraderie … 
you, Kerry, I will miss you.

“We’ve a fresh batch of biscuits. I’ll see to it that you’ve enough for a few days.”

“That would be very kind.”

She glanced away for a moment, seemed to want to speak. But when she looked at him again, she shrugged her slender shoulders as if they carried some enormous
weight. “Well then, I suppose there is naught left but a good night’s sleep.”

Oh Kerry, there is so much left, so much left behind, so much …

“I wonder if my hope of sleeping until the sun has at least touched the sky are improved given Thomas’s inordinate admiration of Scotch whiskey,” he drawled, falling in beside Kerry as she began to move toward the white house.

She laughed lightly at that, the sound of it dripped like honey over him. “I wouldna be too hopeful were I you. The man has an uncanny way of recovering from his excesses.”

Arthur did not respond—he was too aware of her, every fiber in him shimmering with the nearness of her and the knowledge that he would soon be gone.
He would never see her again.

They walked in silence.

When they stepped into the kitchen, the two of them paused—a bit awkwardly, Arthur thought, seeing as how he wasn’t quite sure where to put his hands.

“You’ll be gone early, I suppose—”

“Yes.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Kerry brushed an imaginary piece of lint from the lap of her gray gown. “Might you send word? I mean … so we would know that you arrived safely.”

“Of course.” He withdrew his hands, clasped them behind his back.

She nodded, kept brushing the lap of her gown. “Well then—”

“Kerry, thank you,” he blurted, shoving his hands in his pockets again. “This has been …”
What could he say?
There were no words to describe this experience, no way to convey to her how much this extraordinary journey into Scotland had meant to him.

“Yes, it has,” she said quietly. “You’ve a long journey ahead—I’ll wish you a good night,” she added, and
solved any dilemma of a response by walking out of the kitchen. Arthur stood alone next to the scarred table, staring after her, wishing he could say all the things he longed to say to her.

But it was better this way. Yes, definitely better this way.

And he silently repeated that in his mind, over and over again as he walked to the room he had slept in for two weeks now, moving past her door without hesitation. Once in his small room, he moved sluggishly; peeling the linen shirt from his back as if it was a bandage, grimacing to himself when he looked at his own clothes hanging neatly in the wardrobe. He washed idly, his mind wandering, then moved to one of two small windows adorning the room and gazed up at a Scottish moon that shone brightly on the land, unspoiled and pure.

He had no idea how long he stood there before a faint knock on the door startled him.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder as the door opened and his heart plummeted to his feet. Kerry stood in the doorway, her hair unbound, her bare feet peeking out from a white nightdress. He turned slowly toward her, uncertain how he should receive her in this circumstance, even more uncertain when she closed the door softly behind her.

He dropped the towel he was holding.

She folded her arms across her midriff and looked at the floor. Arthur stood rigidly, waiting for her to speak. But she pressed her lips firmly together, then opened her mouth as if she would speak, then closed it again.

Arthur swallowed. Hard.

She looked up, her gaze skimming quickly over the bed before landing on him. She looked so sad that Arthur felt a pull in his chest. “I doona ever want to forget the touch of your lips to mine,” she whispered, unconsciously touching her fingers to her lips, “or the feel of
your hand on my skin. You make me long to be held as I havna in years, Arthur. I … I canna bear for you to go without knowing you—”

Arthur’s feet were moving before his brain, crossing the room in three strides so that he could gather her roughly in his arms. He understood completely, as if he had spoken those words himself, but his voice was lost. He wanted to tell her how he admired her. He wanted to say that he would that their lives were different, that he was anyone other than who he was—and he opened his mouth, drew his breath to speak, but she put a finger to his lips.

“Doona speak,” she murmured, and moved her hand to untie her nightdress. Her gaze unwavering from his, she slowly pulled it open, pushed it so that it slid over her shoulders, then fell down her body, pooling at her feet.

Arthur could not breathe. He could not catch his breath as he gazed at her naked body. Her breasts were perfectly shaped to fill the palm of his hand; her slender waist flared gently into a woman’s hips, from which two legs, as firm and strong as a stallion’s stretched beneath. She was more beautiful than he imagined, more alluring—he suddenly fell to his knees, buried his face in the soft concave of her abdomen. He felt her hands on his head, her fingers in his hair, and then heard her soft sigh.

That sigh sent an eddy of voracious desire spiraling through him. He clutched her hips, kneading the flesh as he opened his mouth against the smooth skin of her belly, flicked his tongue into the crevice of her navel. Mindlessly, deliriously, he moved lower, to the springy curls that covered her mons, inhaling her womanly scent.

Kerry stroked his shoulders and arms as he held her tightly to him and vainly tried to drink her in, devour a piece of her that might live on permanently within him. The desire was overpowering, raging like a monster through him. He could not seem to have enough of her—
he was aware of only Kerry; every sense, every pore was filled with her, the sweet taste of her, the fragrant smell of her. The skin of his bare chest burned where her legs pressed against him, his shoulders singed by her fingers, the flames so deep inside him that they threatened to consume him altogether.

He struggled to his feet, his lips dragging across her belly, over a firm breast, and her neck, until he was upon her mouth, his tongue sweeping between her lips, savoring the recesses of her mouth and sweet breath. His hand slid to the side of her neck, spanning her cheek. Kerry’s fingers curled around his wrist, and he felt her body mold effortlessly to the rigid contours of his.

Arthur’s desire spread like molten lava through his veins, culminating in rigid attention against her belly. Kerry eagerly responded; her hips pressed against him, moving seductively in a primordial dance. He was fast losing his patience—he had to have more, had to have all of her, and he groped for the warmth of her breasts. She lifted her body to him, thrusting forward, into his palms, and then it was
his
sigh that melted between them.

It was more than a man could endure. With a soft groan, Arthur swept her into his arms and marched to the bed, falling with her onto the simple cotton spread. One arm swept into her loose flowing hair, grabbing handfuls of it as he hungrily devoured her lips. Kerry’s urgency seemed equally intense—her hands were suddenly everywhere, sweeping over his arms, his chest, down his torso, over his hips.

He palmed her breast, carefully kneading the peak to stretch taut and firm, and dragged his mouth from her throat to lave it. The sensation of her smooth skin in his mouth was intoxicating; he suckled her while Kerry thrust her fingers through his hair, pushed his head against her breast, moaning low in her throat when he moved to lave the other breast. Reverberations of desire were rumbling hard through his body now, settling in his groin.

“Such beauty,” he murmured, and reached for her thigh, brushing against the warm flesh between her legs. Kerry gasped; Arthur moved his hand upward, lightly skimming the damp curls between her legs. The heat was a full, raging inferno now, and Arthur found her mouth again, thrusting his tongue into her depths as his fingers slipped into her wet folds.

Kerry squirmed against him, arching her hips against him and digging her fingers deep into his skin as he skillfully stroked her, circling around and over the pinnacle of her pleasure.

“My darling,” he murmured genuinely, “my beautiful Scottish darling.” His lips fell to her neck, kissing the curve into her shoulder. Kerry’s hands moved provocatively across his nipples, down his chest, but when she boldly stroked him through his trousers, the world seemed to tilt, the pressure in him building to intolerable, but oddly weightless proportions. She freed him from the confines of the buckskins with a white-hot wave of heat down his spine. But Arthur almost imploded when her hand folded around him, squeezing gently as she swept the velvet tip with her thumb, then slowly down his shaft.

The experience was staggering—each sensation more startling than the last. This woman, this young country widow who had captivated him, was driving him over the edge of a desire he had not felt in the arms of any other woman. He was dangerously close to the edge of an emotional and physical precipice from which he knew he might never recover should he fall.

It was too late.

He had fallen days ago, and Arthur suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his cock, forcing her pale blue eyes to open and gaze up at him. Tiny tufts of black curls swirled around her face. Long, silken tresses draped her skin and the linens of the bed. Her breasts, magnificently exposed to him, gave her a beguiling
softness that made his heart pound. He had never desired a woman so intently. He had never yearned to show a woman what he was feeling, to give her all the pleasure he could, to fulfill her in ways she had never before experienced.

Then Kerry reached up to tenderly touch his temple, and he saw the light in her eyes, the glimmer from somewhere deep inside her. He felt himself falling into those eyes, drowning in them. Completely immersed, he could not tear his gaze away from hers as he moved between her thighs and slowly entered her. Her lips parted with her body; her eyes fluttered closed with her long sigh, and her back arched, pushing her breasts against his chest. As he slid deeper, her body tightened provocatively around him, luring him into her depths as he began to move, her body flowing instinctively with his.

To his great surprise, a flood of unfamiliar but intense emotion was all at once crashing through him, making him feel oddly tender. Kerry seemed to sense it; she suddenly opened her eyes and smiled brilliantly.
“Arthur,”
she whispered, stroking his cheek, and he was suddenly plunging deep into the tidal pool of her longing. His strokes took on greater urgency now; one of Kerry’s arms flailed above her head, clutching at the linens, while the other raked his back. She tossed her head to one side, oblivious to the dark hair that covered her face as Arthur drove into her again and again.

It was an extraordinary journey, the press of his body into hers, extraordinary feelings, vague but earnest feelings he recalled having felt as a young man so desperately in love. But this was different somehow, so bloody
earthy.
As with everything in her life, there was no pretense with Kerry in this bed. She moaned without self-consciousness, moved just as fiercely as he each time her body rose up to meet him, and just when he thought he could bear no more, she shoved him, pushing him onto his back and rolled on top.