Perfect Strangers (28 page)

Her attention lifted...

And she saw the passion shimmering in his piercing gray eyes...

And she was lost...

The topic they'd been discussing dashed from her mind with all the speed of half-starved hounds catching the scent of a nearby fox. The nearness and the heat of Connor's body suddenly consumed her thoughts. The night sounds, indeed the very night itself, seemed to close in around her, tunneling down until all she was aware of, all she
wanted
to be aware of, was Connor Douglas and the way his mouth inched ever closer in its path to claiming hers.

Her lips tingled with the promised contact. Dizzily, she swayed toward him. Her chin rose, her eyelashes flickered shut. Her right hand opened, lifted, splayed over the sculpted plane of his tunic-clad chest. His heart pounded wildly beneath the ball of her palm; the rhythm matched the one drumming loudly in her ears.

Connor's breath whisked warmly over Gabrielle's face an instant before his mouth settled hungrily over her own.

Chapter 13

His arms stole around her waist. A hot shiver skated down his spine as he dug his fingers into her bottom. He pulled her close, grinding their hips together in a rhythm that was older than time. Her breasts pushed against his chest; they felt deliciously heavy and full. Even through the barrier of cloth separating their flesh, he could feel her nipples bead into mouth-wateringly rigid peaks.

He swallowed her moan of pleasure.

His tongue skated over her parted lips, then plunged into the hot, moist inner recesses of her mouth. Her teeth felt like warm, slick pearls as they skimmed beneath his searching tongue. Her taste was more intoxicating than all the whisky in Scotland.

Connor groaned and angled his head, his tongue stroking deeply, teasing and tasting. The sensations that built inside him were overwhelming in their intensity. Desire sizzled through him like a lightning bolt. It was all he could do to hold himself in check and not surrender to the urge to strip off their clothes and spread her naked body down on the ground, covered by his own. Now.

Soon, he promised himself... Very soon. But not yet. First he wanted to savor the thrill of longing, prolong the tingling anticipation of what lay ahead until neither of them could stand waiting a second longer.

Gabrielle's response was as immediate as it was brazen and bold. Her hands, restless for the feel of him, shifted their attention.

Her fingers clutched at the sleeves covering his upper arms. Nay, in truth she clutched at the muscle playing beneath. She could feel the hard bands of sinew bunching beneath her touch. Her breath caught at the sensations that thundered through her. Last night she may have been a stranger to desire, but no more. Connor Douglas had taught her the ways of a man and a woman, and taught her well. She knew exactly what she wanted. And she was not at all shy about getting it.

Deepening the kiss to a frenzied pitch, she arched her spine. The front of her body rubbed provocatively against his even as her tongue met and matched his rhythm, then in turn demanded and coaxed and increased it.

The hard, intimate length of him throbbed with need against the front of her hips. A hauntingly familiar ache pulsed in the juncture of her thighs. The sensation magnified, channeled throughout the rest of her body with a speed and power that both frightened and astounded her.

Gabrielle's knees felt weak and watery, alarmingly unsubstantial. She leaned against him, breathless and shaken. The virile cushion of his chest absorbed the tremors that wracked through her even as it offered a supportive brace for her abruptly precarious balance.

The need to feel him, skin to hot, sensitive skin was overpowering.

Gabrielle's fingers unwrapped from around Connor's arms, opened and strayed inward. The laces beneath his throat felt rough to the touch as she fumbled with them, finally undoing the knot and spreading open the plackets. Thick, inky curls tickled her fingertips as she slipped her hand beneath the cloth and stroked his skin.

The sound that came from between Gabrielle's lips was half inhalation, half gasp. The smell of leather and horse mixed with a rich, spicy scent that was entirely, provocatively male; the aromas meshed, weaving around her, engulfing her. Her senses spinning, she used her free hand to unfasten the clan brooch on his left shoulder. Free, the clasp tumbled from her fingers to the moss-strewn ground. The plaid slipped down his thickly muscled arm as her attention detoured. She tugged at the hem of his tunic until it slipped free from beneath the waist of his kilt.

The back of her knuckles skimmed the hard, flat plane of his belly as she dragged the tunic up. Higher. Abandoning the ravenous kiss, she went up on tiptoe and pulled the garment off over his head. Like the brooch, it slipped from her hand, floating unnoticed to the ground at his feet.

Her fingers combed through his dark hair, twisted, fisted the strands close to his scalp as she angled his head up and back, exposing the thick expanse of his neck.

Her lips felt dry as, green eyes narrowing, she watched the shadowy pulse beating in the base of his throat.

Gabrielle groaned. Surrendering to temptation, her mouth mirrored her gaze. His skin felt hot, and tasted salty sweet beneath the darting strokes of her tongue.

While one hand continued to cup and knead her deliriously supple bottom, the other slipped upward. Hooking his fingers over her shoulder, his forearm supporting her back, Connor leaned into her, forcing her to arch backward.

His legs opened, his knees vising her thighs. Effortlessly, he lowered her onto a mattress of night-crispened leaves and moss. Her silky black curls tickled the underside of his jaw as he spread himself out atop the soft bed of her curves.

Despite the change in position, her mouth never left him; she'd suckled a patch of his skin into her mouth and now teased it with her teeth and tongue in a manner that was thoroughly distracting and extremely arousing.

It was Connor's turn to shiver. The tremors rocked through his body, starting on the inside and working their way out. He would have liked to blame the shiver on the cold night air, but knew damn well it would be a lie. Had the flesh on the side of his neck ever been so sensitive? Not that he could recall.

It wasn't until he felt her fumbling at the waist of his kilt that Connor slipped his hand from beneath her. His palm slipped over the generous curve of her hip, brushing her own hands aside.

"Nay, firebrand," he murmured against the side of her head. "Not yet."

He captured her wrists and dragged them up over her head. The brittle end of a twig scraped the back of his knuckles as he pinned those wrists in one fist. It was a double-edged form of torture, Connor realized too late. The gesture made her breasts push up into his chest more fully, until he couldn't help but be excruciatingly aware of every voluptuous inch of their firmness.

His free hand shifted to where his mind had locked, and locked hard. He'd been in the process of inhaling; his breath caught in the throat she continued to nibble as his open hand settled over one plentiful breast.

Her nipple had begun to soften. He felt it grow instantly rigid beneath his palm. As much as the weight of him atop her would allow, she arched up into the touch. A sound that was one part moan, one part whimper, skimmed past her lips.

Anchoring his weight on the elbows flanking her ribs, Connor levered himself up a fraction. Not far, yet enough to allow him to gaze down into dark green eyes that were glassy and heavy-lidded. The color in her cheeks was high, awash with a telltale peachy flush. Her lips were parted, the rosy skin there damp and still a wee bit swollen from his kiss.

"Tell me, lass," Connor said, his voice low and controlled, revealing nothing of the anticipation that raced through him as he wondered what her reaction to his words would be, "is the idea of becoming my bride, of spending the rest of yer nights entwined with me thus, truly so unappealing to ye?"

A frown flickered over Gabrielle's brow. Good heavens, why would he ask such a thing? Could he not tell from her lusty response that she found his touch anything
but
unappealing? She shook her head. "Nay, m' lord, not unappealing," she murmured, and again arched so that her breast pushed fully into his hand, as though to prove the sincerity of her words. "Not unappealing at all."

"Yet still ye resist the idea of wedding me?"

"I'll admit I'm not as opposed to the idea as I once was." Gabrielle blushed and glanced quickly away when he grinned down at her.

Connor's hand shifted. Through the thin cloth of her tunic, he circled her passion-hard nipple with the edge of his thumbnail. "Then ye've no objection to me doing this... tonight and all the nights after?"

Gabrielle lifted her chin, luxuriating in the sizzling bolt of sensation that shot through her. "Nay," she whispered hoarsely. Her voice, she noticed as though from a distance, sounded oddly low and rough. "No objection at all."

"Or this?" he asked as his hand strayed downward. Gathering the folds of her shirt in his fist, he dragged it upward. The cloth bunched around her middle, just beneath her breasts. His hand snuck beneath. "Still no objection, lass?"

The tip of his index finger dipped into her navel, circled, then slowly, slowly, began a breathtaking ascent. His bare hand cupped her aching flesh as a sort of pleasure-pain sizzled through her.

"None," Gabrielle rasped breathlessly.

"And now?" he asked as he caught her nipple between his index finger and thumb and gently rolled it back and forth.

She clenched her teeth together hard, completely without words. She knew she wouldn't have been able to utter a syllable even if she could think of anything to say. Lucid thought was beyond her right now. It simply wasn't possible to think of anything beyond Connor Douglas's rough caress, beyond the hard warmth of his body pressing her down upon the ground.

He scoured her nipple with his battle-calloused palm.

Her back came up off the forest floor. A moan, breathless and husky and fervent beyond reason, rushed past her lips. She turned her head, trying to bury the sound in her throat, but already it was too late. Worse, she was beyond caring. While the knowledge that her response was wanton in the extreme played in a small corner of her mind, the knowledge that she wouldn't stop him for the world so long as he continued to make her feel so magnificent was stronger still.

Oh, nay. She wasn't so fickle or so short of memory that she'd forgotten last night. It was a memory that would follow her to the grave!

The fact of the matter remained that it was their lovemaking that had decided her fate. What good would resisting Connor now do, aside prove that she could? And even then, to what end? What could she possibly hope to gain but leave them both filled with frustrated desire and sharp longing? The damage, after all, was done. It had been done last night and, truth to tell, Gabrielle doubted if, even given the impossible chance, she would change it now if she could.

Body and soul.

The words echoed through her mind.

Last night Connor Douglas had claimed her as his own, body and soul, and she'd given herself, all of herself, to him freely.

The balladeers may have labeled this man a devil, but he made love like an angel. One kiss, one touch, and her senses soared until she could think of naught but the here and now, of forgetting who he was, who she was, and of only laying in his arms...

Ah, yes, forever.

How could she think of aught else when he held her this way, caressing her just so, his touch lingering, teasing, promising still more intimacy. He'd learned her body well, as though he'd mapped her curves and valleys and now knew them equally, if not better, than he knew the craggy landscape beyond the night-inkened forest. His hands were sure and skillful; he knew the exact spots to stroke, the exact pressure to apply, for her ultimate pleasure. Effortlessly, he aroused within her a deluge of white-hot tumultuous sensations... sensations that until last night, were beyond anything she'd imagined, unlike anything she'd dared to dream existed.

His hand left her. A slice of disappointment stabbed through her. Cool night air washed over her passion-fevered skin. The chill lasted but a second; Connor's fingers were soon replaced by the delicious, moist heat of his mouth.

Gabrielle sucked in a ragged gasp. Her body shuddered violently. Her lashes flickered down. Fingers convulsing reflexively, she gripped his sinewy upper arms, clinging to him blindly. Her back arched as she strained up, up, up into the intimacy that made her body melt and her thoughts scatter.