Tempting the Highland Spy (Highland Hearts)

by Kingston, Tara

  Grabbing her pillow, she tiptoed to the door and opened it.

  Harrison lay on his back, hands tucked behind his head as he tended to do. As she closed the door, he sat up. So, he hadn’t slept any more soundly than she had.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  “What isn’t?” she said, making no attempt to sound cheerful. “I haven’t slept a wink.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he said. “I’d begun to wonder if you’d taken it upon yourself to saw a log into firewood.”

  “You heard her?”

  “Yes,” he said with a small chuckle under his breath. “Assuming, of course, that was Mrs. Carmichael.”

  She gave a little huff as her fingers dug into the pillow. “I assure you, it was.”

  He lit the lamp by his bed and looked at her. “What? No blanket?” His focus shifted to the pillow. “Or did you bring that to form your wall of Jericho?”

  The glow of the lamplight illuminated the contours of his bare chest and shoulders with a subtle glow. Every sinew seemed defined. And infinitely touchable.

  She batted away the thought. She couldn’t afford to even contemplate such thoughts.

  Instead, she shook her head. “No blanket…and no wall. Not tonight.”

  “I see you dressed for the occasion.”

  “What?” With one hand, she toyed with the ruffled cotton at her throat. “Oh, you mean this.”

  “Admittedly, I am developing a taste for seeing you in cotton to your chin. What color is that?” He scrunched his eyes. “Blue?”

  “It used to be,” she said. “It’s been laundered more times than I could hope to count.”

  “Precisely the thing for the modest new bride.”

  She dug her nails deeper into the pillow. The thought of pummeling him with it was growing more appealing. She’d envisioned creeping quietly into the room, slipping into bed noiselessly, and falling to sleep. It hadn’t occurred to her he’d be awake, and in the mood to tease her.

  “It is precisely the thing for a woman who needs some sleep,” she countered.

  “Then why are you still standing? There’s plenty of room here.”

  “I thought…you’d be asleep.”

  A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “As you can see, that is not the case. Does it matter? Truly?”

  “It’s only that…” Her dratted tongue seemed to trip over the words. “After what happened tonight… I didn’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

  His expression was deliberately bland. “And what idea might that be?”

  “Come now, don’t pretend to be obtuse. We both know better than that.” She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. “This is not a ruse. Not an attempt at seduction.”

  He plowed his hand through the bed-mussed strands of his hair. “I’d deduced as much.”

  “You had?” She studied his face, searching for some hint that he was still teasing.

  “Grace, we’re both adults. You’re a beautiful woman—if you were intent on seduction, you would not have worn a gown that’s essentially a cotton suit of armor.”

  She folded her arms at the waist. Who was this infernal man to criticize the gown she’d sewn at Aunt Thelma’s side?

  “It’s all I have,” she said truthfully. “Perhaps I should have asked Mrs. Carmichael to help me procure a more seductive nightdress. I’ll know better next time.”

  Slowly—very slowly, with deliberate emphasis—he shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about another gown.”

  “Then what…what do you mean?”

  A wolfish grin played on his lips. “A woman as beautiful as you requires nothing beyond her own body to entice a man.”

  She gulped. Oh, dear. She hadn’t considered that meaning, not at all. Nervously, she gulped again.

  “Well, now that we’re clear on that,” she said finally.

  “Get some sleep, Grace,” he said. “On my word as a gentleman, I’ve no plans to ravish you. God knows I’m too bloody tired to even kiss you.”

  She placed her pillow on the bed and fluffed it. “Very well. I am also weary.”

  “It’s been a long day.” He extinguished the light and lay on his back. “And a long night.”

  Grace crawled under the covers, lying on her side. What a shame she hadn’t thought about the blanket. That fabric barrier had been rather effective. Not that she feared he’d go back on his word. Rather, she wanted to avoid all contact, lest she go back on hers.

  In her mind’s eye, she pictured him as he’d been when she entered the room. He’d looked as if he hadn’t slept at all yet.

  “Why were you still awake?” she whispered.

  He shrugged against her. “The fact that you’re talking might have something to do with that.”

  “You weren’t at rest when I came in.”

  Another shrug. “I’m a light sleeper. I heard you at the door.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. Somehow, his answer was rather disappointing. In the back of her mind, she’d harbored the ridiculous notion that sleep had eluded him for a more intriguing reason—ravenous desire for her, perhaps. A profound yearning only she could ease.

  Good gracious, she’d been reading too many gothic novels. It wasn’t as if he were the lord of some cursed manor. Given the tendency to also find a madwoman running amok in such stories, the notion was not in the least bit appealing.

  She thumped the pillow. The resulting ripple jolted her.

  And him.

  “Good night, Gracie,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

  Gracie. He’d called her by her given name. What didn’t the man know about her?

  “Why did you call me that?”

  He sighed. “It is your name, isn’t it?”

  “Yes…but usually—everyone calls me Grace. How did you know?”

  “It’s not a state secret, Grace.” Rolling onto his side, his back to her, he pounded his own pillow. “Better?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now, I’m going to sleep.”

  “Good,” she said. Her lids fluttered shut.

  The heat of his body radiated beneath the covers. Relaxing, she stretched out, savoring the comfort. Beneath the shield of soft flannelette, her body touched the naked skin of his back.

  He jerked as if she’d prodded him with a hot poker.

  Perplexed, she wrinkled her nose. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” His voice was gruff as he shook his head.

  She slid a hand beneath her pillow and closed her eyes. Sooner or later, she’d get some sleep. If she had to leave this room and curl up in some empty chamber, she’d do it.

  Leisurely as a sleepy cat, she stretched. Once again, her body brushed his.

  This time, he didn’t pull away. If anything, he grew unnaturally still, as if he hesitated to move a muscle for fear of setting some calamity into motion.

  What in thunder was wrong with the man?

  With another thump against his pillow, he sat up. She rolled over to look at him. Faint streaks of moonlight crept around the curtains, illuminating the contours of his shoulders and upper arms.

  The mattress shifted when he came to his feet. Grace’s eyes went wide, half expecting to see his naked rear, but the faint traces of light revealed he was not unclothed. He walked almost soundlessly to the quilt rack, took the patchwork coverlet in his hands, and spread it over the rug.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

  “I’ve got to get some sleep. That’s never going to happen…in the same bed with you.”

  “Have I been restless?” she asked, sleepily rubbing her eyes as she sat up against the headboard.

  “No.” The word came quick and blunt. He returned to the bed, reaching for his much-pounded pillow. It seemed a wonder the down feathers had not escaped the ticking and floated around the room.

  “You don’t have to do that…there’s no need to sleep on the floor.”

  Without thinking—i
f she’d given it any thought, she would certainly not have touched him—she reached for him. She could feel rather than see his scowl.

  “Yes. I do,” he said.

  “I’ll curl up on the chair.”

  “As I told you before, Grace—you’re a lady. What kind of man would I be if I did not cede the bed to you?”

  “A comfortable one.” The words popped off her weary tongue before she could stop them.

  To her surprise, he laughed. Something about the hearty sound warmed her heart. He seldom laughed. She’d noticed that from their first meeting. There was always such a somberness about him, it was utterly charming to hear a chuckle erupt through his self-control.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, and rested his elbows on his knees. “Grace, you’re an enigma.”

  He was a fine one to talk. The man was making no sense. “Do you care to explain?”

  His fingers wedged through his hair. “You’re highly skilled at deception. It’s your stock in trade. Yet, in some regards, you possess an honesty unlike any woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Is that good? Or bad?”

  “I haven’t puzzled that out yet.”

  “When you do, please notify me of your conclusion.”

  He turned to her and stretched out his long, pajama-covered legs over the blanket. Propping himself on one elbow, he peered down at her. The room was nearly dark, but she could sense his expression as he seemed to study her.

  “You could drive a man—a logical man who’d long prided himself on his rational approach to life—straight to Bedlam.”

  “I’ve done nothing of the sort,” she whispered.

  “There’s something about you—something I can’t begin to define…” Gently, he threaded his fingers through her hair. “Relax. Get some sleep. We both need rest.”

  Spindles from the headboard pressed into her spine, and she shifted against them. Nibbling her lip—how the habit annoyed her, but there’d be no reining it in now, given the tension that filled her—she looked at him, struggling to see his expression in the faint traces of light.

  With a rush of breath, stronger than a sigh, she slung her legs over the edge of the bed. She would not sleep tonight, not with him so very near. Something about the way he approached her as a puzzle to be solved chafed at her like a too-tight lace collar.

  She tiptoed to the connecting door. Even Mrs. Carmichael’s snoring wasn’t as bad as trying to pretend his oh-so-logical approach to everything didn’t irk her past the point of sleep.

  “You do not need to define me,” she said as her fingers took hold of the latch. “You do not need to solve me as if I were some sort of riddle.”

  To her surprise, he followed her. She turned to face him. She’d expected questions in his gaze, not the look of passion that flared in his eyes.

  “Quite true.” His gravelly rasp washed over her. “Sometimes, I think too damned much.”

  With that, he tipped up her chin with his fingers. He leaned closer, his breath a sigh against her mouth.

  He kissed her.

  Tenderness infused the caress, a gentleness she’d crave until she was old and creaky.

  Easing away, he met her gaze. Could he read the questions in her eyes?

  “Tell me to stop.” An unfamiliar rawness infused his voice.

  Her heart thudded against her ribs. “And if I don’t?”

  Cradling her chin against his palm, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. More demanding. Hungrier. Infused with a primal need.

  “I want you, Grace. More than I have any right to.”

  She swept her fingers over his cheek, savoring the texture of his skin, the feel of stubble against her fingertips. The subtle scent of bergamot filled her senses. And something more, a scent that was his alone.

  Sighing, she drew her fingertips over the line of his jaw, studying him, just as he’d studied her. Odd, how it was so natural to touch him. So very right.

  “The thing of it is…it’s foolish and reckless and utterly misguided…but I can’t deny it.” She drew in another breath, drinking in his essence. “I want you, too.”

  His fingers threaded through her hair, lifting the curls as his lips brushed the column of her throat.

  A frenzy of longing took over, casting logic and reason to the side. His hands were on her skin, stirring the wanting to a blaze she couldn’t hope to extinguish.

  He peeled her gown over her head, and she stood before him. Bared to his eyes. Feeling more beautiful than ever before in her life.

  When he scooped her into his arms, the primal nature of his touch thrilled her.

  Being in his arms felt so right.

  Being his to love was so right.

  His lips trailed over her flesh, a sweet, leisurely exploration of her body. Her hands curved over his shoulders. He was all lean-muscled power, sleek and strong. Yet so very gentle, her heart ached with longing.

  When she could bear no more, she turned the tables. Tasting the salt of his skin against her lips. Tracing delicious little circles over his chest and abdomen with her tongue, delighting in the sounds of his desire. Teasing his arousal with her mouth and her touch until he groaned with a mix of pleasure and carnal hunger and then, he prowled over her body.

  “I want you, darling,” he breathed, each word raw with need.

  “I need you,” she said, upping the stakes.

  “You’re sure… I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

  “I want you,” she whispered against his lips. “Please, don’t hold back.”

  And with that, he claimed the love she’d offered freely.

  Slowly, he eased within her. Beneath her fingertips, the sleek muscles in his back went taut with strain as he took his time, possessing her with an exquisite tenderness.

  She was tight, the feel of it a delicious pleasure-pain as her inner muscles pulsed around his length. It had been so long since he’d lain with her, so long since she’d savored his caress. His kiss. His love.

  He sensed when she was ready for more. Moving within her, a sensual giving and taking of pleasure and delight, they edged toward a precipice.

  As she tumbled into a delicious, heated oblivion, she cried out. He kissed her then, deepening the connection between them. Her pleasure went on and on, until she clung to him and savored the embers of their passion.

  Later in the night, as they lay sated in each other’s arms, she slept with her head against his broad chest. The feel of his heartbeat beneath her cheek lulled her into a peaceful serenity. He stirred against her, and her lids lifted, drowsy with sleep.

  Smiling to herself, she snuggled closer, drinking in this moment. She’d happily spend every night of her life in his arms if fate would allow it.

  She heard herself sigh. The thought of a life with Harrison was a lovely fantasy. Nothing more.

  Such a pity she’d given her heart to him.

  She’d been foolish, hadn’t she?

  Don’t I know better than to fall in love with him?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sunlight streamed through the small gaps in the curtains, rousing Grace from what had been a thoroughly sound, thoroughly restful sleep. She stretched drowsily, turning her head to the man who lay beside her. The even rise and fall of Harrison’s chest betrayed he was still asleep.

  Drowsily, she curled up against him, pillowing her head on his shoulder, bare skin to bare skin. He stirred, muttered something that sounded loving but was not quite intelligible, and drew her closer to his body.

  She snuggled closer. Given her heart’s desire, she would have stayed with him for ten thousand nights…perhaps more. But she had this time. Little more.

  With a sigh, she drifted off again. Later, when she stirred again, she wasn’t sure if she’d dreamed of him, or if she’d dreamed at all for that matter. She watched him through eyes half-veiled by her lashes, still savoring that pleasant haze of not-quite-awake, not-quite-asleep.

  Funny how she’d never noticed ho
w dark his eyelashes were until now, or the small scar on the side of his jaw where no stubble grew. Taking care to be still, she studied him at her leisure, drinking in every contour of his face, every tiny flaw, every tiny perfection.

  Unwilling to chance breaking this pleasant spell, she gently pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the throb of his heart beneath her palm. The steady rhythm was oddly comforting, like an assurance that all was right in her world. At least for now.

  His lids lifted, and he met her gaze.

  “Good morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.

  “Good morning, Harrison.”

  “Harry,” he murmured, still drowsy.

  His desire that she use his nickname pleased her beyond reason.

  “Very well,” she said with a little grin. “Good morning, Harry.”

  He rolled onto his side, opening his eyes wider. “I trust you slept well.”

  Her grin widened. “When we did finally sleep, yes.”

  He leaned forward, brushing his mouth over hers. Affection and desire blended in the light caress. My, she could get used to this.

  “You are beautiful,” he said, the simple words infused with emotion. With his head propped up on one hand, he traced the curve of her mouth with the pad of his thumb. A familiar, wickedly delicious gleam lit his eyes, and his hand disappeared beneath the covers, slowly skimming the curve of her hip. “I’ve half a mind to stay in this room all day, mission be damned.”

  What a marvelous thought. Delightfully decadent, yet sadly unattainable. After all, she could not afford to compromise her role in this mission. She’d far too much riding on the outcome.

  “I’m nearly convinced you mean it,” she said.

  “I am.” He looped his arm over her, caging her close to him.

  “I don’t believe you,” she whispered, not sure if she secretly wished he were serious.

  His smile was subtle and unreasonably seductive. “You should believe me. Every word.”

  A low pulse between her legs stirred her desire. His lovemaking had left her thoroughly sated the night before, but she suspected that she’d never entirely get her fill of Harrison’s touch.