by Lisa Kleypas
Keir caught her hand as she reached for the pot. “I’ll be taking my leave now,” he said softly.
“But it’s raining.”
That kindled a faint smile. He forbore to point out what she already knew: A Scot was hardly one to be daunted by rain.
He tried to say her name, but it came out as “Merry.” A word of joy, shaped in longing.
Their hands folded together slowly, compactly, more thrilling than any physical connection he’d had in his life.
There was so much he wanted to tell her—all of it true, and none of it right.
A gust of rain came through the window as the storm burst with new vigor. The flame of a gas lamp sputtered and died, despite its protective glass housing. Keir sprang up and went to shut off the lamp valve, while Merritt rushed to the window. “The frame sticks from humidity,” she said, struggling to close it, gasping a little at the rush of chilled wet air.
Keir came to help her, pushing the window down with one hand, while rain streamed over the glass. He left one hand braced on the sill, near her shoulder, while they both looked out at the turbulent night. He’d always loved storms, the charged air making his senses come alive. Shadows and ripples of light undulated across the sky as if they were viewing it from undersea.
“We’re in for a brattle,” he observed.
“Is that what you call it?” Merritt asked, turning to face him.
Gently he used the pad of his thumb to stroke away a raindrop near the corner of her mouth. “Aye, we have dozens of words for weather. If it comes in a soft shower, we call it a greetie.”
Merritt’s lips quirked. “In Hampshire, we say it’s a roke.” Her hands came to rest lightly at his sides.
Keir drew an unsteady breath as he felt her nestle closer to him. His body was hard and heavy, filled with a desire beyond utterance. Every cell clamored for him to take her, mate with her. Instead, he bent his head and laid his cheek against her hair. They stood together as the dark night sang a million notes of rain.
“At this moment,” he whispered, “I’m as happy as any man who ever lived.”
Her voice was muffled in the folds of his borrowed shirt. “Then stay.”
Keir’s heart jolted. She was being impulsive, he told himself. He didn’t want to be something she might later regret. He didn’t want to cause her one moment of pain or sorrow, when she’d already had her share of both.
“No,” he muttered. “’Tis hard enough to leave you as it is—dinna make it worse.”
“Stay for one night. Just one.”
He’d never been so wildly aroused and frustrated. It would be so easy to let himself forget everything except the pleasure of her body. But one of them had to think of the consequences, and apparently that had to be him. There was no choice but to put a stop to this, now.
Letting go of her, he said brusquely, “You dinna know what you’re asking for.”
“I’m asking for the gift of a night with you.”
Keir wanted to melt to the floor. For her to put it that way . . . as if making love would be a gift from him to her, instead of the other way around . . . she devastated him. With just a few words, she had taken ownership of him from head to toe.
He longed to tell her that. Instead, he decided to be crude. If he had to offend her for her own good, so be it. He only hoped she wouldn’t cry. Maybe she’d slap his face instead—he’d prefer that to tears.
“I dinna fook like a gentleman,” he told her gruffly. “There’ll be no pretty words and fine manners. I’ll throw a leg over, start the bed to banging, and when I’m done, I’ll give you a pat on the arse on my way out. If that’s what you’re after, tell me where your room is, and we’ll go at it.”
But there was no outrage. No face slap. Just a brief silence before Merritt said helpfully, “It’s the last door on the right, at the end of the hallway.”
She’d called his bluff. Her lips twitched at his expression.
Damn it.
Exasperated, Keir took her upper arms in his hands and held her apart from him. “If I stayed, no harm would come to me—only to you. I’d pay any price to have you, but I won’t let you be the one to pay it.”
“I’ll take responsibility for my own decisions.”
“Are you so daft, lass, that you think one night with me would be worth risking everything?” he demanded.
Merritt shrugged and lowered her gaze, but not before he saw the impish gleam in her eyes. “I’d like to find out.”
Unable to stop himself, Keir jerked her close and kissed her roughly. She opened to him with sweet yielding, soothing the ragged edges of his passion until he groaned and stroked inside her mouth with his tongue. The kiss turned deep and languorous, sending waves of dizzying pleasure through him.
God help him, he would have died for what she was offering. To be inside her . . . to hold her for hours . . . he had to have this, no matter what happened afterward. Feverishly he kissed his way down her neck, feeling the movements of her throat as she gasped and swallowed.
Taking her head in a gentle clasp, he kissed her forehead and eyelids, and followed the slope of her nose down to the trembling bow of her upper lip.
“If that’s what you want,” he said hoarsely, “I promise you . . . the night will be worth it.”
Chapter 10
Keir had never suspected it was possible for a woman to wear so much clothing. After they’d gone to Merritt’s bedroom, he’d unfastened the back of her velvet dress and she’d stepped out of it to reveal a profusion of . . . Christ, he didn’t know the names for them . . . frilly lace-trimmed undergarments that fastened with tiny hooks, ribbons, and buttons. They reminded him of the illustrations pasted on the walls of the Islay baker’s shop, of wedding cakes decorated with sugar lace and marzipan pearls, and flowers made of icing. He adored the sight of her in all those pretty feminine things. His fingers itched to touch her. He was worried as hell for her sake, whereas she seemed almost cheerful about the whole thing, as if they were having a wee adventure instead of starting down the path to ruin.
Undressing with deliberate slowness, Keir let her look her fill, allowing her plenty of time to change her mind. When he was fully naked, he turned to face her.
Merritt’s gaze traveled over him from head to toe, lingering briefly at his groin. Her eyes widened, and a tide of deep pink swept over her face.
Keir regarded her with a faint, wry smile as he approached her. “Merry . . . you’ve already given me the best night of my life. I could ask for nothing more.” He lifted a hand to caress her cheek. “If you’ve second thoughts, I’ll go now with a blessing on my lips.”
She turned her face to nudge a smile into his palm, and said, “Don’t even think of leaving. I’m only a little nervous, that’s all.”
Keir was almost shocked by the rush of tenderness he felt. “No, dinna be nervous with me.” He took her against him, nestling her to his chest. “I would never harm you. You’re safer in my arms than anywhere outside them.” He caressed her shining dark hair, and ran his fingertips over her cheek and the neat curve of her ear. Her skin gleamed like a pearl in the light. “We dinna have to rush at it headlong,” he murmured. “There’s time enough to take it slow.”
Merritt was still blushing, but to his delight, she glanced up at him with a little flirting grin. “You just said you were going to throw a leg over and start the bed to banging.”
“I was trying to scare you off,” he admitted. “For your own good.”
“You could never scare me. I know what kind of man you are.”
“Do you, now?” Keir asked, his breath shortening as he felt her small hands beginning to wander over him.
“You’d never use your strength to take advantage of someone weaker. And you’re more of a romantic than you’d like to admit, which is why you feel guilty for sleeping with me. But you’re going to do it anyway, because it’s been a long time since you shared a bed with anyone . . . and you want me.”
God, how he wan
ted her. It was the most delicious sensation of Keir’s life, standing there naked with her inquisitive fingers traveling shyly over him. He could barely think over the thumping of his heart. “What makes you say it’s been a long time?”
“Just a guess.” Merritt glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Am I wrong?”
Keir’s breath caught as she drew her palms over his backside.
“No’ about that,” he admitted, his eyes half closing. Her touch was almost too pleasurable to bear. “I live on an island, ye ken, where gossip never closes its wings. If there were a lass I tried to sneak up to a hayloft I’d soon find myself at the end of her father’s twenty-bore.” He paused as he felt her chuckle into the mat of hair on his chest. “But there is something you’re wrong about.”
“Oh?”
“I dinna feel guilty about bedding you.” He bent to her lips, shaping them with a long, searing kiss until they clung and trembled. His voice thickened slightly as he continued. “I wouldnae bide the night with you just because I’ve gone lang without a lass. I’ll stay because for the rest of my life, I want a memory of you to keep me warm on a cold night.” He took her sweet mouth again, his fingers spreading over her back, her hips, as he molded her closer against him. The feel of her—all those deep feminine curves contained in stays and laces and layers of cotton—nearly drove him mad. As he sent his tongue deeper, the silky warmth of her was so satisfying he couldn’t restrain a groan of pleasure.
He lifted her to the bed and climbed in after her. A fine bed it was, made of cast iron and brass, with posts as thick as his wrist. It was so sturdy, it didn’t creak beneath his weight. Experimentally he stretched out on it full-length.
Merritt propped up on her elbows and glanced over him. “You have very large . . .” She hesitated. “. . . feet.”
Keir turned on his side to face her, a smile tugging at his lips. “That I do.” He reached out to play with the lace trim at the neckline of her bodice. “Do you like a man with large feet?”
Her blush deepened until even her ears were red. “I’m not sure,” she said, flustered, and his smile deepened.
“I’ll be gentle,” he promised, “every moment. As if you were a wee dove resting in my hands.” He let his fingertips follow the lace to her shoulder. “What kind of shirt is this?”
“It’s not a shirt, it’s . . . a corset cover. To keep things smooth beneath the dress. It’s difficult to unfasten, there’s a—”
“No, dinna tell me. I’d rather find out for myself.”
Keir found a row of tiny hooks that started beneath her arm and went down her side to her waist, and he undid them one by one. Eventually he eased the garment over her head and tossed it aside. He continued to undress her, gently rolling her body this way and that as he hunted for miniature unseen fastenings. Merritt was quiet except for an occasional gasp as Keir paused to caress newly revealed places . . . the curve of a knee . . . the taut shape of a calf . . . little pink toes.
He eased her drawers down, revealing smoothly muscled thighs and a firm, round bottom. From years of horseback riding, he guessed, recalling she’d grown up on a hunting estate. The thought of how it might feel to have her straddle him, the grip of her thighs as she rode him, made him dizzy with lust. He caressed her legs, fondling his way up to the small triangle of neatly trimmed curls. Although he was dying to play with them, he continued to browse over her, marveling at the beautiful curves, the fine skin. Everywhere, her body was sweet from bath soap and touches of perfume.
“You’re the bonniest thing I’ve ever seen, Merry,” he said huskily, cupping one of her breasts and stroking his thumb over the tender peak. “You steal my breath away.”
He moved with the care of a man handling some volatile substance, leaning over her to catch the tip of her breast with a slow, open kiss. She gasped, her hands coming to his head as he sucked the nipple into a hard, delicately textured bud. He framed both breasts in his hands and feasted on the lush curves, using his lips, tongue, the light grazes of his teeth.
Quivers ran along her body, and he followed them with his fingertips, his lips, down to the tender niche between her thighs. His fingers traced the softly closed slit until she panted and writhed. Staring into her dilated eyes, he realized she was already close to the edge.
“No’ so fast, darlin’,” Keir whispered. “Bide for a while, and let me love you longer.”
He watched her lashes lower, trembling against her cheeks as she felt him part the folds of her sex, tickling the petaled edges. He stroked down to the entrance of her body and let his finger slip inside her by gradual degrees. The silky flesh pulsed and closed on his finger as if trying to draw him deeper, wetness emerging to ease his way.
She began to breathe in whimpers, trying to hold them back. He loved the sounds she made, her ladylike composure dissolving in sensation. Withdrawing his touch slowly, he bent to kiss her stomach. His lips skimmed down to the enticing triangle of curls, and her hands came to his head with an uneasy flutter as if to push him away.
“No, let me,” Keir murmured between her thighs. “I love this part of you, like the sweet heart of a rose. Merry, honey-love . . . dinna ask me to spend the rest of my life never knowing the taste of you.”
She subsided in a daze. He gripped the sides of her body carefully, keeping her in place as he parted her with his tongue and stroked the sides of the soft furrow. Entranced by the vulnerable shape of her, he lapped at the edges of softly unfurled lips and tickled them lightly. The delicate flesh was unbelievably hot, almost steaming. He blew a stream of cooling air over it, and relished the sound of her moan. Gently he licked up through the center, a long glide through silk and salty female dampness. She squirmed, her thighs spreading as he explored her with flicks and soft jabs. The slower he went, the more agitated she became. He paused to rest the flat of his tongue on the little pearl of her clitoris to feel its frantic throbbing, and she jerked and struggled to a half-sitting position.
Pausing, Keir lifted his head. “What is it, muirninn?”
Red-faced, gasping, she tried to pull him over her. “Make love to me.”
“’Tis what I’m doing,” he said, and dove back down.
“No—Keir—I meant now, right now—” She quivered as he chuckled into the dark patch of curls. “What are you laughing at?” she asked.
“At you, my wee impatient bully.”
She looked torn between indignation and begging. “But I’m ready,” she said plaintively.
Keir tried to enter her with two fingers, but the tight, tender muscle resisted. “You’re no’ ready,” he mocked gently. “Wheesht now, and lie back. ’Tis one time you won’t be having your way.” He nuzzled between her thighs and sank his tongue deep into the heat and honey of her. She jerked at the feel of it, but he made a soothing sound and took more of the intimate flavor he needed, had to have, would never stop wanting. Moving back up to the little bud where all sensation centered, he sucked at it lightly until she was gasping and shaking all over. He tried to work two fingers inside her again, and this time they were accepted, her depths clenching and relaxing repeatedly. As he stroked her with his tongue, he found a rhythm that sent a hard quiver through her. He kept the pace steady and unhurried, making her work for it, making her writhe and arch and beg, and it was even better than he’d imagined, having her so wild beneath him, hearing her sweet little wanton noises.
There was a suspended moment as it all caught up to her . . . she arched as taut as a drawn bow . . . caught her breath . . . and began to shudder endlessly. A deep and primal satisfaction filled him at the sounds of her pleasure, and the sweet pulsing around his fingers. He drew out the feeling, patiently licking every twitch and tremor until at last she subsided and went limp beneath him.
Even then, he couldn’t stop. It felt too good. He kept lapping gently, loving the salty, silky wetness of her.
Her weak voice floated down to him . . . “Oh, God . . . I don’t think . . . Keir, I can’t . . .”
He nibbled and teased, breathing hotly against the tender cove. “Put your legs over my shoulders,” he whispered. In a moment, she obeyed. He could feel the trembling in her thighs. A satisfied smile flicked across his mouth, and he pressed her hips upward to a new angle. Soon he’d have her begging again, he thought, and lowered his head with a soft growl of enjoyment.
Much of that night was a dark, sweet blur of sensuality, but some details caught in Merritt’s memory like barbed quills, never to be dislodged. The smell of cold rain coming in through the window . . . the satiny locks of Keir’s hair sliding through her fingers . . . the incredible fullness and heaviness of his possession.
He was so very gentle, despite his power and size, his fingertips sliding over her in light, beguiling patterns. His focus on her, his awareness of every sound, pulse, shiver, was absolute. His low voice tickled her ear as he murmured how beautiful she was, how good she felt, how hard she made him . . . and all the while, the thick shaft kept sinking deeper and deeper.
By the time he filled her completely, she was feverish with need. A little sob of anticipation escaped her as he began to move. But every thrust was long and agonizingly slow, withholding the last bit of stimulation she needed. He held her more closely now, his weight on her from pelvis to breasts, while his hips rolled and circled, drawing up new surges of feeling. His mouth lowered to one of her breasts, licking and gently gnawing at the erect nipple. Squirming in frustration, she pushed her hips upward, but he pulled back reflexively.
“No, love. I could hurt you.”
“You won’t. Please . . . Keir . . .”
“Please what?”
“I need more.”
His laugh, a smolder of sound, could have come from the devil himself. “I dinna think you can take more than this, darlin’.”
“I can.” She strained against him.
“This deep?” he asked, reaching places in her that had never been touched before.
She shook at the pleasure of it. “Oh, God. Yes.”