The corner of her mouth lifted. Not a smile, but close. “He said much the same about ye earlier. I ken the war paid a toll on almost everyone.” She bit her lower lip, the gesture unconsciously provocative. “Was it his wife?”
“Aye, and his parents.” Finn thought back on those dark days. “Ian had taken his son out for a ride though the bairn wisnae even a year old. It was the cannon fire that drove him home to discover they’d been buried alive.”
The chowder stirred in her gut. “That’s horrible.”
“War is horrible,” he countered. Ian’s wife, Fiona, had been Finn’s cousin. One among the numerous casualties of a war that had brought nothing but pain and loss to his friends and kinsmen. All of it had been for naught. At least Ian had gotten his revenge even if it had done nothing to appease his guilt and grief.
Finn was still waiting for his chance to do the same.
“Is that how yer wife passed as well?”
The question was soft, hesitant. As if she were leery of triggering the same response from him as before. Another regret, barking at her so. Truth was, his wife had been the farthest thing from his mind at that moment. It was guilt that had prompted him to lash out. “Nay. Though my keep was ravaged much as Ian’s by a bombardment from a ship on the Moray Firth carrying Redcoats to Inverness, I dinnae suffer the same depth of loss as he.”
Not at that point, at any rate.
Nay, his wife hadn’t been killed by a distant barrage of enemy fire. Nevertheless, the enemy had been responsible for her death. Up close. Personal. For that, one day soon he would have his revenge. There was no other reason for him to be here.
“But yer poor bairns. To be without a mother….” There was sorrow in Aila’s voice — a shock, as he wouldn’t have taken her for the sympathetic sort. “Would ye care to talk about it?”
She’d asked the same question of Ian. “Talk about what?”
“Yer feelings? Sometimes it helps to—”
Finn cut her off. “Nay, I wouldnae care to talk about my feelings.”
What nonsense she’d suggested. He’d rarely managed an intimate conversation on the matter with his closest friend. Why a perfect stranger thought he’d share such a thing befuddled him. Bloody hell, but she’d be the last one with whom he’d share his emotions. If he were inclined to talk about them at all. What kind of man would he be if he confessed his weakness? What kind of man would she consider him if he did?
“Blast it, why would ye suggest such a thing?”
“Sharing yer thoughts can help ye relieve undue anxiety in—”
“I’m no’ anxious!”
“Dinnae yell at me!” Aila emptied her glass of wine and pushed back her chair. “Heaven forbid a man express his emotions.”
Finn rose as she did out of habit and stood with his fists on his hips, face lifted to the ceiling. Praying for patience. What right did she have to sound so offended when she was the one who trod beyond polite conversation? When she was the one who dared to question his nerve, his manhood? He’d dealt with it quite nicely on his—
“Please extend my apologies to Ian for upsetting him.”
“Ye can give them yerself.” He opened his eyes at the softly spoken question to see that the flush of irritation that suffused Aila’s cheeks and flashed in her eyes moments before gone. His had yet to fade. “Though he’ll be nursing a thick head in the morn, unless I miss my guess.”
“I won’t be here to do so. I’m leaving, remember?”
“Are ye? Ye allowed my bairns to carry yer dog off to bed, remember?”
Another curse fell from her lips. Another unlike any lady of his acquaintance would vocalize. The ease in which she uttered them in the same soft burr that had impressed him with quick and intelligent responses to Ian’s many questions astonished him. Such vulgarity was at odds with the ladylike demeanor she displayed. He couldn’t help but wonder how she’d come to adopt it, though being descended from a long line of sailors might account for it.
“I should hate to upset them by dragging Rab away,” she conceded. “It can wait until morning.”
Finn sighed with relief. His daughter was young enough to have no memories of the skirmishes against the Redcoats in support of Prince Charlie. No sorrow over the destruction or despair in the days following the Scottish defeat on the Drummoise Moor. She was happy enough, yet he hadn’t seen her smile as much as she had today in a long while. Since Marta had died. She’d talked about that dog for an hour or more that afternoon, then cuddled it as it were a lifeline to that happiness. If nothing else, he hated to see that go.
If nothing else. He scoffed inwardly. Aye, that was the reason he didn’t want Aila to leave.
Even when he knew she should.
The way her eyes leapt hither and yon about the hall as if searching for an escape told him she felt the same. Choosing a direction, she made haste toward the passage that led back to her bedchamber. Shoulders straight, skirts swishing in a seductive countermotion to the sway of her rounded hips. The pendulate motion mesmerized him, beckoned him to follow. At the entrance to the hallway, she hesitated. With a prayer for strength on his lips, he strode after her.
“Allow me to lead the way.”
Better to be in front of her than behind, he thought. As they progressed down the hall, he found the position no more favorable. Her breaths teased him, turning to soft pants as they climbed the tight spiral of the stairs from one floor to the next. He imagined what they would sound like as gasps of passion against his lips.
“That pup of yers,” he said, groping for a topic to distract him. “I’ve no’ seen an animal of such breeding since I traveled the Continent as a youth. Even then, those hunting breeds I saw in Bavaria and Austria were no’ so large as this one. Nor as friendly. Where did ye get him?”
“A friend gave him to me.”
She offered nothing more as they reached the final landing and she brushed by him toward her room. With a stifled groan, Finn shifted his trousers, thankful for the dim light. He’d spent the entire meal awash with aching desire so distracting he’d hardly been able to manage to hold any semblance of conversation, much less partake of the meal. He’d tasted none of what he had eaten. His only hunger had been for her.
She shoved her key into the lock and turned the handle. The door swung open, however, instead of disappearing through the portal, she turned to him. “Goodbye, Mr. Keeley.”
“Is it goodbye then? I thought ye might reconsider my offer and stay.” His desire for her was contradictory to his purpose here. Finn asked himself again why he couldn’t simply stand by and let her go.
A snort of humorless laughter escaped her. “As yer nanny? As I said, nae thanks.”
“I dinnae ask to pigeonhole ye or whatever nonsense ye were havering about.”
Irritation rekindled in her eyes. “Havering, am I? Havering?”
Spinning away from him, she lifted both hands to her temples with a repressed scream that epitomized for Finn every ounce of the frustration she’d roused in him since the moment they met. He’d been right in thinking she’d be a complication he didn’t need in his life.
“This is ridiculous. Ridiculous!” Even in her ire, her tone was light, practically conversational. In fact, he realized he had yet to hear her tone waver from that honeyed brogue with an edge of seduction. A rare talent that even when the crassest language passed her lips it emerged like a sweet, husky caress. He’d wagered she could tell him to go bugger himself and make it sound like the sweetest farewell.
His breath caught, that coil of need he’d managed to banish from his loins stirred anew.
“Ye are the. Most. Infuriating. Man,” she said to the ceiling before she turned on her heel to face him once more. Eyes brilliantly sapphire. Cheeks flushed. Her breasts heaved against the bodice of her gown. Rather than chiding him, her reaction only served to ratchet his desire that much higher. “I should be wanting nothing more than to smack ye upside the head. Instead all I want to do is—”
<
br /> Her gaze slid away and another blush tinged her cheeks, this one far more flattering, though she’d been breathtaking in her ire. The sudden shift from anger to wariness captured his interest. He walked toward her in slow measured steps. “What do ye want to do?”
No answer passed her lips as she drew the full lower one between her teeth and snuck a quick look up at him from beneath her lashes. Finn longed to push her up against the wall and take her with all the fury she roused in him. Losh, but she was an unwittingly seductive minx. She couldn’t know the desire she provoked in him.
Or could she?
“How long has it been?”
His brow furrowed at the question. Not out of frustration or anger this time, however. “How long what?”
“Ye said before when I asked that it had been long enough. How long is that?”
Then he knew. “Och, lass, it’s been too long. Far too long.”
“Thank God.”
* * *
Aila wanted to go slow, savor each sensation as their bodies met. Her hand over his heart to feel the pounding against her palm. The tantalizing brush of her breasts against his hard chest. The thrill of his erection against her belly as he pulled her closer.
Most of all the feel of his mouth against hers when she kissed him at last.
Everything she’d fantasized about earlier.
What she got was the merest taste of his lips before his arms encased her like steel bands and pulled her flush against his hard body. His mouth settled over hers with a hum of appreciation. His tongue teased the sensitive seam of her lips and that hum turned to a gravelly moan when she parted her lips to him. God, he was good at this.
His lips brushed, teased. He nipped at her lower lip, then drew it between his lips before devouring her mouth like a starved man. He tasted of whisky and was just as intoxicating. A dozen shots couldn’t have left her so drunk as that kiss.
One kiss and she was breathless, weak with need. A low, keening cry escaped her. Stars danced before her eyes as his tongue swept over hers, and her knees quaked. Her chest ached with longing. A chill ran down her arms and up again, but it was hot passion that tightened her breasts and left her nipples aching. Her fingers curled in his hair and she fell into the kiss with everything she had, determined not to be consumed by the fire he stirred in her so easily but to dance among the flames with him.
His hands slipped down and curved around her bottom, lifting her against him with a growl of pleasure. Aila wrapped her legs around his hips and moaned with frustration at the barrier created by her many layers of skirts. She squirmed against him, hungry for more, and Finn swore under his breath. His lips met hers again and the earth moved beneath her. Nay, he did. He carried her through the open door and kicked it shut behind them, casting them in darkness.
Turning, he slammed her against the still quivering wood planks and pinned her there with the weight of his body. A throaty moan escaped her when his bare hands slid up her calves to the back of her knees, caressing. Teasing. One touch and she was nearly undone.
“Finn.” The word was a faint gasp. A plea.
He drew back his head, his harsh breaths teased her damp lips. “Are ye certain, lass?”
Oh, she wished she could see him, see his stern face soften with passion. “Do I appear uncertain?”
She nipped at his chin and guided his lips back to hers. Rough fingers skimmed her thighs, digging into her bottom before slipping between them. His thumbs caught the edge of her panties and he paused.
“What do ye—?”
“Shite, let me—” She dropped one leg with the intention of pulling her panties off but he beat her to it, ripping them away as if they were nothing. “That’ll work too.”
His mouth was back on hers, hard and demanding. She gave in to the carnal exploration with a ragged sigh of surrender but bowed back with a hoarse cry as his fingers found the spot she’d pictured him touching earlier. The result was far better by an incalculable magnitude than what she’d managed on her own. “Aye! Oh my sweet lord. Dinnae stop.”
She’d known of the word rapture. Even the definition. However until that moment Aila had never known the feeling. That ascension to the pinnacle beyond where simple passion could deliver one. It was a hint at heaven. Nirvana. Her body clenched with unbearable delight, ready to transport her there.
“Stop. Stop it,” she sobbed. His fingers froze immediately and she strained against his hand in frantic denial. Her fist thumped against his shoulder. “God, dinnae stop stop, ye beast.”
“Ye’re making nae sense, lass. Do ye want this or no’?” The words were thick with desire, nearly intelligible. Restrained lust shook his big body to be shared with hers. Panting breaths caressed her neck. “Losh, ye’re so bloody close to yer release. I can feel it.”
“Aye, and I want it so badly,” she admitted. “But I want it with ye. Take me there, Finn.” His fingers twitched and she shifted to the side. “I mean, take me.”
His lips caught hers with a muffled curse and a prayer of thanks that might have amused her if she weren’t so frantic to have him. He must have shared her eagerness, making quick work of the fall of his breeches. The broad head of his erection teased her. Then he paused.
“Are ye certain, lass?”
“Wheesht!” Aila hissed against his lips.
With a strangled chuckle, Finn grasped her hips and pulled her down to meet his hard thrust with a strangled shout. “Mo Dhia!”
“Oh my God!” She threw back her head, overcome by his possession. It was almost too much to bear. Too much, too fast. Another ragged cry caught in her throat as he withdrew and drove into her again. Fireworks exploded in the darkness and inside of her as well. Bursts of red dancing in the darkness. Electricity enough to set every nerve afire and her heart aflutter crackled between them. She’d always loved the ones that sizzled.
He took her with an animalistic fervor, in seconds compelling her to that pinnacle again. No harps and angels this time but a frenzied cacophony of electric guitars…the wildest rave could not compete. Ecstasy welled with volcanic fury and exploded. Aila couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from her throat any more than she could control the delicious thrumming of her orgasm. She clenched around him in gripping pulses, crying out again as Finn slammed into her one last time with a roar of surrender then withdrew to spill against her thigh.
Aila clung to him, thighs aquiver, refusing to release him. He didn’t seem to mind. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breaths harsh. His braw body vibrated with life and she savored the moment while she stifled the absurd impulse to cry over the beauty of their wild coupling.
He shifted his weight and she locked her ankles around him as he crossed the room. With a low curse, he found the bed with a shin. Her world tilted on its axis again and Aila sunk into the deep feather mattress. His fingers fumbled at her bodice.
“What are ye doing?”
“I’m no’ done wi’ ye, lass.” He found and pulled the pins that held her bodice to the stomacher one by one. “If that’s acceptable to ye.”
Aila ran her nails along the length of his jaw and lifted her head to kiss him. Even that light contact made her breath catch and she dropped back on the pillow with a sigh.
“Proceed, my lord.”
Chapter 11
Finn woke to a weak beam of sunlight cast on his face. With a groan of denial, he rolled over and the intoxicating scent of citrus and rosemary filled his senses. Aila.
He opened his eyes with the expectation of seeing a river of ginger hair on the pillow next to him only to discover that he was alone. By the position of the sun — or rather the light spot in the clouds that had brought rain through the night and darkened the morning sky — he’d slept well into the morning. That he’d slept at all surprised him. On the best of nights, he managed a few hours.
Last night….
The last thing he’d dreamt of was bedding her. He’d ached to his bones to take her. And by some miracle, she as
ked him to do just that. Given the hours he’d spent rousing Aila until her sweet cries of release broke the darkness again and again, it was a wonder he’d had any time to rest. His loins stirred at the memory and he marveled at that, as well. He’d found his own release more times than he’d thought himself capable. On the other hand, he hadn’t been lying when he said it had been too long since he’d taken a woman to his bed.
How long, she’d asked.
Years.
She’d had him trembling like a lad. Her tight sheath encased him with shocking heat. She’d come so fast and hard, he’d almost lost control himself. Not that it had taken long. Truth, he’d have been embarrassed by the brevity of their initial bout of lovemaking if they hadn’t made up for it in spades.
Aila was delightfully responsive to the lightest touch. More passionate than any lass he’d ever known, and his body answered in kind. The way she responded with such surprise when her release first struck, Finn knew she had been as overwhelmed by the intensity of their passion as he. He only wished he’d taken the time to light a candle so he could have seen that ardor written on her face. Seen the lush curves of the body he’d caressed through the night.
His groin clenched again and he threw back the bedcovers with a curse, adding another when he realized he should have taken the time to light a fire as well. The chill of the autumn morning pervaded the room that had been well warmed by carnal body heat far into the night. Yanking on clothing enough to achieve basic decency, he returned to his own room to wash and dress for the day. As he shaved, the glare of light off his blade recalled the glint from the banding on Aila’s trunk the night before.
Aye, she was as perilous as the rocky shoals any ship warned by the piercing signal of a lighthouse should be wary of. She was also the bloody siren that lured a sane man to his doom. He wanted to plunder her body again and again. At the same time, he longed to discover what it was about her that engaged him so. Discover what made her tick. He cursed himself for being so easily diverted by a bonny face and nimble tongue. He shouldn’t allow her to distract him further.
A Good Scot is Hard to Find (Something About a Highlander Book 2) Page 9