With a sigh, she slipped her cotton nightdress over her head. Pity she did not have a more appealing garment. The flannelette gown with little pink flowers on a creamy background had seen far better days. But there was nothing to be done about it. She buttoned the nightdress to her neck, as if to protect her from herself from the cravings overcoming every doubt.
Flopping onto her bed, she stared at the ceiling. Didn’t she know better than to give her heart to a man?
Lying with Jamie would not be a meaningless night of passion. She knew that truth all too well. He’d touched something deep within her. Her heart longed for him, for the tenderness she would find in his arms.
In his kiss.
In his bed.
And in the end, her heart had the final say.
Slipping away from the bed, she tied her wrapper around her and quietly padded from the room.
She rapped lightly upon his door.
He opened it and her mouth went dry.
Broad-shouldered and lean-muscled, he wore only his plaid slung loosely around his hips. He’d kindled a fire in the hearth. The flames cast a warm glow over the sleek contours of his chest, gleaming gold against the feathering of light brown hair over powerful muscle. His large, gentle hands reached out, pulling her to him as he closed the door behind them.
Oh, my, he is magnificent.
Her heart stuttered. Drawing in a breath, she drank in his essence, an aroma of spice and soap and vigorous male in his prime.
At first, he didn’t speak. Instead, he framed her face in his hands and kissed her. His tongue parted the seam of her lips, mingling with hers. The taste of him stirred her desire to a blaze. She wanted more. Of his kiss. Of his touch. Of him.
“God, I want ye, my sweet Leana.”
His fingers threaded through her hair, his touch tender and intoxicating. And all the while, he kissed her. Soft, delicious caresses over her mouth and her throat and the curve of her face.
This near, she could feel the pulse of his erection against her softer flesh, the hunger within him he’d kept tightly leashed. His arousal teased her body, and she canted her hips, craving the intimate contact, her hunger for him soul-deep.
“Ye’re beautiful,” he murmured against her lips. “Ye’re sure of this? Of us?”
Her pulse raced, and she pulled in a breath. She wanted this. So very much. But the words in her heart would not come, and she nodded.
“Are ye getting shy on me, lass?” His voice was a husky rasp, his eyes gleaming with passion as he traced the outline of her lips with his forefinger.
“I do want this,” she murmured, holding his gaze. “I want you, Jamie. So very much.”
Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his mouth, then another to the sensitive spot just beneath his earlobe. He gave a soft moan of pleasure, and his mouth claimed hers again.
His hands skimmed the length of her body, delighting her senses, stirring her need for him. Backing her against the wall by the fireplace, he deepened the kiss, kindling her passion until her toes curled.
His fingers found the hem of her nightdress. Suddenly, the cloth was bunched around her thighs as he explored her body with his hungry caress.
A delicious little shiver washed over her. Sensing her reaction, he stilled and brushed a kiss over her lips.
“I want to see ye,” he whispered, low and raw against her mouth. “Every beautiful inch.”
“Yes.” She sighed as he stripped the cotton gown from her body. “Oh yes.”
He stepped back, taking her in. Her lower lip trembled, but she felt no shame. No fear. Only a delectable anticipation.
Tonight she would give herself to this man. She would take pleasure in his touch. And she would give him pleasure. Soon he’d call out, his voice roughened with passion as he spoke her name. Mad with his hunger. For her and only her.
With a little growl of sensual desire, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bed.
Lying on the clean, soft linen sheets of his bed, she drank in every delicious moment.
Jamie unfurled the plaid from his body. Her breath caught.
Oh dear. Perhaps magnificent was not adequate. She smiled to herself. No. Not at all.
He prowled over the bed, a powerful, hard-muscled warrior. His eyes darkened to a lush, mossy green. Firelight cast the chiseled contours of his face in striking relief. Longing unlike any she’d ever known coursed through her, and she reached for him.
Like a bolt of lighting, the contact rippled through her. Any doubts lingering in the recesses of her mind evaporated.
She wanted this night.
She wanted this man.
She needed him.
Jamie kissed her breasts, anointing her with caresses so tender, his touch seemed reverent. He moved lower, pressing hot, sweet kisses over her middle, along the length of her thighs.
And then he claimed her passion with a kiss so scandalous, so delicious, she’d never dreamed of such delight. Parting her legs, he explored the most intimate part of her. Driving her wild with his tongue and his lips and the tiniest nips of his teeth against her sensitive flesh, he unleashed a decadent, all-consuming heat within her.
Murmuring soft words of passion, she drank in every kiss, every touch.
A sweet, sensual tension built within her. Spiraled to a crescendo.
A burst of exquisite sensation pulled her deep into a whirlpool. Desperate for his wicked kiss, she bucked against him. Mindless with need. Wild for the pleasure.
Gathering her in his arms, he held her as she drifted back to reality. Lying sated in his tender embrace, she rested her head against his chest. Flickering flames cast shadows over the walls, bathing them in a rich amber light. She drew her fingertips over the angle of his jaw, savoring the crisp feel of bristle beneath her fingertips as he watched her silently, his eyes warmed by desire.
Nibbling her lip, she lightly traced the scar on his cheek. The bite of the blade against his flesh had no doubt been an agony. Her heart ached to think of it.
Appearing to read her thoughts, he met her questioning gaze. His jaw tensed, and she stroked her fingers soothingly through his hair.
“Do ye want to know what happened?”
She nodded. “Only if it’s not too painful to recall.”
“That pain is in the past.” He glanced away for a moment, seeming to contradict his words. “During the American war, I led a fleet of raiders in the Atlantic. We intercepted ships attempting to run the Union blockade. Many running the blockades were bringing supplies, but others had a more lucrative cargo—weapons. The Lachland brothers were smuggling arms to the South. We were tasked with stopping them.”
“That sounds quite dangerous.”
“There were times when the risks were not so great, but the Lachlands were a ruthless bunch. Many of their shipments got past the Union navy. But one night, we stopped their vessel off the coast of Charleston. When we boarded, one of the jackals caught me by surprise. He lashed out with a knife—not intending to kill, but to wound.”
Hot tears welled in her eyes. “What happened…after he attacked you?”
His gaze darkened with long-buried emotion. “I killed him.”
Wanting nothing more than to ease his pain, she cupped her hand against his face and brushed her lips over his. “He’d left you no choice.”
Lacing his fingers through her hair, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “That was a lifetime ago. I’d much rather talk about you. How did I stumble upon the good fortune to find a beauty like you? And in my arms, no less?”
The feeling in his gravel-edged rasp touched her heart. Much more of this, and she’d be beyond saving. She’d be hopelessly in love with him.
The fanciful notion tugged a smile to her lips. Her touch feather-light, she caressed his face. “And I might ask how I’ve come to be in bed with a pirate, a rugged, tender Scot unlike any man I’ve ever known. Perhaps we should not tempt fate by questioning this night.”
“Aye, we shou
ld not want to do that.”
His hand splayed over her lower back, pressing her tight to his body, holding her to his heart. His shaft pulsed against her in silent demand, and she arched against him, delighting in the tangible feel of his need.
With a little sigh, she glided her fingers along the breadth of his shoulders, dancing lower over the muscles of his upper chest. Savoring the feel of the crisp, brown hairs against her fingertips, the slightly rough texture of his skin against hers, she explored his sleekly muscled chest.
He gave a pleasure-filled moan. Growing bolder, she traced the line of hair tapering from his chest to his navel, then lower. Another low groan escaped him, and she smiled to herself. She nibbled her lip, willing herself to be daring. She wanted to know his body, to learn how to please him.
Drawing in a breath, she began her tender exploration. His rod was hard yet smooth as velvet. Each tiny touch of her fingers against his flesh stirred a response. He throbbed against her, seeming to yearn for the softest touch.
“Enough, lass,” he whispered against her ear, stilling her hand. “Much more of this and I willna be able to control myself.”
“And if I do not wish you to control yourself?”
His smile would’ve done Lucifer proud. “Well, then, lass, I’ve nothing else to say.”
With that, he rolled her on her back, caressing her face as he murmured words of love against her ear.
“I need ye, lass.” His words were a low, seductive rasp. “I want to claim ye for my own. But ye must tell me ye want me.”
“Ah, Jamie, can you have any doubt?”
He caught her hands in his, lacing their fingers together. “I need ye to understand… after this night, there will be no going back.”
“I do,” she whispered against his mouth. “Please, Jamie… I need you. So very much.”
He kissed her again, a possessive, intoxicating caress. Slowly, he entered her. Gently, he coaxed her body to open for him. And when he began to move, he saw to her pleasure, driving her wild, until a cascade of sensation swept her away.
Later, when the rush of delight had ebbed to a soft, easy bliss, she curled her body against his and closed her eyes.
Her heart might well pay the price for these moments come the dawn. But for now, she’d treasure the utter serenity of lying sated in Jamie’s arms.
Chapter Seventeen
Alone in the library, Jamie studied the portrait of his ancestor, Shaw MacDougall, captain of the legendary Savage of the Sea. Family lore told of MacDougall’s bride and the happiness they’d found together. Just as Jamie’s great-grandfather, Seamus, had fallen under the spell of a winsome lass, Shaw had taken a lovely beauty into his heart.
When he’d been a young buck like Rory, Jamie had wondered why a man like Shaw MacDougall would take a wife. After all, the pirate had all the whisky and willing women he could want to sate his appetites. Later, after he’d met Siobhan, he understood the longing for a good woman at his side.
For a time, Siobhan had faithfully endured her marriage to a privateer, but she’d yearned for the life of a respectable sea captain’s wife. Eventually, Jamie had walked away from the mayhem of the Highland Raiders. Truth be told, he sometimes chafed at the lack of adventure and craved the thrill of the chase that arose while pursuing a cargo filled with contraband or stolen antiquities. But he’d never regretted the choice he’d made to leave behind his life as a pirate. He’d loved Siobhan. Theirs had been a marriage borne of hunger—for connection, for healing, for love. She’d been a gentle soul, and she’d wanted desperately to love him, if only to escape an empty existence as her brother’s unwanted ward. But as time passed, she could no longer pretend, not even to herself.
I would leave ye, Jamie, if not for our bairns. Ye’re a good father. I’ve made my bed. And have chosen to lie in it.
But not with you, my dear husband.
Siobhan had spoken those words scarcely a fortnight before she’d died protecting their children. She’d loved their daughters enough to stay with a man she regarded with a practiced indifference. At times, it would’ve been better if she’d hated him.
After her death, he’d vowed never again to give a woman his heart. Doing so made a man weak. His ancestors had been lucky to find lasses who’d challenge them and stir their desire. Jamie’d never thought to find such a woman.
Until Leana had marched into his life and upended everything he’d held true.
The lass was infuriating. She’d boldly stood up to him, daring to speak her mind when she believed the girls’ best interest was at stake. She’d set Mrs. Taylor in her place, and she’d defied him even when he was of a mind to send her marching right back out the door with her traveling bag in hand.
God above, she intrigued him. When she was around, he wanted to know what captured her interest. He wanted to hear her opinions, even when he did not agree. He wanted to know what pleased her, in his bed and out of it. And when she wasn’t near, his thoughts wandered to her at all hours of the day and night.
Above all, he wanted to know her. Leana was vibrant and endearing. He couldn’t get enough of her.
By thunder, he’d been a fool to take her to bed. Hadn’t he? God knew he’d intended to resist the temptation.
But she’d been so damned enticing, he could not turn away. Not even when a voice deep within warned he was heading to the point of no return.
He’d loved her with his body and, he was loath to admit, with his heart. She’d returned his passion in kind. He’d desired her, more than he’d ever craved a woman, but there was more. He wanted her with every fiber of his being. Whether she was quietly reading some lurid novel by the hearth, dancing with Rory while happiness lit her beautiful face, or reclining like a goddess in his bed, Leana was everything he’d ever wanted.
Now the question was—what the hell should he do about it?
He would not take a mistress. The prospect left him cold. Not that Leana would even consider such an arrangement. No, the lass would likely slap him soundly and be on her way out of his life. Forever.
But he could take a wife.
God in heaven, had madness truly overtaken him?
Walking slowly along the corridor, he mulled his options. Would Leana give her heart to a man who craved a return to the sea? Could she be happy as a sea captain’s wife? Would a respectable woman settle for the likes of him? The questions tore at him. He was a fool to think she’d accept his proposal.
Rory strode toward him, mercifully stirring him from thoughts. “We have a visitor. Ye need to come to the front parlor.”
“Bluidy hell, show Finch the damned door. I’ve no patience—”
Rory’s mouth pulled tight with strain. “It’s not him. It’s…it’s a woman.”
“A woman?”
“Her name is Miss Abernathy. She arrived by carriage from Inverness. She claims Mrs. Kirk from the agency sent her.”
“Mrs. Kirk…” Jamie pictured the all-too-glowing reference Leana had presented, a letter signed by none other than the director of the governess agency.
Rory rubbed his neck. “There must be a mistake.”
“Ye’re right, but I’d wager I’m the blasted fool who made it."
The waning sun streamed rays of light around the curtains in the drawing room. Seated at the piano with Isla on one side and Bridget at the other, Leana pointed to a note on the sheet music. Correctly reading the symbol, Isla plunked her finger down on middle C, then proceeded to move along the scale as Leana indicated each note in turn.
“C,” Bridget said in her cheery, high-pitched voice, repeating after Leana. “D. E. F. G.”
As Isla placed her finger on the A, Rory strode into the room, distracting the girl into losing her place.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but this canna wait.” Concern etched lines on his features.
The worry in his expression triggered an inner alarm. “Has something happened?” Leana asked.
“I canna say.” He shuffled uncomfortably on
his feet. “My brother needs to speak with ye in his study. It’s a matter of some importance.”
Isla glared at her uncle. “Ye’re interrupting my studies, I’ll have ye know.”
“It canna be helped,” he said, seeming to avoid Leana’s gaze.
“Very well.” Rising, Leana smoothed out her skirts with the palms of her hands. Her pulse raced while apprehension roiled her stomach. What in heavens was going on?
After instructing Isla to read a fairy tale of her choice to her sister, Leana walked with Rory down the hall. His long, swift strides made short work of the corridor, but she kept up with him despite her cumbersome skirts.
“Do you care to tell me why I’ve been summoned to this command performance?”
Again, Rory looked away. “It’s not my place.”
“My, how very ominous.”
He met her comment with silence as he opened the door to Jamie’s study.
As she walked into the room, Jamie met her eyes. The dire look in his gaze twisted an invisible knot in her belly.
Something was wrong.
Very much so.
A woman in her middle years sat in the chair by his desk. Dressed in dull brown from the prim hat on her head to the hem of her skirt, the visitor worried her lower lip as she stared down at the knot of her fingers.
“My apologies,” the woman said, glancing up. “I did not mean to cause a stir.”
“Ye’ve done nothing that warrants an apology,” Jamie said, his manner deceptively relaxed as he strode toward Leana. He motioned to her. “Please, come in. Rory, close the door.”
Leana’s mouth filled with cotton. Whatever was happening, she was not going to like the outcome.
She met his eyes, seeing clearly the anger simmering beneath his outward calm. “Do you care to tell me what is going on?”
“It seems I have a problem. I have not one…but two…governesses for my daughters.”
“Two governesses?” Her stomach plummeted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rory rub his neck as if he’d developed a sudden ache.
“Aye. Miss Abernathy arrived after the morning meal. She’s presented a sterling reference from the Kirk agency.”
The Pirate's Temptation (Pirates of Britannia World Book 12) Page 14