The Great Scot

by Donna Kauffman

  He was done trying to rationalize or explain it. At the moment he was fully prepared to just give in to the demand of his body and sort out the effect it had on his soul later. It had been far, far, too long, and she tasted far, far too good. Most importantly, she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. That was all that could, or should, matter.

  He slanted his mouth over hers, intending on a sweet, selfishly slow seduction that would take as long to finish as his control would allow him. He knew better than to count on more than this moment, more than this night, so he intended to make the most of it. But then she moaned a little, and moved her body beneath his, and reached for him, pulling him down more snugly between her legs as she returned his kiss with a fervor he hadn’t expected. She teased her tongue into his mouth, dueling with his, then enticing him into her own. But pulling him deeply inside was akin to striking tinder to dry wood. The resulting flame shot high and fast, and consumed him instantly.

  He let her have him, let her take his tongue tightly inside the hot, sweet, softness of her mouth. She suckled him again and again, and every hard inch of him twitched repeatedly in response, wanting the same special treatment from those lips, that mouth. He was pushing himself between her thighs, seeking any relief he could find, not caring how close to the edge he was dancing. It felt incredibly bloody good and he saw no need to deny himself any part of it.

  The pleasure of touch, the pleasure of taste, the intoxication of a woman’s scent…how had he denied himself this for so long? He was already pulling at her shirt, desperate now to bare her skin to his need to taste, touch, consume. His passion was only fed further by her need for the same. He could feel her fingers scrabbling at the back of his shirt, yanking, tugging, wanting him as free and bared to her as he needed her to be to him. He was more than happy to comply.

  How many times had he imagined this? Dreamed this? Finally making it a reality, and one that surpassed even his most fervent imaginings. He wanted it to last forever, and he couldn’t get inside her fast enough.

  He broke off their kiss—causing them both to moan in instinctive disappointment—but only long enough to lean back and drag his shirt off. She did the same with her own. When she went to unclasp her bra in the front, he stopped her. “Me,” he said, the word more grunt than anything.

  Her gaze met his briefly, but he was intent on one thing and one thing only. Oh, he knew quite well who he was with, but she was already tugging at the waistband of his pants, so he didn’t think she’d mind if he didn’t stop to have a deep, meaningful conversation with her at that particular moment. There was only one thing he wanted that was deep, and that was every aching inch of him buried in the hot, wet, tightness that he knew was waiting for him, deep inside of her. To that end, they both seemed to be in complete agreement.

  “Not much to see,” she said, tugging his pants down over his hips now that she’d unbuttoned them.

  He’d just sprung open the little plastic catch of her bra—a surprising pale blue silk this time—but paused. “I beg your pardon?” He looked down between them, then back into her eyes.

  She laughed. “Not you, dummy. Me.” She wriggled her own pants over her hips, then grabbed his hips. “Come here. You can stare later.”

  Not needing to be asked twice, he managed to fish the condom from his pocket. “Just let me—”

  She nipped it from his fingers, then pushed at his shoulders as she hooked a leg around his, rolling him easily to his back.

  Caught totally off guard, her little maneuver surprised a laugh out of him as well. He put his hands on her hips, steadying her over him as she went about taking care of business. “Far be it from me to stop a woman on a mission.”

  But as she straddled him, he found he was incapable of being an inactive bystander. He gripped her hips more tightly and pulled her higher, when she would have pushed immediately down on him. He’d been dying to feast on those nipples of hers again—“Ahhh, god.” A deep groan, almost a growl, ripped from his throat when she managed to slide completely down and over him anyway.

  His neck arched and his eyes squeezed shut as he felt himself pulled into that magical, wonderful place of intense pleasure. Dear god but it had been a long, bloody long time, hadn’t it, then? And then she was leaning over him, bracing her hands on his chest, groaning in pleasure as he pulled her down snugly onto him and began matching her thrust for thrust. Her eyes were shut as she moved on him, seemingly lost in her own world as well. Dylan tipped his own head back and gave himself over to the ride, over to the primal power of being joined in the most visceral of ways. It felt so damn good.

  She ground her hips on him and he could feel her quicken, feel her muscles tighten around him, and the idea that she was taking herself to the edge pushed him right to the brink of his. He fought against rolling her to her back, letting her finish, thrusting higher, harder, faster as her muscles convulsed and she came. But he wasn’t superhuman, and the moment she began to slump forward, aftershocks rippling through her, twitching him too, still buried deep within her, he rolled her beneath him and pulled her knees up past his hips.

  One deep stroke and he was already surging. She gasped, bucked and arched, as he hit all of her highly sensitized spots, rejuvenating the orgasm for a few last precious spasms of pleasure. He milked every one of them for his own shameless enjoyment, until he couldn’t hold back a second longer and drove so deeply into her they both shifted upward amongst the blankets and pillows. He roared over the edge, thrusting again and again, until there was nothing left.

  He managed, barely, to keep from collapsing heavily on top of her, sliding out and shifting his weight off her to his side, grabbing a napkin to quickly take care of things, then rolling flat to his back as they both lay there, splayed beneath the moon and heavens.

  There was only the sound of their heavy breathing as long seconds turned to minutes. Until finally she broke the silence. “Are there really that many stars up there, or am I still delirious?”

  He grinned. It wasn’t going to be awkward, then. Good. But then he’d known she wasn’t looking for anything more than he was. And they’d both definitely gotten what they’d wanted. It was going to be fine. “I’m no’ so certain I’m the one to ask,” he said, his voice hoarse, gravelly. “I’m a bit obliterated myself.” He stretched and took a long, slow breath. Och, but he couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so good, so sated. “You sure know how to take it out of a man, Erin, that ye do.”

  She didn’t say anything, but when he rolled his head toward her, he saw she was looking quite relaxed herself, still staring up at the stars. He thought about the wine, the cheese and bread he’d packed in the basket, but he was relaxed to a point beyond lethargy and it felt too sweet to disturb it by trying to summon up something as taxing as motion. Yawning deeply, without much thought other than that she felt too far away, he reached for her and rolled her to his side. She came willingly enough, and he was already mostly asleep as she curled against his side, one leg slung companionably over his. He tucked her head beneath his chin and let sleep overtake him, smiling, thinking this was the smartest thing he’d done in a very long time. No regrets, indeed.

  He woke at dawn, the sun barely cresting the horizon and slicing into his closed eyelids. He was initially disoriented, but swiftly realized he was outside, naked…and quite alone. The previous evening’s activities came rushing instantly to mind, and despite what could be a rather discouraging circumstance, he grinned widely and stretched. The morning air was a bit damp, but warm, and he felt like a sleek cat who’d spent the night sipping the finest of cream.

  He did have one regret, and that was that they’d wasted the remainder of the night sleeping, not to mention his carefully packed basket, but there would be another time for that. It was only when he finally pulled himself up to a sitting position, blinking a bit until his vision came into focus, that he realized that the basket had indeed been infiltrated. But she was nowhere to be seen. Hmm. He didn’t feel any immediate sens
e of alarm. He couldn’t imagine Erin abandoning him out here. Not only that, most of her clothes were still strewn about the blanket, as were most of his. He grinned and reached for the basket, dragging it closer and fishing out a chunk of bread. He was relaxed, better rested than he’d been in what felt like centuries, and ravenous.

  He chewed the chunk of bread and washed it down with a half bottle of sparkling water he’d packed, then pulled on his pants and decided to find out where Erin had gotten off to. He doubted she’d gone far, barefoot and naked.

  She wasn’t on the remains of connecting wall, and he didn’t see her anywhere around the tower, so maybe she’d climbed back down and was wandering the rest of the ruins. He went back that way himself, picking his way, barefoot, over the rocks and pebbles as he wound his way around and inside the castle walls. He wandered across the grass-covered open courtyard and through the archway on the other side, heading toward the far tower and what was left of the abbey. He thought about calling out her name, but it was such a peaceful morning and he felt so damn good, he didn’t want to disturb the serenity of his surroundings.

  He congratulated himself on how well he was handling this whole thing, how well they both had, in fact. Consenting adults, indeed. All that concern he’d had, trying to analyze things and wondering about her…had all been just as he’d thought, a result of him being locked up too long alone in Glenshire. Of course he could handle something as innocuous as a little fling. And who more perfect than Erin? She was intriguingly different, but not the sort to get him all tangled up inside, not for long, anyway. They’d tire of each other eventually, once the newness wore off, which was fine as she wouldn’t be about for long. Perfect inside and out, their little liaison. She’d seemed equally content last night. He couldn’t have asked for better, really.

  And then he entered the side of the abbey that still stood, and found her. Clad in nothing more than his shirt and her panties, she sat on a pile of stone that had once comprised several rows of pews, staring toward what would have been the altar, as a lone ray of morning sun slanted through the gaping hole once filled with stained, leaded glass and now cast in a deep, golden glow. She appeared deep in thought, but that wasn’t what stopped him in his tracks.

  Bollocks and bloody hell! He was a complete and utter fool, he was. So cocksure and full of himself this morning, with his base needs all handily met. Going on about how smart he’d been to find someone who matched him there, and understood about slaking needs and such. Aye, she’d said it wasn’t something she made habit of, but then neither was it for him. But both of them knew there could be nothing more than a rare physical chemistry at play here, right? She’d been worried about juggling things with her job…not her heart.

  So no one was more surprised than he was to discover, upon seeing her sitting there, her hair a godawful mess, her cheeks pink from the moist dawn air and likely from his beard as well, her knees pulled up to her chest with her arms linked loosely about her legs, showcasing a body that was more functional than feminine…that it was his heart that would feel that quickening tug. His heart doing a dangerous little tango. Where in the bloody hell had that come from he wanted to know?

  Safe. Erin MacGregor was safe. That’s what he’d known, deep inside. That was what had made last night possible. Hearing about her past, her upbringing—or lack thereof—had only cemented that in his mind. She understood him, understood that life wasn’t neat and tidy, knew what it meant to look out for number one and damn the rest. In that respect, she was perfect for him. In that respect.

  His gaze lingered on the line of her jaw. A bit too sharply edged. Studied the fingertips that dug into her thighs, none of them sporting so much as a fraction of nail, much less any shiny polish. There were no smudges beneath her eyes, as there was no makeup to smudge. She was a straightforward, no artifice, see-what-you-get woman. Someone he’d never have chosen for himself in the past, but, for this moment in his life, a perfect fit. A perfect temporary fit. Someone to help him bridge old life to new, but bridge only.

  So how had he not seen this? How had he not realized, fully, the danger he was truly in? That he’d be the poor juggler…not her.

  Last night, he’d taken her like a damn rutting beast, sure of the knowledge that she wanted him in exactly that mindless, emotionless way. Nothing to juggle there, aye?

  So why did he have to clench his jaw to keep from saying her name? Curl his fingers inward to keep from reaching for her? Force himself to stay out of sight, fighting an almost overwhelming need to go to her, talk to her, make her laugh, see her smile, enjoy everything about her that made her the right woman for him. And not simply for today, but perhaps for all the tomorrows she’d give him?

  Bloody, fucking fool.

  As if sensing him there, she turned her head. Her smile was immediate, but a bit tentative. “Hey, there.”

  Pinned, he had to act. Stepping through the abbey arch was both the easiest and hardest step he’d ever taken. He stopped several feet inside the portal. “Hey there, yourself.” He suddenly didn’t know what to say to her. Far too many emotions were presently battling for dominance for him to be able to sort them all out and handle the moment correctly at the same time. He glanced around. “This was once quite the place,” he said, opting to step around the elephant in the room between them. For now. Cowardly though it may be, it was preservation at its most instinctive base. “This part of the fortress was designed by a friar in the fourteenth century, before it belonged to the Fenton clan. More than one of my ancestors was married here.”

  “I wish I could have seen what it looked like then.” If she was hoping for a more substantive or personal discussion, she didn’t show it.

  In fact, for the first time, he couldn’t quite read her at all. It wasn’t like her to be enigmatic, and he found he was a bit alarmed by that. It mattered to him, what she was thinking. Scared him a little, too. But he wasn’t ready to probe that reaction, either. So he went with relief that she was giving them both some space and was simply thankful for it. “Have you walked more of the place?”

  “Some.” She slid off her perch, straightening her bare legs and making him instantly ache for her again.

  It wasn’t just seeing her in his shirt, knowing she was a scrap of panty silk away from being naked beneath him again, if that’s what he wanted. What she wanted. The ache so persistently dogging him this morning went far deeper than that.

  “There’s another tower, in the rear,” he managed, wondering how long she’d let him get away with playing tour guide. Wondering if it would be long enough for him to make sense of the jumble of emotions she’d stirred up inside of him. Just by being herself. “Not as much left of it, but the view just beyond is pretty fantastic.” He started to walk in that general direction, but she didn’t follow.

  “I—I really should be getting back.”

  He turned, noting the way she scuffed a toe in the grass, the way her fingers were twined together, both of which belied her apparent calm, easy demeanor. Maybe she was confused, too. He didn’t have the balls to ask at the moment.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you,” she said, “you were sleeping pretty soundly. So I thought I’d take a bit of a walk. But I have a million things to do and—”

  “Right. Sure,” he said, his heart squeezing, which told him a great deal right there. “Come on, then. Mind your step.”

  He waited until she passed by him, back through the arch, and started across the courtyard before falling into step behind her. No pause for a morning kiss, no touch as she walked past him. Nothing more than a bit of a smile, her eyes bright, maybe overly bright.

  He’d never felt so lost in a situation. Maybe he should have reached for her, given her some sign, any sign, that last night was more than a rut for him. Except maybe that’s all it had been for her. Far be it for him to needlessly complicate something that didn’t need complicating. She’d said she didn’t think she could juggle, so he should just let her get back to business and b
e thankful she’d managed to juggle one night with him into her life.

  So, why he had an almost overwhelming urge to break something, he had no idea.

  She was just far enough ahead of him, that she’d scaled the outer wall stairs before he could jog close enough to help her. She was at the blanket and tugging on her pants by the time he got there. She scooped up her bra and shirt and turned to face the rising sun as she pulled off his shirt, her back to him.

  He hated that she needed the privacy. One thing he’d purely enjoyed about her was her take-no-prisoners style. Yet here she was, almost shyly dressing herself. Had he done that to her? Had he really screwed this up so badly? He watched her, unable to look away, as if he needed to drink in every last vision he might have, store it up somehow. The sun played over her shoulders and arms, burnishing her skin, high-lighting the tips of her wispy hair. She slid on her bra, tugged on her shirt, all with economical grace. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She turned and tossed him his shirt. “Thank you for the loan.”

  “Anytime,” he said, and meant it quite sincerely. The idea that he’d never have her again, never taste her again, never get to truly indulge himself in her—as last night had hardly involved any of that, despite his best intentions—left him feeling quite desolate. Which was ridiculous. Sure, he’d hoped for more than a one-night stand, but nothing more serious than a string of a few more. This aching desperation wasn’t acceptable. Yet he had no idea how to switch it off.

  She, apparently, hadn’t had that particular problem.

  She slipped on her shoes and started to fold up the blankets.

  He still stood there, barefoot, shirt in hand.

  She glanced up at him. “You want to step off that so I can fold it?” If she thought it odd or frustrating that he wasn’t in any real hurry to dress and get out of there, she didn’t say so. Again, she seemed outwardly calm, and mostly, well, functional was the word that came to mind. Picking up, cleaning up, dressing. He couldn’t read what she was thinking or feeling. It drove him crazy.