Highland Heat

by Jennifer Haymore

  He blinked at her. “Is that what you want, lass?” he asked softly. “There’s nothing to see. Not even a scar to show for it.”

  “That’s not what I want to see,” she admitted. “Not really.”

  “Are ye certain?”

  She nodded solemnly, but her heart continued its heavy, solid thrum.

  He was fully dressed, not in a kilt but in a plaid and shirt. He moved the plaid from his shoulder and pulled out his shirt, then slowly lifted it over his head, revealing his skin inch by inch.

  His pale skin was perfect, rippling with muscles she hadn’t ever seen, even in statues. There were two indentations above his hips, and each muscle in his stomach was well defined. His chest was massive, thick with heavy muscles. As the shirt came off, his uninjured arm was revealed, bulging shoulders and biceps. The shirt had been cut to easily fit over his sling, and he didn’t even wince as he pulled the fabric over it. She remembered how the steely strong arm had come across her chest—that must have been his injured arm holding her.

  “Your arm is better, isn’t it?”

  He glanced down at it. “I felt it during the ride here from London, but now the most bothersome part of it is the sling.”

  “The arm itself doesn’t hurt anymore?”

  “Nay. It just feels stiff sometimes. Otherwise, I forget it’s even been injured.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “We’ll have the doctor look at it tomorrow. Maybe he’ll say it’s time to remove the sling.”

  He gave her a smile that made her heart melt as if it were made of butter.

  “Where were you cut by that sword in Salamanca?” she asked.

  He gestured with his chin toward the shoulder of his uninjured arm, and she ran her fingers over the area, searching for the upraised skin of a scar. She felt nothing. “You’re right,” she murmured. “It hardly nicked you. You were so lucky.”

  “After that was when they started to call me Unbreakable Mackenzie.”

  She laughed out loud. “Is that what they call you?”

  “They did. Not much anymore, though, not since Waterloo. I suppose that was the battle that finally broke me.” He touched his fingers to his broken arm.

  “I disagree. I think you’re still Unbreakable Mackenzie. Waterloo didn’t kill you, nor did it break your spirit.”

  A darkness flashed across his eyes. “I fear it did break some men’s spirits, though.”

  “No doubt,” she murmured, thinking of Captain Stirling. “I hope spirits can be healed.”

  “I ken they can.”

  Duncan was ever the optimist. She loved that about him.

  She glided her fingers over his chest, then pressed her palm to it and moved it over the contours of his smooth, warm skin, working around the sling. He held very still, his free hand clenched at his side, as she explored him.

  The firelight danced gold and orange over his skin. He was beautiful. Perfect. More so than any statue she’d ever seen.

  As she ran her fingertips over his collarbone, he reached down to her ankle—her bare ankle, as she wore no stockings—and slowly moved upward, over her shin. She shuddered. When he reached her knee, he leaned forward and gave her a searing kiss.

  She fell into it, sliding her hands up to grip his shoulders. God, he was…he was…everything.

  He moved his hand up to the top of her thigh and stopped there. She gasped. She was wearing only her nightgown beneath her robe. No undergarments.

  “Och, Grace,” he said gruffly against her lips, rolling the R in her name in that erotic Scottish brogue of his. “You’re so damned perfect.”

  “No I’m not,” she said truthfully.

  He kissed her, hard, then pulled away. “Aye, you’re right. That’s your imperfection. You’ve no confidence in your own appeal.”

  She laughed softly. “I know what will help my confidence.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Kiss me again.”

  So he did. He ravished her mouth, sucking her tongue, licking and nipping her lips, gently squeezing her thigh. She moved to the edge of the chair, wrapping her hands around his neck and pulling him closer to her.

  His lips traveled to the edge of her mouth then over her cheek and down, until they were traveling along her jaw. “I want to take you to bed, lass,” he murmured.

  She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. “I want that, too,” she said.

  “Are ye certain?”

  “Yes,” she said. It was what she wanted. It was why she’d come.

  He pulled back slightly. “I dinna wish to hurt you.”

  She cupped his cheek in her hand and smiled at him. “I know.”

  “And if there’s a bairn…I’ll pull out before…but it’s no’ sure. It’s never sure. Once we’re together, it could happen.”

  “I know that too.” She took a shaky breath.

  “If there is a child, we will marry,” he said firmly. “We will exile ourselves to Scotland.”

  She closed her eyes, then opened them and looked directly at him. “The chances of that are small, though, yes?”

  “Aye.”

  She nodded. “It’s worth the risk.”

  He searched her face, still hesitating.

  “Don’t you see?” she whispered. “Duncan, you are all I’ve ever dreamed of in a man. You are everything I want. But I can’t have you.”

  He bowed his head.

  “We can have this night, though. Maybe more, for as long as you stay at Norsey House. It might be my only chance…”

  “You will marry one day.”

  “I’ve already told you I won’t.”

  He shook his head, looking at her with shining eyes. “Oh, aye.” His fingers squeezed her thigh. “There ye go again with your lack of confidence. But you’re wrong, lass. Some man—some lord—will find you someday. He’ll fall in love with you and marry you and be the happiest man alive.”

  She smiled as affection—no, love—surged through her in response to his sweet words. “You think too highly of me.”

  “Nay,” he murmured, and kissed her again.

  She could kiss this man forever. His mouth, his taste, his heat. His calloused thumb rubbed small circles over her thigh, and she sighed with pleasure.

  He released her thigh and wrapped his arm around her, pressing her against him as he rose, bringing her to a standing position along with him.

  “Come. This will be easier on the bed.”

  “Not the floor?” she asked, teasing.

  He chuckled. “Next time,” he said, and his voice was so low and rough with desire that her breath caught in her throat.

  He led her to the bed, his arm around her back, and at its edge he stood behind her and slipped her robe off, first one shoulder then the next. The robe slid to the floor and he left it there. He moved her braid to the side and kissed the back of her neck, wrapping his arm around her body and cupping her breast in his hand. She reached up, gripping his strong forearm to steady herself.

  “I want to see you naked,” he murmured. “I want to see you without a stitch of clothing. I want to feast my eyes on every inch of your body, Grace.”

  She closed her eyes as fear froze her. The fear and embarrassment were natural responses, she told herself, born of years of modesty and hiding her body from others. But Duncan wanted to see her. He found her beautiful. She pushed those frigid feelings aside and grabbed the edges of her nightgown. He drew back a bit as it fell to the floor. Then his hand slid over her back and down the curve of her waist and over her buttocks.

  “You’re so soft,” he murmured appreciatively.

  She stood still, her eyes remaining closed.

  “I want you so bad, Grace. Feel how much I want you.” He reached for her hand, then guided it back and pressed it to his erection.

  Her breath caught. He was swollen and hard against her palm. Would it fit inside her? Was it possible?

  “God that feels good,” he said. “Squeeze it, lass.”

  She leaned
back against him, pressing her hand between their bodies and squeezing tightly over his hard length.

  He groaned softly, and she turned to face him. “Now you,” she said boldly. She looked down to the plaid wrapped around his waist. “Take it off.”

  He grinned at her. “Assertive, aren’t you? I like it.” He undid the brooch that held his plaid in place and it fell to the floor, leaving him completely naked.

  And not naked like the Greek and Roman statues. Naked like a God, perhaps, with his penis erect and straining from his body, hard and strong. Now she knew why he was worried he’d hurt her.

  She was rendered speechless. She looked up to his face and saw that he was watching her carefully, a worried wrinkle digging between his brows.

  “You’re…” she breathed. But she was unsure how to finish it. Fantastic? Perfect? Incredibly well endowed? She had a feeling that no matter what she said, it would be insufficient for all that she felt about him at this moment. She was simply overwhelmed.

  She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his firm chest.

  Even through all these tangled emotions she felt safe with him. Utterly safe. And strong. Like nothing terrible could happen to her as long as they were close.

  His erection pressed against her belly, and she sighed.

  “I’ve never been so close to anyone,” she murmured.

  “Neither have I.”

  She pulled her head back and looked him in the eye. “Surely you have. You’re not a virgin.”

  “Nay,” he said seriously, “I’m not. But it’s never been like this. Never so open. I’ve never stood naked before a woman and never had one stand naked before me. And…I’ve never felt this way before.”

  “What way?”

  “Close,” he said simply.

  She didn’t understand. If he’d engaged in carnal congress with women before, wouldn’t they have been closer than this? “What do you mean?”

  “Close. Not only in the body, ye ken? I feel connected to you, Grace. I’ve passed my heart into your keeping, to either break or nourish.”

  She held him tighter. “It’s not like this every time?”

  “Nothing like this,” he said gruffly.

  Those three words gave her a rush of pleasure. She pulled back, took the hand of his good arm in her own, and led him the few steps to the bed. She climbed up, aware of her nakedness, of his eyes on her.

  She reclined against the pile of pillows and reached her arms out to him. “Come.”

  Chapter 14

  Duncan was on the bed in half a second. He straddled Grace, his weight resting on his knees. Leaning down on his good arm, he kissed her, long and languid and slow, caressing her mouth with his lips and tongue, reveling in her fresh, clean taste. His cock lay heavy against her stomach, and she arched her back, rubbing her belly against him as if she enjoyed the sensation of his heat stroking over her cooler skin.

  He’d never kissed anyone who was so soft. There were no imperfections in her skin anywhere—no calluses, scars, or spots of any kind. It was all pure, creamy pale skin, most of which had never seen the light of day. But he was seeing it now, and it was perfect.

  He moved downward, trailing kisses over her jaw then her slim neck and across her collarbone. She was slender but not skinny, with rounded curves at her hips and breasts and bottom. He moved over one of those curves now, the top of her breast, balancing himself on his elbow as he cupped it in his palm, kneading as he pressed his lips into the soft mound. He traveled up until he reached her nipple. He brushed his thumb over it, finding it already peaked into a hard nub.

  Above him, she gasped. Duncan knew that some women were more sensitive here than others. Question was, how sensitive was she? He couldn’t wait to find out.

  “Ye like that, lass?” The words rumbled across her skin as he spoke.

  “Yes.” It was no more than a breath of sound.

  He pressed his lips on the firm nub and flicked his tongue over it. “Do ye like that?”

  “Yes.” This time it was a groan, and he smiled against her skin.

  Very sensitive, then. Very sensitive, indeed. That was good, because he could spend hours feasting on these bonny breasts.

  He took her nipple into his mouth and suckled. He kissed and sucked and played with her until she moaned and writhed beneath him. And when she said, “Oh, Duncan. Please…” He surged up, moved her legs apart and settled himself on his knees between them. He lowered himself again, this time with his mouth pressing to the pink flesh between her legs.

  God. She was so wet, and she tasted like heaven. Maybe this woman was heaven personified. As the thought struck him, he realized this was not beyond the realm of possibility. Maybe he’d at last found heaven in a woman’s arms.

  He stroked the sensitive spot between her legs, and she cried out, her body jerking under his hand. He moved lower, pushing his thumb inside her and his mouth just above, suckling there as he had her breast.

  The orgasm built quickly—or maybe it had already been near the peak when he’d moved his attention between her legs. But in a few moments, her legs went stiff on either side of him, and then her body convulsed, and she cried out.

  God help him. He hoped the doors were thick. But the thought was just a flash, and he turned back into the sweetness of her, licking her through the orgasm as she whimpered and trembled and shuddered.

  Finally, her muscles started to relax as she came down, and above him, she murmured, “Ahhhh”—a sound of utter contentment. Only because he had a hint of the devil inside him, he licked her again, firmly, and she gasped and jerked away from him.

  He looked up, grinning. “Sensitive, eh?”

  She nodded, her eyes shining.

  “It’s like that for a man too.”

  “It almost hurts,” she said in a breathy voice, “but it’s a…” She frowned, thinking, a furrow digging between her brows. “It’s a pleasurable kind of pain.”

  “Pain and pleasure can be very close companions,” he murmured, crawling back up her body, dropping kisses over her belly and breasts as he moved.

  He held himself over her, staring into her eyes. “Are ye scairt, lass?”

  She gazed at him, her clear blue eyes sparkling with heat. “No,” she breathed.

  He kissed her, murmuring, “Sweet, brave Grace.”

  She wiggled beneath him. “I want you.”

  And, God, he wanted her. If he didn’t have her soon, he’d surely burst into flames. He adjusted himself, but it was awkward given the limited use of his arm. Still gazing into her eyes, he said, “Take my cock in your hand, love. Put it where you want it to go.”

  She nodded and without hesitation took him in hand and guided him into the notch between her legs.

  Duncan’s eyes almost rolled back in his head. Her center was scorching hot against the sensitive head.

  He knew Grace felt his shudder, because her eyes flashed in the firelight and she tugged him closer, until his entire cockhead was buried in her warmth. A groan resonated from him before he could stop it. His arse quivered as he fought the primal urge to thrust with all his strength into her.

  “Do it,” she whispered.

  Shaking, he moved the scantest bit deeper. Grace’s breath caught, and Duncan froze, feeling like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, his arms cartwheeling in the attempt to stop himself from falling.

  “No, Duncan,” Grace said, moving her hand away from his cock to grip his biceps, “don’t stop.”

  God, he hoped she meant that. Because he couldn’t stop. Not for a second longer. He let go, stopped fighting it, and sank his cock into her.

  Pleasure exploded through his body. But at the same time, although her expression didn’t change, Grace went tight around him, and the flush seemed to drain from her cheeks.

  Calling a halt to his body’s insistent instinct to move, Duncan blinked hard, trying to rein himself back in. “Grace, are ye all right, lass?”

  She closed her eyes in
a long blink, then nodded up at him.

  Hell, all his muscles were quivering with restraint now, sweat beading at his temples.

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  He looked at her quizzically.

  “I said,” she breathed, her eyes narrowing, “don’t stop.”

  “Oh Christ,” he said on a moan. And this time he did let go. He pulled out and pushed inside her again. She gasped, her fingers closing even tighter over the flesh of his good arm.

  He didn’t stop this time. He sank into the pleasure her body gave him. Drowned in it. It consumed him. Overcame his body in a rush of sensation—a rush of the kind he’d only ever dreamed about.

  He’d always thought that to join with a woman was one of the world’s greatest pleasures. But he’d never joined with a woman like this—never with a woman he had deep feelings for. That made every sensation a hundred times more intense, more meaningful. Until each time he pushed his cock to the hilt inside her, the pleasure seemed to wrap around his heart. Around his very soul.

  It didn’t take long until Grace was arching against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, making whimpering noises that clearly had more to do with pleasure than pain. Her channel, which had been sinfully tight around him, grew even tighter. A vise of sheer torturous ecstasy that was bringing him quickly to the brink.

  He wasn’t going to last. But he had to, damn it. Because, miraculously, Grace was nearing her own climax. Her sex was trembling, her body shuddering, her breaths coming in short gasps.

  Duncan held on by sheer force of will, watching the woman beneath him climb to the peak. By the time she reached it, sweat poured down Duncan’s temple. But when she came it was worth it. Her muscles went rigid, her mouth opened in an O of pleasure, she cried out his name, and finally she lost all control, her body seeming to soar beneath his as the orgasm swept through her.

  He held his weight on his forearm, his hand tightening in the soft blond locks of her hair. And when her body started to relax once more, he somehow found the presence of mind to pull himself out of her body. He pressed his pelvis to her hip, rubbing himself there as he poured onto her pale, perfect skin, marking it with his seed.