Immortal Protector

by Claire Ashgrove

  He dropped a hand, slipped it between their bodies, and cupped her breast. The scrape of her cotton shirt as he dragged his thumb across her hardened nipple made her mewl with pleasure. Her hips undulated into his, stroking the rigid length of his erection. Iain’s body bucked forward, his groan hoarse.

  He recovered quickly and pulled away, breaking their kiss. Despair launched through Catherine. He couldn’t leave now, couldn’t leave her wanting as painfully as she did. She opened her mouth, prepared to counter whatever objection he might utter. But when he said nothing, she closed it just as quickly. His gaze held hers, unblinking as he slipped his hands beneath her lightweight shirt. The rasp of his rough fingers against her skin sent ecstasy shooting through her body. She fought the compelling need to close her eyes and revel in the sensations he awakened, but his gaze pulled her in, the hunger there forbidding her to look away.

  Barely breathing, she trembled as he released her bra and his fingers closed around her bare breasts. “Iain,” she exhaled weakly.

  “Do you wish me to stop?” he whispered.

  “No. Don’t stop touching me.”

  A faint smile played on his mouth as he pinched one nipple. The pull on her distended flesh reached all the way into her womb. Unable to stop herself, Catherine leaned her head back against the wall, closed her eyes, and moaned against a shockwave of bliss. When it passed, and she could once again control her actions, she met his gaze anew. Satisfaction blended with the glint of arousal. He had liked that nearly as much as she.

  “It has been a long time since I have heard a woman’s sounds of pleasure,” he murmured as he raised her shirt.

  Cool air washed over her skin, making the heat he was generating inside her somewhat bearable. But when he drew his tongue around the same nipple he had tweaked, her knees went weak. She clutched at his shoulders, moaning once more as he drew her aroused flesh into his mouth. The flick of his tongue was maddening. The pull of his mouth as he sucked, sheer torture. She squirmed against him, wanting more, craving an end to the perfect pleasure.

  It had been too long. She was on the edge, sexual release tugging at her sense of awareness. But oh, she didn’t want to go off like this, didn’t want this chasm of feeling to stop with the touch of his hands. She craved deeper fulfillment, the feel of their bodies joined so intimately it defied the ecstasy of simple flesh.

  Finding the power to move, she dipped her hand between them and curled her fingers around the hard bulge behind his jeans. Iain’s gaze flared hot. In the next heartbeat, his fingers stilled at her breast, and he closed his eyes. His shudder vibrated into her. As the last tremor rolled through him, he let out a sharp hiss and twisted his hips aside.

  “Ah, Catherine,” he murmured as he feathered his mouth across hers. “I want naught more than to feel myself inside you.” Chuckling softly, he scattered kisses down the side of her throat. “’Tis a pity we have chosen the wrong place to lose our heads.” He released one breast and slid his hand down her body, cupping her mound over the thin material of her long skirt. His fingertip pressed against her clitoris, and his voice thickened. “Take your pleasure, my sweet. Mine must wait.”

  Catherine shook her head. Swallowing to wet her dry throat, she whispered, “We’re fine. No one can see us here.”

  A moment of indecision passed across his face, and his hands stilled once again. It scared her how prepared she was to beg—she couldn’t remember ever feeling like she would splinter into pieces if she walked away from sex. She told herself it had simply been too long, that the need that raged inside her was nothing more than five years of physical neglect. But deep down, she knew it was more than simple lust. She wanted him to need her in the same crazy, hedonistic way she needed more than the touch of his hand, the impersonal sweep of his talented fingers.

  In the next heartbeat, Iain glanced up at the windows. As if he didn’t believe her claim that no one could witness their lovemaking, he fastened one hand on her waist, and with two steps to the side, moved them both beneath the additional cover of an overhanging oak branch.

  When his fathomless, burnished-bronze gaze latched onto hers, Catherine smiled. Her heart stuttered as the same soft affection lifted the corners of his mouth. He drew a fingertip tenderly down the side of her face, then stepped away, his hands dropping to the fly of his jeans.

  As he freed himself from the confining denim, Catherine reached beneath her skirt and shimmied out of her underwear. She barely had time to step out of them before his hands again encircled her waist and his mouth skimmed across the shell of her ear. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he murmured against her temple.

  At her nod, he lifted her off the ground. She hooked her ankles at the small of his back, relaxing the grip of her thighs only long enough for him to pull the long length of her skirt from between them. Iain leaned into her, pressing her back to the bricks as he aligned his swollen shaft with her damp flesh. She tensed for an instant as his heat soaked into her, then pleasure slid into her veins, and her womb clamped against the hard rush of desire.

  Iain’s lips brushed hers. “It has been a long while, mademoiselle. I beg your forgiveness.”

  She caught him in a lingering kiss, then whispered, “Take me.”

  His hard shaft slid through her wet folds as he pulled his hips away. Then with one, prolonged push, he slid deep within her, stroking her so precisely, she cried out in ecstasy.

  Ten

  Iain captured Catherine’s mouth, drowning out the echo of her high-pitched keen. But the feel of her hot, wet flesh gloved tight around his swollen cock made it impossible to focus on the kiss. His hips crept forward, inching him deeper, chasing more of the dizzying pleasure. Many long months had passed since he had enjoyed a woman, and his body did not intend to allow him to forget the neglect it suffered.

  Tearing his mouth off hers, he sucked in a short breath and slid his hands beneath her bottom, supporting her as he thrust. She rested her head against the brick wall, eyes closed, soft lips parted. Her hips rocked forward each time he thrust, and the bite of her nails at his shoulders awakened something darkly primal inside him. ’Twould be no drawn-out languor in this joining of their bodies—he could not stop the sudden, ferocious need to possess all of her at once if he had wished to.

  Saints’ toes, he had never known such feral desire. How he could have believed he could distance himself from her, he did not know. For ’twas plain, he could not get enough. Her touch drove him mad. The brush of her lips eradicated sense. And this…His heart swelled painfully—’twas no greater addiction. One taste would never satisfy.

  He thrust harder, dimly aware of the way her shoulder blades grated against the rough brick. Although he experienced a flicker of remorse for her discomfort, she clawed at his back and brought her hips hard against his. Her thighs relaxed a fraction, granting him deeper access and room to succumb to abandon. He slid through her flesh like a well-oiled piston, lost to sweet oblivion.

  Ecstasy blanketed him as she shuddered in his arms. “Iain,” she gasped. Her arms tightened around his shoulders as her body tensed. And then, she melted into him, a broken wail tumbling from her lips.

  Release stormed through him as her flesh pulsed around his throbbing shaft. He felt himself swell within her. His own breath lodged at the base of his throat. Pleasure, so sweet and sublime ’twas almost painful, rolled through his veins, and with another thrust, he spilled himself.

  Long moments passed in a haze of intense feeling before Iain could pull his thoughts into order. The sound of their mutual labored breathing filled his ears. Where their bodies joined, he felt the shuddering beat of his heart. Gradually, he became aware of the way her thighs trembled at his hips. He eased from within her heavenly depths, and lowered her legs to the ground. She stumbled into him with a quiet laugh.

  “I think you’ve broken me.”

  Apology rose quickly, but at the flash of her laughing eyes and her teasing grin, he chuckled. The moment of lightheartedness did not l
ast, however, for in the next deep breath, he inhaled the thick, pungent aroma of decay. Every relaxed muscle in his body snapped to attention like the lash of a whip.

  To disguise his alarm, he nuzzled the side of her neck. “Stay with me tonight.”

  “Mm.” She tipped her head to the side and snuggled into his arms. “I can’t. I have to decide what I’m going to do and am obligated to work in the archives tomorrow.”

  “Do?” For an instant he forgot the nearby danger, his attention focused on that single utterance.

  Her voice softened by another degree, and she affectionately pushed her fingers through his short hair. “Where I belong, Iain. It’s obviously not here at the abbey.”

  Chills spread into portions of his soul he had not realized existed. The darkness he harbored from centuries of killing Azazel’s foul creations rolled aside to make room for warmth he had not experienced since before he took his oaths. If even then.

  His arms tightened around her slim waist, and he pressed a lingering kiss against the base of her ear, where her pulse bounded. In that moment, he knew he would die to protect her. ’Twas the only thing he had been certain of in centuries.

  “Stay with me, Catherine,” he whispered again. “Let us discover the answers together.”

  She turned her head and tremulous blue eyes locked with his. A myriad of emotion poured forth—hesitation, fear, and mistrust blended with tender affection. “Where?” her question was a shaky exhaling of air.

  “I know a place.”

  Indecision creased her brow as she stole a glance at the nearby door. Then, an uncertain smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Bring me back at dawn?”

  “Aye.” Lingering in her warmth a moment longer, he drew his fingers through her glorious silken hair. Then he stepped away, gave her a moment to don her panties, and with her hand tucked into his, he escorted her to the truck.

  As he shut the door, enclosing her safely, an eerie, unearthly wail rose from the distant trees.

  Demons. Iain’s hand dropped instinctually to his side for the sword he no longer wore. For the second time in his life, he cursed himself for being a fool and leaving it behind. He no longer doubted something wanted her. Before she returned here, he would know why.

  Catherine ascended the front steps to an old Victorian, determined not to think about what she had done, what she was doing now, or the ramifications of either. She’d work through that tomorrow, when she was deep in the solitude of the archives and free to think without distraction. Right now, she just wanted to ride out this emotional tidal wave. With luck, the shore where it deposited her would be soft sand, not jagged rocks.

  “Whose house is this?” she asked as Iain turned the doorknob and let them inside.

  He chewed on the inside of his cheek and shut the door with a thoughtful frown. When he didn’t immediately answer, she looked around. She recognized the old house—anyone who lived in Atchison would. Legend had it the place was haunted. Lights came on without anyone living inside, and the last owner, a professor at Benedictine College named Anne, had up and vanished. Rumor claimed she ran off with a secret lover.

  “Iain? What are we doing in here? Who owns this place now?”

  Still frowning, he finally looked at her. “Her name is Anne, and she is married to an old friend of mine.”

  Catherine’s jaw dropped.

  “You know of her?” he sounded as surprised as she felt.

  “Uh, not personally. But the whole town knows about her disappearance. She’s…alive?”

  “Of course she lives.” He chuckled as he gestured at the front sitting room.

  For a house that had been abandoned for several months, the lack of dust and cobwebs was startling. Catherine could hear the running refrigerator, and in the circulating air, she caught the scent of vanilla and…spice. As if someone had walked through the hall recently.

  Iain sat down on the overstuffed couch. “His name is Merrick. Merrick du Loire. He is my brother.”

  Huh? Perplexed, Catherine lowered herself into the cushion beside him. “I thought Tane was your brother?”

  “Indeed, Tane du Breuil is my brother as well.”

  A strange, uneasy chill drifted down her spine. In between those words he was telling her something. She didn’t have the faintest idea what, but she sensed it in her gut. It hit her then—none of them shared the same last name.

  Her confused state must have shown in her expression, because Iain looped his arm around her shoulders and drew her against his side. His mouth fluttered against her temple, soft and enticing. “’Tis a story for another time.”

  She leaned out of his comforting embrace. “No. Tell me now. Please?”

  His frown returned in the blink of an eye. Clearly, this was as uncomfortable for him as talking about her childhood was for her. She laced her fingers through his and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Please, Iain. Let me in.”

  Instead of relaxing, he tugged his hand free, rose to his feet, and moved in front of an old marble hearth, where he paced across the carpeting. Minutes ticked by before he finally came to a stop and seemed to remember she was sitting in the same room. “Would you settle for a portion of the truth now, and the rest…shortly?”

  If that wasn’t the strangest way to answer she’d ever heard, she didn’t know what was. But some explanation was better than none. Catherine nodded.

  “You said you believed the Templar still existed, aye? What would you say, should I confide my brothers and I are part of the Order?”

  For the second time that night, her jaw went slack. She blinked, and blinked again. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am gravely serious, Catherine. ’Tis why I am here, not in France. Why I have no need to report to a job each morning. ’Tis the reason for Anne’s disappearance, how I know her, and why I have use of her house.”

  She stared, unable to form words. The claim was so fantastic, she wanted to laugh. Yet that same incredulity kept her amusement in check. His explanation was too fantastic to not be true, particularly given some of the inner knowledge she possessed about the Church.

  His look became earnest, almost desperate, if Iain could be capable of desperation. “If you require proof, I shall take you to our temple now and break the last of my oaths by revealing our secrets. ’Tis no splendid fiction, mademoiselle, nor would I stoop to such when I have come to care for you as deeply as I do, Catherine.”

  She might have been touched by his offer to break oaths on her behalf, if she weren’t speechless over his admission that he cared for her. That confession reached in, grabbed her by the heart, and squeezed until lightheadedness threatened to sweep her away. Had he slipped? Did he realize what he’d just said?

  Yes, he did. His soft brown eyes shone with affection even as they begged her to believe.

  Only…she wasn’t objecting. Not deep down where it mattered. Someone else might have laughed, might have sworn he was delusional. Contrary to all logic, her gut said he was telling the truth, incredible as it may be. He didn’t have a reason to impress her; she’d shown no fascination with the legends, only a casual acceptance of the idea the Templar still existed.

  She’d just never considered she might meet a member of the secretive order. Why was he telling her this now?

  “I don’t need proof,” she replied quietly. “But I’d like to see it sometime.” She waited a beat, then asked, “What’s the rest of the story?”

  Iain shook his head. “Not tonight. ’Tis too much to tell, and the hour is late. You do not think me mad?”

  Catherine chuckled. “I ought to. Oddly enough…no. But I’m not sure what to do with this—what oaths have you broken already?”

  A wry grin of amusement lifted the corner of his mouth. “Many. The most recent of which you hold intimate knowledge of.”

  At the unexpected reminder of their hedonistic behavior less than an hour ago, heat spread through her veins. She returned his smile with one just as coy. “Mm. I’m not sure I
know what you’re talking about.”

  The tension that had gripped him minutes earlier slid off his shoulders as he crossed the room. Standing in front of her, he bent down and braced his hands on the back of the couch, forcing her to lean back against the cushions to maintain eye contact. Her breasts grazed the muscled planes of his chest, sending a fission of excitement spiraling through her bloodstream.

  Iain dipped his head, his breath stirring the hair at her temple. “You have forgotten so soon?”

  She closed her eyes, mesmerized by the fleeting brush of his lips against the hollow beneath her ear. “I don’t know. It all happened…so fast.”

  Chills broke over her skin as his teeth grazed down the side of her neck. When he spoke, the sandpaper quality of his voice inflamed her senses. “Mayhap we should go upstairs, and I will remind you.” His pressed an open-mouth kiss to her neck and flicked the tip of his tongue over her goose-pimpled skin. “I vow to take my time, so you shall be certain to remember.”

  Just like that she turned to putty. Barely managing a nod, she whispered a breathless, “Yes.”

  Eleven

  Iain brushed a damp lock of Catherine’s hair away from the side of her face. Stretched out on his side, holding his head in one hand, he basked in the afterglow of satisfaction. She lay on her back, her warm satiny skin pressing alongside his body from her shoulder to her ankles. His free hand massaged her breast beneath a tangle of covers. If they were not both utterly exhausted from their thorough lovemaking, the tightening of her nipple would have demanded the attention of his mouth. But her eyelids drooped, and his own limbs were heavy with the need for sleep.

  She smiled softly, her blue eyes latching onto his before her prolonged blink broke the intimate connection. “I am never going to wake up in a few hours.”