Susana and the Scot

by Sabrina York

  So beautiful. So exquisite.

  It took a moment for him to realize she wasn’t a dream. That she was really there, the woman who’d occupied his thoughts and dreams all night.

  It struck him again just how much she resembled Mairi—no wonder the two had tangled together in his dreams. Unlike Mairi, Susana stood tall and bold, her eyes blazing at him, raking him and not shying away from parts south. Parts that, with his perusal of her, rose.

  Hope flickered that she’d gotten over her annoyance with him. That she’d followed him here in a blatant attempt to kiss him again. Ah, but then his hopes were dashed when she yanked her gaze from his groin with a sniff and lifted something … something that chilled Andrew to the bone.

  A bow, nocked with an arrow. And it was pointed at him.

  To be precise, it was pointed at his crotch.

  Aye. She was likely still annoyed.

  “What are you doing in my loch?” Her voice rang through the clearing, a strident melody. It sent a shiver through him. Although, to be honest, that could have been a drizzle of fear. She did have an arrow pointed at his most treasured possession, after all. And he knew, from experience, she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.

  He forced his heart to calm. Attempted to cool his ardor. But failed. She was so stunning, standing there in the shafts of pink sunlight, and threatening stance or not, he wanted her. He couldn’t deny it. The evidence was there, between his legs. “I see you found a new bow.”

  Perhaps his tone was too cocky for the circumstances. She prickled like a hedgehog. “I said, what are you doing here?”

  “Swimming?” he quipped. He tipped his head to the side and offered her his trademark grin. It was charming and boyish and always made women soften and smile back.

  Not this woman. A red tide rose on her cheeks. Her nostrils flared.

  Andrew swallowed heavily.

  Holy hell, she was magnificent.

  But she was clearly still furious with him. And possibly deranged. It occurred to him that he should probably get dressed. Not that his breeks could protect him from another arrow, should she deign to shoot at him again, but it would certainly make him feel safer.

  She tracked him as he splashed out of the water and, keeping one eye on the warrior princess, tugged on his clothes. It took some doing, because his skin was still wet, and his breeks clung to places they shouldn’t, but it made him feel less vulnerable.

  He’d never met a woman who made him feel vulnerable before. He was certain he didn’t like it.

  He noticed that she watched his every move with avid attention. And while he appreciated the gleam in her eye as she studied the outline of his cock in his damp breeks, her hold on that bow was concerning. When he was clothed she spoke again, barking, “Well? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I dinna fancy washing up in the horse trough.” He braved the bow and stepped closer. Lord, she was lovely in the hint of dawn. The urge to pull her into his arms and kiss those pouty lips racked him.

  When her gaze once more flicked down to his groin, and stalled there, and her tongue peeped out, heat sluiced through him. He glanced around the clearing. They were utterly alone. No Hamish to interrupt. No villagers to wander upon them. No one to see.

  It was the perfect scene for seduction.

  Or murder.

  He hoped she wouldn’t murder him, but even if she did gore him with one of her sharp arrows, it would probably be worth the agony to kiss her again. He stepped closer and closer still.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

  Her frown firmed. “No.”

  “Ach. Neither did I. I couldna stop thinking about you.”

  Her brow rumpled, then lowered a tad. “Me?”

  “Your kiss.”

  He advanced on her and her eyes flared. She took a step back and he followed, followed until he backed her into a tree. Her lips parted with surprise when she hit the bark, found herself caged between the trunk and his body.

  Or perhaps it wasn’t surprise. Perhaps it was invitation.

  Given a choice between the two, he chose the latter.

  “Susana.” He cupped her cheek, stroked the soft skin with a thumb. Nudged her plump lower lip. “Tell me you dinna think about it. Dream about it—”

  “I dinna!” she huffed, but the rise of pink on her cheeks, the flutter of her throat, gave her away.

  “Tell me you doona wonder…”

  She swallowed. “Wonder what?”

  “What it would be like. Between us.”

  She made a little eep as his head descended and then, when their lips touched, she moaned. The sound incited him, enraged him. Or perhaps it was her scent, her taste, the soft scintillating velvet cave of her mouth. Or all of it, combined and twined.

  “Ah, God.” He groaned and leaned against her, pinning her between his aching body and the tree. The pressure on his cock was maddening. As the kiss deepened, she rubbed against him. Which maddened him more.

  As he kissed her, he caressed her shoulder, her arm, slowly making his way toward those captivating breasts. His palm itched to test their weight.

  But he teased her. Teased himself. He continued his exploration down her flank to her waist, and then further, to her bottom.

  Ah, lord. What a sublime bottom. He squeezed and she shivered.

  Though her mouth was alluring beyond bearing, he yearned for more. He tipped his head and kissed his way over her jawline to nuzzle her neck, just below her ear. Her scent engulfed him and his head spun.

  She issued a guttural groan and laced her fingers in his hair, holding him there.

  He tried to hold back his smile, but couldn’t.

  Aye, she might fight him at every turn, but she wanted this. She wanted him.

  Unable to resist any longer, he seized her breast and squeezed gently. Her nipple gored his palm and he shuddered. Ah, yes. A body didn’t lie. It couldn’t.

  He raised his head and stared at her. Her lids were heavy, her mouth damp. Her features were etched with a hungry expression.

  Ach, he wanted more. Desperately. But he also wanted to hear her admit she did, too.

  “So have you?” he murmured, thumbing her nipple. She flinched and made a sound at the back of her throat.

  “H-Have I what?”

  “Wondered.” A pinch.

  Her jaw went slack. Her eyes glistened.

  She was so close. So close to admitting it. A thrill ripped through him as she opened her mouth to speak. To speak the words he longed to hear. That she wanted him. She wanted this. And then … he would take her. Here. Now. On the forest floor.

  “We—We shouldna be doing this.”

  The denial howled through him, even though her tone was tremulous and tentative, even though it sounded as though she was asking for his agreement.

  Frustration rose. “Nae. Probably not.” He nested in her neck again, and nipped.

  Her response to this wasn’t tremulous or tentative in the least. She buried her nails in his shoulder and raked him.

  Andrew wasn’t a green lad. Though it had been a long long time for him, he’d had women before. He fancied that he understood their psyches. And he knew how to read a woman’s response. She wanted this, but couldn’t admit it. Something within her held her back.

  Though he ached for her to admit it, that need could wait.

  For now, he had her in his arms, warm and willing and ready. Determination lanced him.

  Holding her gaze, he fisted her skirts, working his way to the hem. Thank God she’d worn skirts and not those damn breeks. A savage howl of delight and excitement and agonizing lust washed through him as his fingers grazed her thighs. She flinched.

  “Tell me to stop.” A challenge. If she told him to stop, he would. But he didn’t think she would.

  Her lips parted. Not a word escaped.

  He set his palm to her skin, reveling in its warmth. He eased it up, closer and closer to home. “Tell me to stop.”

  Again, no response,
none other than a flicker of her lashes.

  He stilled as he found the crux of her thighs, downy soft and sweet … and wet. Lust blazed through him at this proof of her arousal. Aye, lips could lie, but a body never did. He stroked her gently, just a tease.

  She sucked in a breath through her teeth.

  “Tell me.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  Need churned in his gut. Not just a blinding need to bury himself in her willing body, not just the need to lose himself in her. But need to make her passion, her hunger, meet and match his.

  He wanted her weeping for him.

  He wanted her to beg.

  Slowly he circled her nub, that bundle of nerves, now swollen and tender. She clutched at him as a shiver took her. Her eyes fluttered closed. A whisper escaped. It might have been his name.

  Nae. Nae. Nae. He wanted more.

  “Tell me,” he hissed as he stroked faster and faster still, dancing around her tiny head, scraping her sanity.

  He longed to lay her down in the dewy green grass, to cover her, to complete her, to give her what she was panting for, but he would not. Could not. This was a challenge, not a race. He wanted to win, but he wanted to win it all, not just the moment.

  “Tell me.”

  He set the heel of his palm directly over her pearl and pressed down in a circular motion, at the same time, toying with the mouth of her sheath. She trembled, moaned.

  She was so wet, so ready, it made his eyes cross. He set his head on her shoulder and forced himself to breathe as he worked her. Steeled his spine. Ah, he wanted her. So badly. But it was far too early for that.

  He eased a finger inside her and shuddered as her tiny muscles quivered and quaked and sucked at it. He couldn’t resist nudging deeper and deeper still. Then he ripped his finger out—she wailed—and he shoved in two.

  “Tell me.”

  “I canna!” she cried, and she came. Released. Surrendered, there in his arms.

  It was agonizing, watching her come, and enthralling, too. As her body closed on him, squeezed and clenched with maddening frenzy, he could only imagine how delightful it would feel if it were his cock buried deep. But though his body ached, though his mind screamed and his cock throbbed, he didn’t do the thing they both craved. He didn’t rip down his breeks and spread her thighs and plant himself in her, there against the tree.

  Surely she would have let him.

  But he did not.

  Perverse though it might be, he wanted more from her than a quick tup. He needed more. Craved something far more profound.

  And though this might be his only chance to claim her, it was worth the gamble to wait.

  He hoped to God it was worth the gamble to wait.

  He held her as she recovered, shaking and moaning and refusing to meet his eyes.

  That was all right. He couldn’t meet her eyes, either. Though he was hard and throbbing and definitely unfulfilled, this had been one of the most rewarding encounters of his life.

  Because he’d made Susana Dounreay admit that she couldn’t ask him to stop.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Susana stared at Andrew as she struggled to reclaim her breath. It seemed to have escaped her. Ripples of delight danced in her veins and her body felt heavy and liquid.

  Ach, she hadn’t felt such an amazing release since … well, since the last time he’d touched her. She wanted, ached for more.

  Her hand, surely of its own accord, slipped down and caressed his cock. He was hard. Huge. A shudder racked her. She wanted him. She wanted him in her. She swallowed heavily and licked her lips. And squeezed.

  To her dismay, though his nostrils flared, he stepped back, dropping her skirts.

  His expression made his intention clear. Though he wanted her—and his need was patently clear—he would not take her.

  “Not here,” he murmured. His voice rumbled on the air.

  Confusion whipped through her; tangled with it was an errant ribbon of frustration … and pain.

  Why? Why would he not take what she so blatantly offered? She yearned to know, but she didn’t know how to ask.

  She frowned as she brushed out her skirts and bent to pick up her bow. She hadn’t even been aware of dropping it. That in itself should have been warning enough. She avoided his gaze as she arranged the quiver over her shoulder.

  At his chuckle, her head snapped up and she glared at him.

  “Arming yourself again, Susana?” Surely his smile was a smirk. And why not? He’d gotten what he wanted. He’d gotten her to admit she desired him. But if it was his intention to make her beg for it, he would be sorely disappointed.

  “One should always be prepared to defend one’s honor.”

  He missed the barb, or pretended to. Then again, he had no honor. “May I escort you back to the castle?”

  She glanced back at the tree, where they had almost … Where she had almost succumbed. A ripple of regret nudged her. She forced it away and tossed her head. “Perhaps I shall escort you.”

  “As you wish.”

  She started down the path, at a healthy clip. He paced her. They had emerged from the woods and passed through the lea and entered the stable yard before he spoke. “Why did you follow me to the loch?” he asked.

  Her heart fluttered. She gaped at him. “Follow you? I dinna follow you.”

  His expression made it clear he considered this a bold-faced lie.

  She hated that he could see through her so easily.

  “Were you hoping for another kiss? For what we shared? Maybe more?”

  “You are an arrogant ass.”

  “Why are you angry?”

  She walked faster.

  “Is it because you wanted more? Are you disappointed?” He took her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Are you? Disappointed?”

  She was furious. That was what she was. She glared at him.

  His jaw clenched, ticked. “Do you think I dinna want you back there? Do you think I dinna ache with need?”

  “If you were so desperate, you should have taken what was offered.”

  “Perhaps I shall.”

  “It willna be offered again.”

  His eyes glinted. “Oh, I think it will. You canna deny what’s between us, Susana. You canna deny how splendid it is.”

  “Then why did you stop?” God, she hated herself for asking.

  “Do you not know?”

  “Nae,” she spat.

  He leaned closer, so close the caress of his breath teased her cheek. “I doona want our first time together to be rushed. I doona want to take you against a tree. And I doona want our first time to be our last. And mostly, I want you to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you want me. As wildly, as hungrily, as passionately as I want you. Do you understand, Susana? Do you?”

  He did not wait for her to respond; he spun on his heel and stormed toward the kennels, leaving Susana staring after him.

  He’d been so passionate, so sincere, so … anguished. She almost believed him.

  She would be a fool to believe him.

  Most likely, he was toying with her. Most likely, he planned to take what he wanted and then walk away.

  What he didn’t realize was that she planned to do the same.

  * * *

  It was probably cowardly of her to order breakfast in her room when she returned to the castle, but Susana couldn’t take the chance that Andrew might show up in the morning room. She didn’t think she could face him across the table.

  Not yet.

  Blast, but the man befuddled her. One moment she was railing against him, furious and wounded and enraged, and the next she was a puddle of weakness and want. She needed to strengthen her spine, rediscover her balance before she faced him again.

  She needed to figure out what to do with him.

  On the one hand, she wanted him beyond bearing. On the other hand, he frightened her to death. He held far too much sway over her emotions. And did he but know it, over other things as well.


  It delighted her when Isobel opened her door and peeped in without so much as a knock. Normally she would frown and scold her daughter, reminding her of the importance of manners, but this morning she could not. She was far too needful of the distraction of her daughter’s cheerful chatter.

  “Good morning, darling,” she said, waving her in. Isobel grinned at her and kissed her cheek, then surveyed the tray Cook had sent up, licking her lips. Susana chuckled. “Help yourself.”

  “Och, I’m starved,” Isobel said, taking a cake without the bother of a plate.

  Though she tried not to, Susana couldn’t help but frown. She handed her daughter a plate, which, with a gusted sigh, Isobel proceeded to fill.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Aye.” Isobel said, although her attention was on her food. She took the seat across from Susana and tucked in. “Where were you this morning?”

  Susana’s nerves sizzled. “This morning?”

  “I came by earlier and you werna here.”

  “Ah. I went for a walk.”

  “Before the sun came up?”

  “I do like the dawn.” And from her window, she’d seen a certain Viking-like man striding toward the loch.

  “Hmm.” Isobel took another too-large bite of her cake. It crumbled onto her lap. “Did you walk with him?”

  Susana stilled. “Him?”

  Isobel eyed her with a cynicism far beyond her years. “The knight. I saw the two of you in the courtyard.”

  “Did you?” Susana swallowed.

  “Were you fighting?”

  Oh, dear. “Wherever did you get that idea?”

  “Every time I see you talking to him, you’re frowning.”

  “I wasna frowning.”

  “You were. Like this.” She made a horrendous face.

  “I doona frown like that.”

  “Aye. You do.” Isobel licked a finger. “So, do you no’ like him?”

  “Like him?” How did one explain the feelings she had for him? She had no clue, but like was not one of the words that came to mind.

  “Do you?”

  “Of course I … like him.” She took a sip of tea to wash down the lie.

  Isobel stabbed a sausage with a fork. “Well, I like him.”

  “You … do?” Her pulse fluttered.