by Fiona Neal
He wanted one thing—Deirdre.
“Ian.” Her soft voice traveled across the dim room.
He turned too quickly and a pain shot through his neck. “Oh!” he grabbed the spot. “I did not hear the door.”
“That’s obvious.” Clad in her shift, she padded to him. “You’re a silly man, sitting until the wee hours in that hard chair. I could hardly believe it when I woke and saw the light beneath the door. Tomorrow you’ll be all achy.”
“I am all achy now,” he answered, getting drunk on the fragrance of her warm, heather-scented flesh.
“Let me see what I can do.” She stepped behind him and placed her palms on his shoulders then began kneading gently. Her thumbs found the base of his neck, and she massaged outward, spanning the breadth of his shoulders in slow circles. She then worked her way down between the blades of his shoulders, and the tightness eased in his back but burgeoned elsewhere.
“You have magic in your hands, Deirdre.” He leaned forward, and she slid her fingers further down his back.
“I assume you are feeling better.”
“Much better,” he lied as his manhood throbbed with relentless heat.
She paused. “I could do a better if you were lying on the bed.”
He would definitely do better if she were lying on his bed, preferably on her back. If she continued to arouse him, she would find herself exactly in that position.
He stood and walked to the bedstead and said, “At your service, my lady.” He sat about to remove his shoes.
“Nay,” she countered. “Let me help you.” Deirdre knelt and removed his silver-buckled footwear and stockings. The task completed, she stood and tugged at his shirt.
Responding, he raised his arms, feeling the cool air on his hot flesh as she helped him slip the garment over his head.
“Now the best position to assume is on your stomach, crosswise on the middle of the mattress,” she ordered.
“To borrow your phrase, Deirdre, anything your heart desires.” He chuckled, thinking that he would be glad to show her everything he knew about position, as he complied and felt her soft, gentle hands brush his hair aside.
With long, deep strokes, she massaged his back and transferred the warmth from her hands to his aching body. A groan escaped his throat as she continued her movements down his spine, inch by inch, until she reached its base, and then ceased her massage.
“There,” she crooned. “You may roll over now. I hope that relieved you.”
Relieved? If he dared turn over, she would see the blatant evidence of his longing, for lust coiled in his loins like a compressed spring.
“Uh, aye, thank you, Deirdre.”
“You’re welcome. Besides, you tended to me when I was ill, and when I became upset about the kidnapping plot.”
Grabbing a pillow, he rolled to his side, placing the cushion over his swollen manhood and sat up.
“You behaved in a perfectly normal fashion.”
“Do you really think so?” Her eyes looked doubtful.
“Of course, I do. I gave you devastating news.”
She seemed to want his reassurance. Strathaven was right. How could this vulnerable, brave-hearted woman, who loved people and spoke her mind so forthrightly, be associated with a rogue like The Flame?
“Well, I suppose I should allow you to get some sleep. It is very late, or actually, very early in the morning.” She turned and her shift slightly flared, emanating the odor of heather. He caught her wrist, not bearing to let her go. She whirled round to face him and her turquoise gaze melted into his.
Damn the consequences! Leaping to his feet, he pulled her into his arms as the pillow fell to their feet. “Stay with me, Deirdre.”
Chapter Fourteen
“It was not I who shunned our marriage bed, Ian.”
“This is no time for an argument,” he murmured, molding her to his body.
“But—”
His kiss stopped her words, and his lips slanted over hers again and again as he savored the flavor of her mouth, becoming drunk on its taste. He probed the petal soft seam of her lips, imploring entrance.
She granted permission, allowing him full exploration. Her tongue reveled with his in an erotic dance, spurring on his need like a runaway stallion.
Slowly, languorously, Ian’s hands charted a course down her back, the flare of her hips, and the globes of her buttocks, kneading her to his iron-hard arousal. He broke from her mouth to drop kisses down her neck and over her shoulders. Pushing down the neckline of her shift, he exposed her breasts, and his lips fastened first on one hard crest and then the other.
He felt her slender fingers thread through his hair, holding him fast.
“Nay,” Deirdre protested. “Do not draw away.”
“For just a moment, sweetheart,” he murmured. Stooping, he grasped the hem of her shift, lifting it as he stood, drawing it over her head. In one quick movement, she stood before him, a flaming-haired Venus, her flesh as white and fresh as sea foam.
Ian thought his heart would stop. “You are more than beautiful, Deirdre.
She lowered her thick fringe of dark lashes and whispered, with the seduction of Eve, “I wish to see you as well.”
“Would you do the honors?”
Her nimble fingers made quick work of the placket of buttons on his breeches, and they fell along with his drawers. Quickly stepping out of them, he reached for her again.
“Wait.” She put her hand against his chest.
Beneath her palms, Ian’s heart slammed against his ribs. Never had any woman excited him so powerfully.
“Give me time to look.” Her gaze traveled downward, settling on his surging manhood. “Goodness!”
He chuckled and pulled her close.
Her palms skimmed over his shoulders then squeezed the sinews in his upper arms. Her fingers delved beneath the hair on his chest and flicked over his nipples, causing him to shudder. Then Deirdre’s exploration took a southerly course, inflaming him as she mapped the shape of his ribs, hips, and abdomen.
Ian scooped her up into his arms and placed her on the bed. Lying atop her, he nestled between her long, shapely limbs, his manhood straining between them.
The friction of her erect nipples against his chest fed the leaping flames of his desire, but he needed to proceed slowly, carefully. His wife was still an untried maiden.
Reining in his own desire, Ian concentrated on satisfying hers as he dusted her face, her neck, her breast, her belly with light kisses, savoring the salty taste of her flesh. Changing direction, he bestowed the same homage on the instep of each foot, her shins, knees and creamy inner thighs.
“Ian,” she cried as his fingers explored her mound. As he probed her moist warmth, her whole body trembled beneath him.
Need exploded like a cannonball. He had wanted to prolong her pleasure, but he had been aroused for too long. He needed her—now!
“Ian, please! I need you.”
He rose over her, supporting his weight on his forearms. Despite the wild clamoring of his body, he took possession slowly, carefully. He felt her wince as he breached her maidenhead. “Sorry. I know of no means to prevent the pain.”
“It was nothing,” she whispered.
He believed her when he felt her muscles relax around his swollen shaft, and he sank to his hilt.
“Oh, I feel so full of you,” she said on a sigh.
Their union became complete in an aura of heart-stopping pleasure as her body welcomed him. Her tight, hot sheath clenched around him, giving him sanctuary, solace, and indescribable joy. As if by some mystical event, she and he seemed to share the same soul. Suddenly, she filled his whole existence, emblazoning his heart with the fire of her passion.
“I just wish it had not ended so soon.”
“Ended?” He nuzzled her neck. “We have hardly begun.”
“There is more?”
He drew back a bit and smiled at her wonderment. “There is much more.”
�
�I want to please you, Ian, but I do not know how.”
He stroked her cheek. “You please me by just being yourself.”
Ian moved within her, and she gasped as her inner muscles tensed around his arousal.
“Sweet heaven,” he whispered as he began the primal ritual, lunging then retreating in a rhythm that caused his blood to pound and his breath to become heavy. He penetrated deeply, thoroughly, increasing the tempo as he slid against her silken flesh. With each plunge, his need spiraled toward completion.
“Oh, Ian, do not stop,” she pleaded as she lifted her hips, meeting his every thrust.
Her body quivered beneath him, and her fingers bit tightly into his shoulders as she seemed close to fulfillment. Ian hoped she would attain her pleasure before his restraint spent itself, for he could not curb his need for much longer.
A tear formed like a crystal at the corner of her eye. Suddenly, she cried out, her muscles throbbing around him in hard clenches, receiving the essence of his manhood as it burst from him.
Shuddering in union, they lay in a tangle of limbs as heart beat upon heart in a wild, thundering ecstasy.
As he lay still hilt-deep within her, she stroked the length of his jaw. “That was beyond imagining.”
Ian kissed her cheek, her chin, the hollow of her throat. “You were fashioned for loving.”
* * * *
Her hand in his, a thick wool blanket over her arm, Deirdre watched the dawn creep on rosy knees, silently transforming the white haze of cherry blossoms to golden pink. The rays of the rising sun sparkled off the dew, making the emerald turf beneath the long rows of fruit trees appear littered with diamonds.
“This is heavenly.” Deirdre turned to him, giving him a smile.
“I was thinking more of the Garden of Eden.” He chuckled and squeezed her hand.
“Are you sure the guards on the ramparts will not see us?”
He looked down at her, his eyes serious. “I don’t think so.”
“What about the servants?” she asked.
“There is no reason for the servants to come here. The trees were pruned and fertilized long ago.
She giggled. “They may not be coming here to work.”
“You shock me!” he replied in mock horror. “Where did such an innocent-looking lass get such salacious ideas?”
“I got them from you.” She laughed.
He stopped and drew her close. “Do you approve of my suggestion to come here?”
“Wholeheartedly,” she said and gave him a coquettish smile. “Adventure stirs my blood.”
“And you stir mine,” he said.
Her heart quickened as he claimed her lips yet again. No matter how much he kissed and caressed her, Deirdre knew she would never tire of his loving.
He stepped back and, taking the blanket from her, spread it on the ground. She threw back the hood of her cape and unclasped the garment, allowing it to fall from her shoulders, and Ian helped her discard her shift.
Completely nude now, she savored the cool air caressing her body.
His gaze raked over her as his banyan dropped away. They sat, and he lifted her onto his lap.
Her hands swept over his chest, delighting in the crisp texture of his chest hair. Then she embarked on a bolder journey down his belly and lower.
Suddenly, she stopped and met his gaze, asking his permission. She wanted to touch him, caress him, and give him the same pleasure he had given her.
She saw his pupils become even larger, darkening his eyes with the glow of hot desire.
“Touch me, Deirdre. I want to feel your hands around me.”
Her palms stroked his straining flesh as he guided her in a rhythm he loved.
“Now I really do feel like Adam,” he murmured.
“Aye,” she whispered breathlessly. “It is as if we are the only two people on the face of the earth.”
She leaned forward and kissed him, taking his tongue, savoring its texture, drinking in the nectar of his mouth while inhaling the summer-rain scent of his flesh.
They lay down and she pulled him atop her. “I never thought it could be like this between a man and a woman, Ian.”
“And you are more than I ever imagined, Deirdre.”
He followed her lead, kissing her neck, shoulders, and breasts. Deirdre’s breath caught in her throat as his lips settled over one nipple, and his fingers teased the other.
“Ian, I want to pleasure you. Teach me what to do.”
His arms around her, he rolled over, holding her atop him. She straddled his thighs as her lips bestowed kisses on his face, arms, torso and belly, every cell of her body eager to please him. She again caressed his swollen length as his fingers settled on her woman’s nub, stoking her passion to new heights.
Head back, neck extended, spine arched, she cried out, and still he provoked her desire, until she cried in protest as he stilled his erotic massage.
Gently, he coaxed her to her knees. Slowly, he leaned over her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing her back to his chest, as he possessed her, filling her sheath from behind.
She gasped as he began his magic. On and on he charged until the hot tingling swelled to bursting within her. Finally, release throbbed with the brilliance of the sun, heating her to the tips of her fingers and toes.
Deirdre felt him shudder hard before they rolled to their sides and he cradled her with his body, spoon fashion.
“Shouldn’t we return?” she whispered, so time later.
“Let us bide a while.” He nuzzled her neck.
“Gladly, I feel as if we are under a canopy of lace.”
“This orchard is a special place. My mother and father came here to picnic one day. Nine months later I was born.”
“Oh, I never thought about that.” She had been so worried about the kidnapping plot she hadn’t given pregnancy a thought. She sat up and turned, staring at him.
“Why so surprised, Deirdre? It is the logical sequence of events.” He placed his warm palm over her abdomen. “My seed might have already taken root in your womb.”
“S-So soon?” she asked, for lack of anything intelligent to say.
He smiled and outlined her lips with the tip of his finger. “It can happen after just one time. Between last night and this morning, I have lost count.”
She giggled, liking the idea of motherhood. “I suppose you are right.”
* * * *
Bathed and dressed, Ian and Deirdre entered the dining room. The sun refracted the light from the crystal chandelier, bathing the room in rainbows. The smell of gammon, eggs, and porridge made her mouth water. She could not remember when she had felt so hungry.
But then she had never spent the entire night in such a compelling activity, nor did she ever dream her body could feel so… She groped for a description, but all her adjectives proved inadequate.
She and Ian moved to the sideboard, heaping their plates with food and filling their cups with tea.
As she sat, Deirdre noticed a sealed letter at his place. Wondering what message it contained, she poured a generous helping of cream over her porridge and followed that with a lump of sugar she nipped from the loaf.
Her sight refocused on the missive as she stirred her porridge, thoroughly mixing in the cream and dissolving the sugar. Much to her chagrin, Ian ignored the letter while he quickly began to devour his meal.
The food tasted wonderful, reminding her of another appetite that had been awaked last night. No wonder they called it lovemaking. The term for which she had scoured her brain just moments ago seemed so apt…or did it?
Surely, she was not falling in love with the man who had sworn to see her hang and whose father had killed hers. Nay! She could not, would not—ever! Still, she felt something powerful and overwhelming for the man who shared her bed and her body.
She must kill it! Such sentiment posed a threat to her present goals. She had to find her jewels. Until she did, she remained a felon, and Fergus lived in mortal peril until
she could convince him to leave. For that, he needed the money she would give him. Never mind that the man said he would never leave her. He must go.
His meal finished, Ian picked up the letter, and Deirdre’s heartbeat quickened. He broke the seal. She held her breath, hoping the missive contained an invitation. That would give her a perfect excuse to wear some of her jewels. Then she would sell the genuine article and commission pastes to be made so they would not be missed.
Finally, he looked up. “It is an invitation from Lord Kilrannoch in Edinburgh. He has asked us to attend a ball next month. I shall write our regrets.”
“Why?”
“Deirdre,” he said, quickly glancing around the room, wary that gossiping servants may be snooping about. “You’re in danger from the Jacobites, to say nothing of The Flame,” he warned in a low voice.
“I thought we could have an armed escort.”
“I had an escort on the way to Skye. The rogue and his band still attacked and robbed us.”
“But we traveled here without trouble,” she insisted.
“Aye, we were lucky, but each time you venture out, the chances for capture increase. I will not put you at more risk than necessary.”
Ian was being overly cautious, she thought with annoyance. “Is Kilbraeton to be my prison then?”
“Not a prison, Deirdre.” He reached for her hand and covered it with his. “I hope it is your sanctuary. Besides, I thought you loathed Edinburgh. You told me it stank, and that Kilrannoch gave lice to all the ladies. I, for one, have no wish to have my wife play hostess to creeping beasties.”
An amorous look scintillated in his moss green eyes, and he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Besides, we are still on our honeymoon.”
Her heart flipped at the touch of his lips. He began seductively massaging her hand, and desire flashed again with the speed of lightning over the moor.
She fought it. “I think it would be memorable to go out in society as your wife for the first time.”