Michael pinned her in place with only his stare, not touching her, not moving any closer. “They’re not bothering me now. But you are.” He ran his knuckles over her cheek, then leaned forward and lifted her chin to meet his lips. But he didn’t kiss her. He whispered mere inches from her mouth, “Ya bother me very much, lass.”
She ducked under his arm and scurried away and didn’t stop until she had put the table between them. “We have to talk,” she said, gripping the back of one of the chairs. “About us.”
Michael leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He studied her pale complexion in silence.
“I had a visitor this morning,” she began. “Father Daar showed up here looking for breakfast.”
Michael was careful to keep his expression neutral. “I’m not surprised,” he told her. “The old man makes a habit of inviting himself to meals all over Pine Creek. He probably had supper at Gu Bràth tonight.”
Libby let go of the chair and nervously rubbed her arms. “We had a very interesting talk.”
“Did ya? About what?” he asked conversationally, already knowing he wasn’t going to like her answer.
Libby wiped at a crumb on the table. “About…about magic,” she whispered, looking up at him, her eyes searching his, trying to gauge his response.
Again, Michael refused to betray his alarm. “I hope ya didn’t take what he had to say to heart. Daar’s quite old and prone to fanciful notions.”
“Have you ever touched his cane?” she asked, his negligent pose seeming to calm her enough that she lessened her grip on the chair.
“Aye. Many times,” he told her. He shrugged. “It’s so delicate it’s a wonder it doesn’t snap in half.”
“Have you ever seen him…do anything with his cane?”
Michael straightened away from the wall and walked to the table, keeping it between them. “What are ya getting at, Libby? What happened this morning?”
“Do you believe that Robbie’s pet is really his mother?”
Michael closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No,” he said softly, deciding this conversation was over. He walked around the table, swept Libby into his arms before she knew his intention, and carried her into the living room. He sat down on the couch and held her tightly on his lap.
She started toying with one of the buttons on his shirt, her troubled eyes reflecting the light from the fire in the hearth. Michael stilled her hand with his and waited until she looked up at him.
“Ya’re a doctor, Libby. A woman of science who needs for things to make sense,” he gently told her. “And Robbie’s pet doesn’t fit your concept of reality. But do ya need to question everything around ya? Can ya not simply take some things on faith?”
“That’s what Father Daar said,” she admitted, frowning.
“And I’m still trying to decide if I can or not. But that’s not what’s bothering me tonight.”
“It’s not?” Michael asked, surprised. “Then what is?”
“Us. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to…to, well, to be together.”
Michael forced his hands not to tighten around her. “And why is that?”
She started toying with his button again, intensely studying it as she spoke. “I don’t want to get emotionally involved with you, Michael,” she whispered so softly he could barely hear her. She finally looked up at him. “We…we can’t be together. I don’t know if I can need you for only a little.”
“Aye. Need can become a habit.”
“And I won’t do that to you, Michael. Or to myself. I don’t want to cling or for you to feel…clung to. And so I’ve decided we shouldn’t be together,” she finished, looking at his chest again.
What had happened this morning between Libby and Daar, Michael wondered?
And what in hell had happened to their affair?
Michael lifted her chin and smiled. He tightened his grip on her thigh. “I’ve never much cared to have someone else make my decisions for me,” he told her. He lifted his finger from her chin to her lips to stop her from speaking. “No matter how noble that person is trying to be, lass. Ya leave making up my mind to me.”
Michael decided this conversation was over as well. He turned Libby on his lap so that she straddled him, pulled her against his chest, and kissed her.
He was not letting the woman change her mind. He wanted her and knew damned well she wanted him. And a visit from a crazy old priest would not keep them apart.
Libby made a mewling sound not unlike that of her timid kitten, and Michael’s heart slammed against his chest. She was such a delicate thing. So tiny and precious and real.
Her hands pushed at his shoulders, desperately refusing his kiss. He felt her thighs squeeze his hips as he pulled her more intimately against him, welcomed her breasts pushing at his own pounding heart, tasted the sweetness of her passion quietly simmering just below the surface. Michael wanted to rip off all their clothes and make love right there on the couch.
He broke their kiss and started unbuttoning her shirt.
“N-no,” she shakily whispered, stopping him. “We can’t, Michael.”
He hesitated, suddenly uncertain about his own intentions.
Was it lust driving him now or something more?
She was just as inflamed as he was. Her breathing was ragged, her cheeks were flushed with color, and her hands on his shoulders trembled with her own barely controlled passion.
“It’s going to happen, Libby,” he told her, keeping the urgency out of his voice. “If not tonight, then tomorrow or the next day. Our paths have crossed, and what’s happening between us can’t be ignored. It won’t go away, lass. It will only get more powerful.”
She cupped his face with her small, delicate hands, her eyes searching his, her whole body tense. And then she smiled and leaned forward and kissed him—so very sweetly.
He stopped breathing and again raised his hands to the buttons on her blouse.
And again, she stopped him.
“Not here,” she whispered.
He started breathing again. Not no—just not here. Okay, he decided, standing up before she could change her mind, holding her in his arms. The woman wanted a bed—he’d damned well find her one.
He carried her through the kitchen, his urgency compounded by her hands clinging to his shoulders and her mouth exploring his jaw. Michael captured her lips and kissed her again, keeping one eye on their path so he didn’t run them both into the table. He entered the bedroom and all but ran to the bed, set her down and stretched out half on top of her, and started unbuttoning her shirt again.
And again, she stopped him.
“Dammit,” he growled. “Now what’s the matter?”
“Not here,” she whispered. “N-not in Mary’s bed.”
He reared up in disbelief. “Dammit, woman. This is Mary’s house.”
“N-not here, Michael,” she repeated, pushing against him, her huge brown eyes swimming with emotion.
“Please,” she entreated. “Find us someplace else.”
Michael blew out a frustrated sigh, looked up, and glared at the headboard. Goddammit. There was no place else. It was below freezing outside, his own house was occupied, and he couldn’t make love to her in the barn. He rolled to the side and threw an arm over his face, blowing out another sigh, this one resigned. The mattress dipped, and he lifted his arm enough to see Libby standing beside the bed, hugging herself.
He rolled off the bed, gathered up the blanket and two pillows, took hold of Libby’s hand, and strode out of the bedroom. She followed in silence as he led her into the garage, pulled her to the back of her truck, and handed her the quilt and pillows. He opened the back door, pulled out the third seat and set it on the floor, walked around to the side of the truck, and folded down the backseats.
He returned to Libby, stopping only long enough to kiss her gaping mouth, and tossed the pillows into the back of the truck. He shook the blanket out to make them a bed, turned,
picked Libby up, and tossed her in after it.
And then he climbed in himself, shut the doors behind them, and reached for the buttons on her blouse.
Chapter Fourteen
Libby blinked to adjust her eyesto the darkness of the garage. The truck? They were going to make love in the back of her truck?
Well, she had gotten what she asked for; Mary certainly wasn’t in here. Libby laughed and threw herself at Michael, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. In more of a frenzy than a coming together, they undressed each other, and as each new body part emerged and each interesting patch of skin was exposed, Libby’s urgency grew.
Michael was right—she had no business making up his mind for him. She had warned him, and they would both simply have to live with the consequences. She would not cling to Michael when this affair came to an end—which it eventually must. And if she were destroyed, as the old priest had suggested, she would have no one to blame but herself.
It was liberating, finally giving in to abandon. Libby ran her hands over Michael’s body, reveling in the texture and warmth of his skin, not needing any light for her fingers to form a picture in her mind of his sculpted beauty.
Her pants got stuck at her ankles, and Michael worked to take off her shoes. He heated the air with colorful curses. Libby felt the truck move when he banged his knee on the fender well, and she laughed out loud when he twisted and bumped his head on the roof.
“Dammit, woman,” he hissed, trying to take off his own boots. “If ya don’t quit laughing, I’ll see that you’re sorry.”
Libby snapped her mouth shut—not because of his threat but because her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and Michael took her breath away.
She’d seen many naked bodies in her career, some of them beautiful, athletic, and fine testaments to the human species. But Michael was…he was magnificent—beautifully sculptured bone and muscle perfectly proportioned for maximum strength and mobility. She could see now why Father Daar had called him a warrior.
He dwarfed the back of her cavernous truck, and when he turned to take her into his arms again, Libby’s mouth went dry. He was radiating enough heat to steam up the windows. He was so full of vitality, so larger than life, she felt overwhelmed.
But that lasted only until his mouth started doing wondrous things to her collar bone, and his hands introduced themselves to the more sensitive parts of her body. And Libby decided it was time she did the same. She ran her fingers down his solid, rippling torso and then lightly trailed over his hips, slowly inching her way toward his…his…
Michael reared up, a growl erupting from his throat the moment Libby touched him. He captured her hands just as they wrapped around his erection. There was a short, bittersweet tug of war before he was able to pin her down and glare into her smiling eyes.
“When ya finally make up your mind, ya certainly do so with zeal,” he whispered, lowering his lips over hers. “Slow down, lass. We have all night.”
“You can’t do all the touching,” she complained.
“Ya’ll get your chance,” Michael promised, sliding down her body and dipping his tongue into her navel.
Squirming, Libby sat up, grabbed fistfuls of his hair, and guided his mouth on its journey over her stomach. Michael couldn’t decide whether to groan or burst into laughter. She was so honest about what she liked and so eager to direct him to each sensitive spot.
As he kissed a tiny spot just above her hipbone, her little moan of pleasure told him he was driving her wild. He lifted his gaze and saw Libby’s head thrown back against the pillow, her eyes shut tight, her body flushed with passion.
“Oh, my God. Don’t stop,” she cried hoarsely, trying to push his head back down.
He was not about to stop, but he did change his focus, nuzzling back up her stomach until he came to her firm, delicate breasts.
Her grip on his hair tightened. Her body tensed in anticipation, and Michael began a slow and tender assault on her breasts, moving his tongue in sensual circles around each responsive nipple. She groaned and arched her back. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and lifted her hips until she was centered directly under his shaft.
Michael rolled onto his back, taking her with him. “Not yet,” he hissed, guiding her mouth down to his. “All night, remember?” he whispered, stilling her hips before she impaled herself on his erection.
She sat up, blinking, lost in a fog of passion.
“Now it’s your turn to touch,” he told her, wondering if he hadn’t lost his own mind. “Hands and lips only,” he clarified. He had to capture Libby’s eager hands when she started before he was done giving his instructions. “We’re not protected, Libby.”
She abruptly pulled back in alarm. “You were supposed take care of that.”
“I did. It’s in my pocket,” he assured her, folding his arms behind his head, gritting his teeth, praying for some patience of his own and a healthy dose of control.
Libby wasn’t sure what to think of his dictate, but she sure as heck knew what to do. She started at his navel and ran her hands up the length of him, sliding her fingers through the silky hair covering his chest. She became fascinated by how his muscles shuddered beneath her touch, how his nipples hardened when she lightly raked her fingers across them, how beads of sweat broke out on his shoulders and neck, how he tensed and growled as if he were in pain.
She knew she wasn’t hurting him. In fact, she knew she was driving him wild. And that thrilled her, how just her touch could make a quivering mess of such a strong mountain of man.
She was empowered. Remembering he’d said lips as well as hands, Libby replaced her fingers with her mouth. And mimicking his earlier action on her, she ran her tongue over his nipples. Satisfied to hear his groan, she went in search of other interesting anatomy.
“Have a care, lest ya end this now,” he warned, his voice guttural and strained.
She smiled, flexed her fingers on his hips, ignored his suggestion, and gave him a shockingly intimate kiss.
Michael sat up with a shout and took hold of Libby’s shoulders, lifting her away before he disgraced himself. This had not been one of his brighter ideas, giving this woman such free rein with his body.
“Find my pants,” he ground out. “Now.”
Michael couldn’t help but smile as Libbly scrambled to pick up his pants. His grin broadened when he heard her mutter an impatient curse as she rifled through his pockets. She held up a small foil packet, stared at it, and then turned and stared at him—or, more specifically, at what she’d just kissed.
She hesitated, looking a bit worried all of a sudden. He took the packet from her, tore it open with his teeth, and set it on the floor, then gathered her back in his arms and ravaged her mouth with a kiss. She melted against him, hugged him fiercely, and kissed him back, opening her sweet-tasting lips to let him inside.
He made love to her senses. His hands roamed over her body and toyed with the curls at the juncture of her thighs. He caressed her intimately, whispered words of anticipation into her cute little ear, and slowly rolled her onto her back, gently placing her beneath him. He slid on the protection while he continued to kiss her and lowered himself until he rested between her thighs.
“Libby,” he thickly entreated. “Open yar eyes and look at me, lass, so I can see that ya understand what is happening between us.”
She looked at him, and Michael saw the fire of passion burning brightly in her beautiful brown eyes.
“Say it, Libby. Tell me ya want me.”
Her hands tightened on his arms as she moved against him, searching for his intimate touch.
“Say it, lass,” he ground out, holding on to his control by the barest of threads. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” she moaned, lifting her hips and straining against him. “Yes, Michael. I want you.”
Satisfied, Michael slowly eased into her, mindful of how delicate she was, studying her face for signs of discomfort.
Her eyes widened. Her fingernails d
ug into his arms. And he wasn’t sure, but she looked as if she was holding her breath. So he reached down between them and gently stroked her passion back into flames.
She relaxed and opened, and he finally slid fully inside her. And Michael felt as if he’d just entered Heaven, he was so warmed and welcomed and deeply embedded. It was all he could do not to move.
Thank God she moved first, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist and lifting her hips. That was all the encouragement he needed. He cupped her face, kissed her lips, and slowly set a gentle rhythm that made her moan into his mouth.
Michael wanted this to last forever. He wanted Libby to feel the strength of their passion as keenly as he did. He wanted her hot and bothered and as wild as he was.
She was definitely bothered. Libby was so focused on feeling him buried so deep inside her, it was all she could do to remember to breathe. Making love to Michael was an unbelievably erotic experience.
But she wasn’t quite satisfied. He was moving too slowly, being too careful. She wasn’t a china doll—she wanted him to let go of his confounded control.
She raked her fingernails over his shoulders, dug her heels into his back, buried her face in his chest, and licked his nipple. He gave a hoarse shout, bucked against her, and sent skyrockets shooting through her body.
“Yes,” she breathed in a shout of her own, urging him on. She arched her back, causing him to withdraw slightly, and then lifted her hips.
He was a quick learner. He moved deeply inside her, then withdrew, then moved deeply again in a tempo that sent her hormones into a riot. Intense pleasure awakened every one of her senses at the feel of his breath against her ear, his body moving against hers, his taste lingering on her lips, and his hands—his large, strong, calloused hands—guiding their bodies together.
She could feel the truck rocking with the force of his thrusts. And for some strange reason, that realization sent Libby over the edge of control. She clung to Michael, cried out, and climaxed so violently she thought she might burst into flames. And just when she thought it was over, he reared up, growled deep from his throat, and stilled. He pulsed inside her, the strength of his own climax a magical thing to witness. She pressed her palms to his chest, felt his heart slamming against his ribs, and her own heart lurched with the realization that more than a simple affair had been started tonight.
Wedding the Highlander Page 16