by Jackie Ivie
He cleared his throat. “Perhaps I’d be better served getting more of you unwrapped.”
“Kameron!”
He looked a bit sheepish, although the expression was gone the next time the light touched him. He wasn’t meeting her eyes, though.
“You’ve a corset on?” he finally asked.
“They’re imparting the proper shape to me. It has something to do with an hourglass. I wasn’t listening. I detest it. It puts . . . uh, certain . . . uh, things . . . out where they shouldn’t be. I don’t need that sort of enhancement.”
He was laughing without sound. Constant could tell. Both of his hands began a strange rhythm up her spine and back down. She shivered with it.
“You are right, love. You doona’ need enhancement. Of any kind. You’re too much woman already. Damn.”
“What?” she asked.
“It’s a front fastener, just my luck.”
“What does that mean?”
“Lower your arms.” His voice was husky.
She did what he requested, sliding them down his body. Constant’s fingers meandered from his shoulders, over each hump of muscle in his chest and then down his belly, trilling over the ropes of muscle before she reached his hips. Once there, she alternately squeezed and caressed the sides of his thighs before she moved her hands to her own sides.
The look she’d assumed was pain was back on his face, and he had his lips pursed, breathing rapidly. Her eyes widened. She knew what he meant now about stifling himself. It was obvious by the stab of his rod in the vicinity of her abdomen. She waited, trembling, until he regained control.
“Jesu’, Constant, but you’re a vixen.”
“Was it this way in the loft?”
“A thousand times worse and a hundred times easier.”
His hands moved, sliding her sleeves off her arms. She helped him, lifting as he reached her wrists, in order to pull her hands through. Constant didn’t move her eyes from his face, although she could see where his glance kept going. It was having the same sensitizing effect on her nipples that it always did.
“Oh, Constant! What you do to me! You have nae idea, do you?”
She smiled. “I . . . have some idea, Kameron.”
He looked up at that, and there was no stopping the roar of sound she heard as his black-shadowed eyes met hers for the barest hint of time before the lantern light moved away again.
Then she was crushed against him, the thin lawn of her chemise almost nonexistent against the heat of his rib cage. His mouth found hers. Constant gulped at his lips, tormenting with each breath, pushing further into him, and then she lifted a leg in order to wrap it about one of his, grinding her hips against him until she couldn’t halt the cry.
“Na’ so fast, love.”
“Help me!”
“Na’ so—stop that!”
He might have possession of her body, but he couldn’t stop her hands. Constant reached for him, beginning a stroking motion that had his entire frame ramrod stiff. The unearthly groan he gave emboldened and enticed her further, making her ministrations that much more earnest and intense. She was being sucked into a whorl of wicked desire and lust before he stopped her, reaching down and pulling her away with hands resembling iron. Constant watched the agonized look on his face with a sly smile on hers.
She knew exactly what he was talking about now. Her entire body was afire with it, too.
“Na’ . . . so . . . fast.” He panted each word.
Constant blew a kiss to the air between them. She watched a shudder run through his frame. Then she couldn’t see anything as he slung her over his shoulder and walked straight to her bed, as if the sea was glass smooth and the floor wasn’t bobbing and weaving beneath them.
He tossed her atop the bed, where she bounced twice before coming to rest. The ship was seesawing as she watched him crawl onto the bed, settling onto his haunches right beside her so he could rip one of the strings holding her corset closed, and pull it out. Constant’s eyes were huge as he held her down with one hand while he pulled strings with the other. As one string snapped, he moved to the next one down.
It was the most intensely arousing thing she’d ever seen. Kameron’s chest was rising and falling as he inhaled and exhaled, his muscles were straining as he plucked each string loose, and the hard part of him was shoving against her side the entire time.
“Kam . . .”
“You are going to need another corset, Constant, and I doona’ give a damn who kens it.”
He had the piece undone and shoved it open. Then he yanked her chemise down, gathering and lifting her with both hands. He arched himself to reach her nipples with his mouth, giving such ecstasy Constant screamed with it.
Kameron lifted his head as he ripped the flimsy material of the chemise from her. He ran his hands all over her, along every curve, down to each foot, and then back again, leaving trails of sensation in his wake.
“I wanted to do this slow, Constant, love. I wanted to know you. Know you, and I wanted you to feel it as I did. I wanted to move your world and make you sob with ecstasy. I wanted to show you how it can be. Now, I doona’ give a damn about any of that. I doona’ want anything more than to be buried in you. I hope you’re ready, because I’m na’ doing another thing slowly.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. He was harsh and entirely male as he rolled atop her, pushing all the breath from her as he did so. She had her arms about him, and her heart beat so loud in her ears, she could hardly hear the curses he rained on her as he moved between her legs and slammed inside her. He called her a jezebel, the center of desire and wickedness. He named her an enchantress, a vixen, a siren, a vamp, a wanton, a seductress, and those were only the ones she could decipher between each savage thrust of his body into hers.
Then he wasn’t going fast, despite his tormenting words. He was rising and falling with each motion of the waves, the sea deciding the rhythm, and driving her absolutely demented with the effort to reach what she knew awaited her. Constant clung to him, grasping as much as she could with her arms and legs. She held to him. She pushed and thrust and begged, and what she got was more of his cursing, and more of his heated strength, and more of his teasingly slow motion.
And then she reached heaven. There wasn’t enough air for the shriek she gave, nor could she gather more in. The sound ended on sobs of emotion. There was a storm sending the bedroom back and forth, with fire and passion and love-imbued power, but it hadn’t a thing to do with the ocean outside, and everything to do with Kameron. He’d said he wanted to move her world? Make her sob? It hadn’t been an exaggeration. Constant wept, shivering and convulsing with the ecstasy, holding as tightly to Kameron as she could. And all he did was laugh.
That nearly undid her. She opened her eyes to a view of sweat-slickened flesh, bulging muscles, the hard planes of his cheeks, and the solid black of his eyes.
“Am I going too fast for you, love?” he asked harshly, shoving himself against her with each word. “Too slow?”
“Kam . . . eron!” She choked out his name.
He moved, taking her with him as he stood up, lifting her with him off the bed, continuing his slow, maddening motions. He walked with her, using the length of each wave to his advantage. And then he settled her on the ewer stand, balancing her atop the cold edge of the porcelain bowl before planting his hands on either side of her. The chill at her back conflicted so much with the inferno within her that she slammed her eyes shut and convulsed with another eruption of rapture.
“Constant? Look at me. Look at us. Damn you. Look.” His voice was a hoarse, guttural racket of sound as he commanded it.
She opened her eyes, fixing them on the half-lidded slant of his. She had to wait for the next flip of light from the swinging lantern to know his gaze hadn’t moved. She couldn’t have looked away from it if she dared. The light caught him again, caressed the expression of wonderment on his face, combined with a look of such torment, Constant’s heart squeezed with it. She remember
ed that look from the loft. The ecstasy.
A groan emanated from him as he grabbed her, lifting her upward with the strength of his own release. The timbre of his voice enshrouded her. Her arms tightened about him to hold him close for as long as possible.
And then Kameron shook, giving little warning before falling to his knees, the thump of his landing loud and painful-sounding. Constant’s heels bounced on the decking, but Kameron’s body cushioned the rest of her.
She moved her hands to his face, slid her fingers over every bit of his perfection, removing stray strands of hair as she did, and then she was stroking at his eyelashes with thumbs that trembled at the wetness she found there.
“I love you, Kameron,” she whispered.
“And I you, Constant, love. I do. I love you. I have said it many times in my life, but I have never meant it until you. You have nae idea.”
“I have every idea, Kameron,” she answered.
“This is na’ usual. I swear. What other men and women do together bears little resemblance to this. I dinna’ know true love made all the difference. How could I? I dinna’ have any knowledge of it.”
“Women chased you, offering love, Kameron. Your entire life they’ve been there, offering this.”
“What women?” he asked.
“Every woman. Everywhere. Every night. Remember?”
“If I said that, it must be another lie, love. There’s nae other woman in the world save you.” He pulled away, swiped at his eyes and looked around. He frowned. “What are we doing on the floor?”
“What floor? I am atop clouds. I have been since I met you.”
“You’re atop me, love. It’s blasted hard on the bottom. Trust me. Cold, too. Which way is your bed? I intend to find it, fall into it and sleep in it, with you in my arms. I got to experience that only once. I still remember how it felt.”
“What’s that?”
“Sleeping with you. Allowing my mind to caress where my body couldn’t. Awakening with you atop me. Damn you, anyway.”
She felt him stir within her again.
He swore. “I said I would be sleeping, Constant.”
“You’ve got two weeks to sleep, Kameron.”
“True enough.” His lips twisted into a smile that left her in no doubt of his intentions. He coupled it with the raising of both eyebrows. “Have I labeled you a vixen yet?” he asked.
“Every time.”
“Good. I’d hate to think I’m losing my touch. Hold to me, darling, I’m going to try to stand now. It may prove difficult.”
“I don’t have a prayer of not holding to you, Kam.”
His smile widened. “Let’s just keep it that way, shall we?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Her two hours had to have passed, and then three. Constant lost all track of time. It was mostly due to Kameron. It was such a wealth of warmth and wonder to lie enwrapped in his arms, watching the room tilt and sway, making ever larger and longer motions that rocked them back and forth on the bed. So Constant stayed with her head on his chest, using him as a pillow, while she waited for Lucilla to ruin it.
“Kam?” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
“You awake?”
“Aye,” he answered.
“I thought you were going to sleep.”
“Foolish idea. I was mad and—as you reminded me—I have two weeks for that nonsense. I’ll be strapped back into my bed with naught to do save sleep, and dream, and remember. Besides, I had other things in mind. My wife is an insatiable sort. I am verra lucky to have found her. Verra.”
Constant’s body flushed for her. She knew exactly what he was referring to. She had been insatiable.
“How did you get loose, since they strapped you?”
“They control me with the bonds once they have me down. I’m allowed up to relieve myself. Think of the mess, otherwise.”
“You are very . . . blunt, for a titled gentleman.”
“I’m verra blunt for anyone, darling, titled gent or na’. ’Tis nae one’s fault save my own. They gave up trying to instill the correct sense of decorum in me years ago.”
“Why?”
“Why, what? Why am I short on decorum, or why did they give up?”
“Both.”
He shrugged. “I’m an only child. I had inanimate toys to play with, vacant-faced servants to wait on me, and na’ one soul who cared. I tried to alter that, I guess. I was incorrigible and I misbehaved and I was randy. Verra. I was a familial embarrassment looking for a situation that would showcase it.”
“What is randy?”
“Uh . . . active. Physically. With the ladies. You know . . . lusty.”
“I’m sorry I asked.” She was, too.
“If it helps, so am I. Ask me something I can answer without causing you upset.”
“All right. Why?”
“Why what? Why ask something that does na’ upset you?”
“No. Why did you act that way? What were you trying to alter?”
“Oh. Being ignored. My father is the esteemed, regal, arrogant, contemptuous, and verra censorious fifth Duke of Ballanclaire. He’s also the laird of Clan Ballanclaire, and revered almost like a god. His word is law. Unimpeachable. Has been for . . . more than fifty years now. He inherited as a lad. He’s so steeped in tradition, historic propriety, and heraldic implications, it’s impossible to have a conversation with him on any other subject. I doona’ think he kens how.”
“Heraldic what?”
“Implications. Lineage. Which clan has ties with which. Who wed who and produced whom. Whose line reaches the farthest back into history. That sort of thing.”
“That doesn’t sound fortuitous for me.”
“What do we care? We can leave. I’m na’ the duke. I can abdicate.”
“What will happen then?”
“What do I care?”
“Kam.”
He sighed. “Oh, verra well. I lied. I doona’ ken if I can abdicate or na’. That means I will be duke. Eventually. And you’ll be my duchess. And our children will all turn out to be perfect examples of responsibility and propriety, despite their upbringing.”
“What upbringing? They’re three months old.”
“True. But there’s about to be a severe break with tradition. They will na’ be raised at BalClaire, as he was. And I should have been.”
Constant stiffened and tried hiding it. BalClaire was one of the properties he’d lose.
“It’s nae great loss, Constant. The place is a tomb. Solid rock. Verra auld. The foundation stones go back to a time even afore The Bruce. Fourteenth century, or thereabouts. ’Course it’s been modernized a bit since then. My mother forced the issue upon their marriage.”
“You weren’t raised there?”
“I think I touched on this already. I was a bit . . . incorrigible. Undisciplined. I broke things. Caused trouble. Disrupted. There are more descriptors. Need I continue?”
“Where were you raised, then?”
“Pitcairn Tower. ’Tis a wondrous place, way up north. A bit rough about the edges, but filled with all kinds of entertainment and trouble for a lad to get into, especially when he is going to be the lord of it eventually.”
“Is that where you first learned about women?”
Kam didn’t say anything for so long, Constant swiveled her head to look at him. She had to wait for the light to sway back twice before she saw his expression. He was sucking in on his cheeks, his eyebrows were raised, and he looked anywhere but at her.
“Well?” she asked.
“I’m na’ so certain I should answer that.”
“Why not?”
“If I say nae, will you say it’s a lie? If I say aye, will you get all upset at me again?”
“I’m never upset at you, Kam.”
“In that event, aye. I learned early on. I was twelve. She was fifteen. It was brutally embarrassing if memory serves me right.”
“I think you should have lied and said no.”
“Oh. In that event, nae. I dinna’ have any woman until you. I was saving myself.”
Constant giggled. She couldn’t help it. “What did your mother think of all this?”
“My mother? That woman is a firm believer in being seen, but never heard . . . or should I say, overheard. I doona’ think she has a conversation unless it’s to shred someone’s character, engage in hate-filled gossip, or insert sarcastic rejoinders when they’ll do the most damage. She prefers life at Windsor Castle when she’s in London and Haverly when she’s not.”
“Windsor . . . Castle?” Constant paused between the words.
“Aye. Windsor. In London. She’s a member of the royal family, Constant. There were probably two things about her that brought my father’s offer for her hand. Her royal blood was the first thing. Had to be.”
“And the second?” Constant asked.
“She’s bonny. Her beauty was legendary. Still is. She’s trim. Perfect complexion, thick, white-blond hair, light brown eyes. Gets it from her Nordic father. Some say I take after her.”
“Only some?”
“Oh, verra well. I received nearly every bit of my looks from her, but my size comes from my sire. My father is na’ much to look at, but he is large. Legendary large. Handled a claymore and hand ax with the best of them. Never lost on the list. Na’ even to his honor guard. Make that . . . his auld honor guard.”
“What’s a list?”
“Field of battle. For jousting tournaments. That sort of thing.”
“You still do those?”
“Aye. Usually without the armor. Keeps a man strong. Agile. Battle primed.”
“And the honor guard?”
“Every laird has an honor guard, love. They’re hand-picked from the strongest and bravest of their clansmen. That’s another use for the list—selecting an honor guard. ’Tis how I selected mine.”
“Yours?”
“I have my father’s skill on the lists, Constant, although you’d never know it.”
“I mean . . . where’s your honor guard?”
“Oh. My father disbanded them the last time he disowned me. Nae. ’Twas the time afore that. Doona’ fash. I’ll reassemble them. They ken it.”
“Your father . . . disowned you?”