by Lexi Post
His body shuddered. “But it’s no’ safe.” Slowly, despite her grip, he moved his hands away from her breast and opening, though his right arm remained around her.
A whimper escaped her lips and she flushed that she’d been so obvious. Still, she was thankful for his arm as her knees were weak.
Duncan didn’t say anything as they stood on the stair, both breathing hard. After a minute, her balance returned and she leaned forward. “I’m good.”
His chuckle behind her as he let her go had her turning to look at him. He raised his brow. “I dinna know that yet.” His devilish grin told her he planned to find out and he wasn’t talking about how good she was as a Spirit Guide.
She turned forward again and started climbing, going a little slower. She didn’t want to get dizzy again and end up back in his arms. Or maybe she did. No. He was a lover and she kept forgetting how arrogant he could be.
On the other hand, he’d been concerned for their safety.
She stifled a laugh. How could they get hurt if they were already dead? She sobered almost immediately. Duncan had been a spirit for a couple centuries and even he still thought like the living on occasion. Would she ever get used to this? Would this be her eternity? Like him, would she have no sense of how much time passed?
A yearning for more than this started in her chest. She didn’t like the feeling. The afterlife was supposed to be peaceful, not difficult.
After passing the third floor with only one door in the side wall, she continued upward. How big was this place anyway? He said this was the medieval section but there were two other wings with the latest being the eighteenth century. Was that when he was from? What was happening in Scotland then?
The stairs opened to a small hallway with a wooden door at the end. She walked to it then turned back to look at Duncan.
He nodded. “Go ahead, open it.” The anticipation in his face piqued her curiosity.
She lifted the latch, pushed the wooden door open and stepped out. “Oh wow.” She stopped where she was and looked over the crenellated stone along the edge of the roof. Before her lay green rolling hills, some dotted with light purple, leading down to an ocean. “This is beautiful.”
She looked at Duncan, who was also staring at the vista, and she could easily see him in a kilt and loose white shirt. His chin was up as the light breeze ruffled his hair. He looked like a lord or laird or whatever they were called when he was alive, as if he owned everything before him.
He turned toward her and grinned. “Welcome to Rossan.”
“Where in Scotland is this?”
He cocked his head as he thought. “South of the River Clyde.” He pointed. “That’s the Atlantic ocean.”
It looked like there was a village on the coast, but the cottages inland seemed scattered far apart from each other, not that she could see every hill and valley. “What time period is this? I’m guessing it’s in the eighteenth century some time.”
He shrugged and returned his gaze to the scenery.
He really couldn’t remember. She wanted him to. For some reason that was important. “Did you wear kilts?”
He turned to face her and leaned back against the stone edge, crossing his legs. “Aye, I did and I do.” His smile faltered before it grew wider. “My father wasn’t allowed to, some idiot law, but I remember wearing the Montgomerie plaid from as far back as when I was a wee boy.”
She tried to envision what the six foot six Mr. Distraction looked like as a child. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard. He would have been precocious, always laughing and probably getting into all kinds trouble. She smiled at the image.
“Ah, you have figured it out then?” He winked, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Her instincts were finally helping her see the slight nuances in his face. She’d been distracted by the smiles and laughter, but now, she could see that sometimes those were used to hide doubts and dare she think it, insecurities.
She sauntered over to him. “As a matter of fact, I have.”
“Then please enlighten this old soul.” He bowed his head slightly in respect, not in fun.
She squelched a flirtatious reply. “I believe you were born around 1780.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m no expert, but I was supposed to take a trip to Scotland and did a little research. The Scots always wanted to be separate from the English crown and in the 1700s there was an attempt to put a Bonnie Stuart on the throne.”
“Aye.” His face lit with excitement. “Bonnie Prince Charlie.”
She frowned. “But that failed and the English king outlawed the wearing of the kilt, playing the bagpipes and basically anything truly Scottish.”
Duncan stood straight, now clearly remembering. “That’s why my father couldn’t wear a kilt, but then they repealed the law. That’s why I could. You’re brilliant.”
With no warning, he scooped her into his arms and kissed her. This wasn’t the sensual kiss on her couch. This was a full on, overpowering assault on her senses as his tongue entwined with her own and his body pressed her against the pitched roof.
His hand cupped her head as he slanted his lips across hers like a man starved. Her soul took notice and she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her hands in his thick hair.
Just when she thought her knees would give way, he retreated, but not far. He leaned his forehead against hers and with his finger traced her swollen lips.
“I’m sorry, lass. I canna control myself around ye.”
Every feminine part of her cheered at his statement even as she noticed his Scottish accent had become heavier. “Hmm, I’m thinking that happens with every girl you kiss.”
He lifted his head and stared into her eyes, all traces of amusement gone. “Nay, it does no’. Ye are the first.”
Oh, sheesh. This wasn’t what she’d expected. How did he completely flip the tables on her? She moved her hand to his cheek. “You’re pretty awesome, too.”
Instead of laughing, or at least a smile, he frowned. He didn’t say a word, turned his head and kissed her palm.
What was he thinking?
Duncan didn’t want to let Jessica go, even for a moment, and panic crowded upon him. He didn’t understand why he, the man who had lain with women in more than a hundred beds, though to be truthful they weren’t all in beds, but still, why couldn’t he stop thinking of her. It bothered him enough to walk away, but his body refused to budge.
“Duncan? Are you all right?”
Ignoring her question, he listened to his body and lowered his lips to hers again. As soon as they touched, lightning crashed inside him, making his balls tighten and his cock hard. Her breasts, pressing against his chest, burned him and he couldn’t keep his hands from moving over her.
He wanted to kiss every part of this woman. Every stubborn, sassy, smart inch of her. He forced his lips to move away from her sweet mouth to her neck, which he’d tasted on the stairs.
She leaned her head away, giving full access to that smooth white column where her pulse beat so diligently. He licked at it before kissing his way to her collarbone, his fingers deftly popping another button open on her blouse.
The soft fabric moved away as his mouth descended on the crest of a breast and he tongued the skin above the bra. Following the lace edging downward with his lips to the space between her breasts, he licked between them all the way up to the hollow at her throat.
Her scent wafted around him as her pulse beat rapidly beneath his tongue. He craved her.
Taking a deep breath, he inhaled her cranberry aroma, the fresh air of the day, and the tiniest whiff of salt air from the sea. He moved his lips to her ear. “I want ye, Jess.”
Lifting his head to see her response, he found her staring at him through half-closed eyes that had turned darker than the evergreens in the distance. As carefully as he could, he lifted the glasses from her face, fascinated by the lighter green flecks visible in her eyes. “Ye are so bonny, lass. I canna help myself
.”
Need as well as hesitancy was clear in her gaze. He didn’t want her to think. He wanted her to feel. With his elbows anchored against the slope of the roof, he lowered his head and gently kissed her, holding back his raging need to woo her body into submission.
Lazily, he explored her sweet taste, his cock hardening as her tongue finally tangled with his own. His hips pressed against her of their own accord and she moaned into his mouth at his movement. He burrowed his knee between her legs, nudging them apart.
Without leaving her delicious mouth, he balanced on one elbow and released his hard cock from the stifling denim. His hope was that with it open to the fresh air instead of confined in the pants they called jeans, he would have more control, but he was mistaken.
He had to have her. From her reaction on the stairs and her moans now, she must be ready for him. Leaving her lips, he nuzzled between her breasts before forcing his tongue beneath her bra and tugging on her nipple. Bracing his legs, he used one hand to pull down the material and grasp her breast in his hand, kneading it, loving the soft firmness of it.
Over the thudding of his own heart, he focused on the small gasps of air she took. She wanted him. He wanted her. There was no reason to wait. Removing his hand from her breast, he hiked up her skirt to her waist until he could press his cock against her.
Blast, there was still yet another barrier before him. It was too much clothing. With his hand, he pulled the underthing to the side and thrust inside her wet pussy.
“Duncan. Duncan!” He’d just registered her voice when a sting from a slap spread across his face.
“What?”
“Where did you go? One minute we’re having a conversation and the next minute you’re in Never Never Land.”
Huh? He stared at Jessica. Her blouse only had the one button undone, she still wore her glasses and she was standing in front of him as he leaned against the stone crenellation. What happened?
“Duncan, are you okay?”
A pressure in the back of his head built. He looked into her worried eyes, knowing his own must reveal the same. “Aye, lass, I’m fine.” But he wasn’t fine and she probably knew it. “Would you like to see more of this wing?” He turned away from her and rubbed at the pressure at the base of his skull, the pain increasing. Confused by what happened and by her caring, he pointed below instead. “Or I can show you one of the other ones.”
She walked around him and placed her hands on her hips. “No, I don’t want to see the other wings. I want to know what happened just now. I was talking to you for at least ten minutes and you didn’t respond. It was like you were a zombie or something.”
A shiver raced through his body at her words. Whispers of spirits who disappeared, vanishing into nothingness from being around too long sliced through his brain as the pressure in his skull blew apart and he grasped his head in his hands.
Chapter Five
“Duncan!” Jessica grabbed his arms, easing the sharpness a bit, but he barely kept himself upright.
He opened his eyes to the loveliness of her face, and the pain dulled a bit more. “Sorry, lass. Just got a wee bit of a headache.”
“Then we should go downstairs. Can you phase?”
He grasped her hand, no’ sure if he could. “I’m the expert at phasing. They really should have let me do that training for new Spirit Guides.”
She rolled her eyes, but her concern didn’t leave her face. “Then let’s go, Mr. Expert.”
As his body obeyed his command to phase, he breathed easier, the pain easing and pooling into a puddle at the base of his skull. They floated down the outside of the building and through the front door. By time they re-solidified and he sat at the huge banquet table while Jessica searched the kitchen for the ale he requested, he was feeling more like himself, the ache in his head all in one spot but manageable.
“Here you go.” She set a ceramic mug before him and took the seat next to him.
He wasn’t oblivious to the fact her hand rested on his arm. He picked up the mug with his other hand and took a swallow then grimaced. “That’s no’ ale.”
She grinned. “Nope. It’s orange juice. I requested it. If you had a drop in blood sugar or lightheadedness then that will cure you in no time.”
He doubted that. “And how do you know this?”
“My grandmother swore by the miracles worked through OJ. Now drink some more.”
He made a face at her for the fun of it and took another swallow. It was good.
Her brows drew together. “Haven’t you had orange juice before?”
“No. I’ve had oranges.” He smiled as a childhood memory struck him. “When I was a boy, my parents used to hide oranges at Christmas time. My little brother and I loved looking for them. My parents would give us clues that would take us hours to figure out and when we did, it would still take hours to find the blasted things.” He winked at her. “I think it was just their way of keeping us occupied while the servants decorated the house.”
Jessica smiled in return. “That sounds like a wonderful memory.” She could see him sitting in that chair he was in, but less than half the size. Probably feeding anything he didn’t want to eat to the family dog, swinging his bare feet as he pretended to listen. Except maybe not bare feet. She looked at his tartan-colored socks. “Why don’t you wear shoes?”
He wiggled his brow. “Because I misbehaved.”
“You, really?” She chuckled. “What a surprise. So how did misbehaving stop you from wearing shoes?”
He grimaced. “It was my fault, of course. I was sliding down the banister in the eighteenth century portion of the house when I fell.”
“Oh no.” Her breath caught.
“Obviously, I lived that day.” He winked. “Luckily, I fell on the stair side and no’ on the two-story-drop side.”
She started breathing again. “You must have been scared.”
“I was at first. I was just a wee boy, maybe five. But when I landed on the stairs I thought all was well. All I needed to do was get my feet out from between the spindles. What I didn’t know is I had broken my ankle and when I tried to move to untie my shoes so I could get my feet loose, it hurt. So I just hung there, head first off one stair hoping one of the servants or my older brother would find me.”
“Didn’t they hear you crying?” Her heart went out to the naughty boy, Duncan had been.
He shook his head proudly. “I was a boy. I couldn’t cry. And I wouldn’t yell for help because I really didn’t want my parents to find out I was sliding down the banister again.”
“Wait, so you thought if someone else found you, they wouldn’t tell your parents about your ankle.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t know about my ankle, and yes, in my mind, I could convince whoever found me to keep my secret.”
Jessica leaned forward. “Who found you?”
He grimaced again. “Me mum.”
She laughed at that. “But what does that have to do with not wearing shoes?”
Duncan took another swallow of juice before he answered, the gleam in his eye telling her she would adore his response. “At first my foot swelled so badly I couldn’t wear shoes, and my father delayed my punishment since I couldn’t walk. Then as my foot got better, I had become so comfortable no’ wearing shoes that I kicked them off the first chance I got. My nanny thought it was because my ‘wee poor foot’ bothered me. I never disabused her of that idea. Before I knew it, my shoeless life was looked upon as normal, even by me. Besides,” he wiggled his toes in his socks, “socks keep your feet warm and are much more comfortable than shoes.”
Jessica shook her head. “I had a feeling you were a little scamp as a boy.”
“Me?” He tried to look affronted. “What makes you think that?”
She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head. “Are you sure you want me to answer that?”
Oh, he liked the deviltry in her gaze. She had spirit, more than he’d guessed. “Aye. What makes you think I was a troublem
aker?”
“Oh, let me count the ways.” She bowed, one arm straight out, then she rose. “Hmm, well first you smile all the time.”
“That’s my good humor. Certainly a plus. I make people happy with this smile.” He smiled widely to prove his point.
Her lips quirked up a bit at the sides as she tried not to reciprocate. “Second,” she paced to the left, “you like to tease.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Again, a good quality. I make people laugh, which makes them feel good.”
She shook her head, refusing his logic. She paced to the right. “Third, you are an outrageous flirt.”
“All the better for enjoying a tryst or two.” He winked at her before letting his gaze roam over her body.
“Two? I’m thinking there’s been more than two.” She smirked at him, finally relaxing and having fun.
He grinned, filled with male satisfaction. “Aye, it’s probably closer to two hundred.”
Jessica’s face froze. “Really?”
He shrugged. “I dinna know. I never counted. But that too brings pleasure to others.”
Jessica stared at the smiling man in front of her, forcing herself to keep her mouth shut as numerous names for Duncan Montgomerie raced through her head. Lady-killer. Casanova. User. Player. Heartbreaker. Her mind stopped on the last one. She’d almost forgotten that about him. How many women back in his time had loved him, only to be tossed aside for the next willing wench?
He still grinned. “So again, I ask you, why would you think I was a troublemaker when I was younger?” He smiled in triumph as if he’d argued away all her points when in fact he brought up a much worse one.
Did he seriously not see the issue with two hundred sex partners? Far be it for her to explain it. “I stand corrected.” She pivoted on her heel and walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” His voice made it sound as if he cared.
She didn’t turn around. “I need to go back to my house. I’ll come get you when I’m ready to continue Holly’s night.