Highland Surrender

by Tracy Brogan

He was besotted.

  He’d eaten his food. He knew he had, but even now, he could not remember a bite of it, for all he could taste in his mouth was the kiss he sought to claim.

  “I have been troublesome to you,” she said. “And I am sorry for it. I had my reasons, though. And you know what they were.”

  His attention narrowed to that one small word. “Were?”

  She nodded and licked her lips. He’d kiss her here and now if she did that again.

  “Yes. But now I’ve had some time to think, and wonder if perhaps I’ve been too hasty in despising you.”

  No declaration of love was that, and yet from her, it felt like one. “What brought about this welcome change?”

  “Does it matter?”

  He regarded her a moment. “No. But I must say, I am most glad to hear of it. We must celebrate.” He whispered the last, as if they shared a secret.

  She hid a smile behind her hand. “Perhaps we should.”

  “Myles, a word, if you please.” Tavish ambled up and wedged himself into the chair next to him. Marietta had been sitting there, but moments ago had left to check on her husband.

  “Now is the not the best of times,” Myles answered.

  “It won’t take but a minute. It’s about the roof they’re needing on the gristmill. Now, I was thinking—”

  “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’m sure you have no need of my opinion on this matter. But my lord Tavish, please do not keep my husband up too late drinking. Last night you did so and look what happened to him.” She gestured toward the black eye.

  Tavish paused, looking at her in some surprise. Then he winked. “As you wish, Lady Fiona. I shall deliver him to you myself as soon as our business is complete.”

  Surely, Tavish could wait with his question, but as soon as Fiona rose from her chair, he began to ramble on about the roof. Myles would listen for a moment, but no longer. Even now, he thought to stuff a roll into the fat man’s mouth and hurry after his bride. Instead, he settled for listening with half an ear and watching the way Fiona’s gown shimmered as she walked—nay, floated—toward the stairs. He had waited this long. He could wait another ten minutes.

  Perhaps.

  CHAPTER 31

  “AND ONCE WE’VE fixed the roof, the entire southwest corner could use shoring up. It’s near to crumbling.”

  Tavish took a hearty gulp of wine, and Myles took advantage of the lull in his monologue.

  “Your concern is duly noted, Tavish. I’ll set Benson to the task as soon as the sun is up tomorrow. We’ll have the mill up and proper before the next rainfall.” He stood before the man could take another breath. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other duties.”

  “What other duties? It’s near to midnight.”

  Myles crossed his arms and looked down at his uncle.

  “Oh. Oh, of course. Well then, by all means, do not let me keep you.”

  Myles bid the rest of them good night and made haste to his bedchamber. Yet even so, by the time he reached the door his arousal was undeniable. He adjusted the front of his doublet. This was it, then. Christ, if she played a game, it was the cruelest ever. But he’d seen her open smile and the flush on her cheeks. There was no mistaking her invitation. And if he had misunderstood, he’d simply cover her with kisses until they were in perfect agreement.

  He paused outside the door. Anticipation, sweet as opening a gift, assailed him. For she was a gift, as was this night and all they were about to share. Myles gave a silent prayer of thanks and pressed against the door. It swung open easily and he stepped inside. The room was cast with light and shadows, for she had lit a dozen candles or more. Logs crackled in the fire. He took another step and closed the door, securing the latch. Then he turned, and the breath kicked from his lungs.

  There beside the red-gold glow from the fireplace stood his bride. Tresses unbound and shining, she was an angel descended from heaven, dressed in gossamer, the sheerest bit he’d ever seen. In the breadth of his imagination, he could not envision any other woman looking so blessed and yet so sinful. Any doubts about where this evening might lead fled his mind. Tonight, she would be his.

  “You are ever a surprise to me, woman. But this is my favorite thus far.” His voice was husky, even to his own ears.

  She smiled, shy in spite of her wanton appearance. “Good, for I’m not certain I can best this.”

  “I cannot imagine better. You are a vision.” And she was. To simply gaze on her was a joy, but to touch her would be pure bliss.

  He walked close, until she was just an arm’s reach away, and still he did not lift his hands from his sides. He wanted to memorize her, to drink her in and not disturb the perfection of the moment.

  Her lips parted, her pink tongue ran along them, and he nearly buckled at the knees. Oh, how he wanted her. He wanted that tongue on his lips and those pale, slender arms around his neck. But mostly, he wanted her crying in release at his touch. She was ready this time. No longer the tender miss she was on their wedding night. Now she’d had time to grow accustomed to him, to decide for herself what she wanted. And she wanted him.

  His chest ached as all his breath and all his blood rushed to his groin. Her next words were nearly his undoing.

  “You are overdressed, my lord.”

  When had her voice become so sultry? Who was this luscious vixen? “So I am. Will you undress me?”

  She looked uncertain, and for a moment, he saw the Fiona from their first day, skittish and tentative, but the look passed, and she blinked, slow and demure.

  “If that would please you.”

  “Oh, it would.”

  After another brief hesitation, she reached up to the button near his throat. He saw the tremble in her hands. She was nervous. But tonight, he would take his time and show her the true measure of desire, for in bringing it to her, he’d find his own. He’d explore every curve and every valley, and lavish her with kisses and sweet words. He’d linger at the sweetest spots, tasting where neck turned into shoulder and waist turned into hip. He’d do all the lovely, wicked things he’d been dreaming of since first he’d seen her walking down those steps at Sinclair Hall.

  Fiona’s heart fluttered so erratically she could scarcely keep her breath. She knew nothing of seduction, and all of Vivi’s instructions muddled in her mind and slipped away like sand inside an hourglass. But her moment was now.

  It was no easy task to push the button through the thick fabric of his doublet, and when at last the first one popped free, she exhaled in relief at her tiny victory. Encouraged, she moved to the next. This doublet was long, reaching almost to her husband’s knees, but the buttons stopped at his waist. A good thing, for she could not imagine reaching lower. She was not that bold.

  All the while she made her way down the front of him, her husband stood silent, watching her. Not touching, as she longed for him to do, but simply...looking. His gaze branded her skin.

  When she managed the last one, she eased open the edges of the fabric, exposing his shirt underneath. Then she met his gaze and challenged him. “Am I to do all the work?”

  His eyes darkened. He smiled and shrugged the garment off his shoulders while she pulled at the sleeves. It fell away from his arms, and he plucked it from her hands to toss it aside.

  Then he caught her face in both his broad hands and tipped it up. His grip was made of steel and yet gentle as a breeze. His lips hovered near hers. They drifted over her cheeks and eyes as if he could breathe her in.

  Her eyes fluttered shut at such sweet torment. She wanted his kiss, and yet he teased. She stood before him, all but naked beneath his gaze. It was too much.

  “Look at me, Fiona.” He breathed the words against her heated cheek and then leaned back so she might see his face. “What do you want of me?”

  And so it came to this. He would make her ask.

  “All of you,” she answered. And it was true. There was no point in denying it, and no reason to either. She lifted on her toes and slid
her arms around his shoulders. “All of you,” she said again, and pressed her lips to his.

  She meant to kiss him lightly, to tease and hint. But there had been enough of that. She clung to him instead, and opened her lips beneath his. He held her face in his hands and kissed her, urgent and hungry. The dam had burst, and so she gave in to it, tilting her head and welcoming his tongue, his lips, the pressure of his hands. ’Tis what she’d been longing for, though she’d denied it, even to herself.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against his chest. She could not get close enough. His kiss only stoked the fire burning low inside. She thought of all the times he’d been patient and the times he’d looked at her with such heat it struck the breath from her. All that came to this. This moment. This embrace. This kiss.

  Clumsy, frantic hands, both his and hers, pulled away his shirt, and she rejoiced in the feel of his skin and his heat burning through her thin nightgown. He ran his hand down her back and cupped her bottom, pressing her closer still. He kissed the curve of her neck, and she arched to grant him access. His hands and his mouth seemed everywhere at once, and yet in none of the spots where she needed him most. The bits of her that burned the hottest.

  Emboldened, she slid a finger into the waist of his trunk hose and tugged. He growled deep in his throat and caught her earlobe in his teeth.

  “Still too many clothes, my lord.”

  She tugged again, and he groaned louder, twisting his hand in her hair and tugging in return. He kissed her mouth again, hot and hard, plundering it with his tongue until she was breathless from it. He moved down the column of her throat, grazing his teeth along her flesh and biting softly until she shivered with need. She had not imagined such a hunger could exist.

  He pulled her toward the bed, kicking off his shoes as they went. He reached out and flipped the covers down, then turned back to face her. She stood, weak-kneed and flushed with heat. He looked at her as if she were made of gold, more precious, even. Not breaking their gaze, he crouched low and gathered up the hem of her nightgown. Slowly, so slowly she almost yanked it off on her own, he inched the garment up, leaning in to kiss her hip once it was exposed. She could not hold back a breathy sigh. At last, he pulled it up and over her head. “This thing is made for sin,” he murmured. “You must wear it every night.”

  She felt shy suddenly, with nothing between them but flesh and air, and yet his hands on her body were so divine she soon gave up her hesitation and leaned back against the bedpost, arching to grant him access to her bare skin. He filled his palms with her breasts, nudging them together so he might kiss them both at once. Her nipples peaked, as if reaching for him. She knotted her hands into his. If this was Campbell sin, then she would willingly burn for it.

  She felt free and reckless, tugging at his hair and trailing her nails down his broad back. His muscles flexed beneath her touch, and she felt his tremor.

  His hands moved up, and he held her face once more, looking deep into her eyes.

  “I cannot think what stars have changed to bring you to my bed, but I shall thank them every day,” he said.

  He did care for her. She could not deny it, for even in her innocence, she knew his words were not spoken lightly. She’d not deny him either. In this moment of raw tenderness, she must admit she cared for him as well.

  “The stars were always aligned. I just couldn’t see them.”

  “You see them now?”

  “Yes.”

  “You come to me willingly?”

  Her heart felt near to bursting. “Yes.”

  He kissed her mouth. She strained against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and rising on her toes. He bent and caught her up beneath her bottom with his forearms, lifting her from the floor as though she weighed little more than a flower. Then he twisted and they fell together to the bed.

  He spread fervent kisses along her throat and nudged his thigh between her legs to press against that moist, heated core. She moaned and gripped his shoulders, urging him on.

  “Patience, my love.” He chuckled against her collarbone. “We have all the night to discover one another. Do you trust me?”

  She trusted none of this, for it was too lovely to be real. Still, she nodded. “Yes, I trust you.”

  He kissed her again and trailed his hands along her torso, moving slower than the moon, but scorching like the sun. His lips followed, kissing her here and there, the scrape of his jaw soothed away by the caress of his tongue. He teased at her breasts, sending ripples outward, but still she ached for more.

  She pressed her hands against his back, marveling at the feel of soft skin over taut muscle. He was heat and passion, and she sighed with gladness. At last, his hands traveled farther, landing right between her legs. Easy and certain, his fingers parted her most intimate folds and slipped between them. Relief and tension coupled as something new and wonderful began to coil within her.

  Following the same tantalizing path as his hands, he kissed his way down along her belly, stopping for a moment to explore her navel and circle it with his tongue before continuing. What luscious, carnal delight. So improper, yet she had no mind to stop him. He kissed one hip and then the other, teasing and tickling. Then he moved his face between her thighs.

  She gasped and twisted against him, suddenly embarrassed, but he was immobile. She twined her fingers into his hair and pulled, but he did not relent.

  “Myles.” She thought to stop him from such indelicacy. He could not mean to—oh, but he did. As his fingers stroked her most sensitive core, he kissed her there, right upon the spot that cried out for it most. Her body arched, no longer hers to control.

  She closed her eyes as if the darkness might conceal her wicked thoughts, but nothing could disguise the way she moved against his mouth. Her chest was tight, as if her heart might burst, and breathing seemed a chore. But still, the rolling flutter continued. Sensations came in lovely waves, building with each lap against the shore. And just when she thought she could not bear another second, a languid sort of spin began, like sliding over ice. It started in her toes, surging upward until it hit her middle and burst forth like a shooting star, shattering her awareness. White light, like heaven’s gate, blinded her.

  She floated on it for eternity, and then she was in the darkness, drifting downward, graceful as a feather.

  She felt her husband shifting upward, and she could not meet his eyes. So unbridled, she should feel ashamed. But he caught her chin with his palm and turned her face toward him. He offered a most roguish grin. She buried her face into the curve of his neck and kissed him there, tasting salt and the manliness of him, breathing in deep as if to collect his essence. His pulse, rapid as her own, thrummed against her lips.

  “I didn’t know you could do that,” she whispered, and wrapped her arms around him, wanting him closer still.

  “I told you I could.” He chuckled hoarsely. “You just didn’t believe me.” Then he moved again, the fine hairs on his chest grazing seductively against sensitized breasts. Her heart thumped. Or was it his? They were so close there was no way of knowing.

  “There’s more, yes?” she asked.

  “Yes.” His breath was a sigh, or a prayer, perhaps. He moved his hips, found his mark, and filled her to the hilt. He moaned into her ear, a wordless plea of yearning.

  She rose up to meet his thrust, pressing her feet against the mattress. Ah, she had not remembered this part of it feeling so delicious. The ebb and flow, the mingling of breaths, and the glorious sensation of him sliding in and out. This was better, so much better than before. No pain, no fear, no hesitation. Just the two of them in a timeless rhythm.

  Their bodies moved together, the muscles of his chest flexing against her breasts, until at last he caught her bottom with his hands, pressing into her deeper and faster until she gasped from the pace. Swirling tendrils snaked over her limbs once more, and suddenly, her nerves coiled and sprang, in a burst more powerful than the last. She cried out in pleasure as M
yles drove onward toward his own fulfillment. Seconds later, his body tensed and arched, his breath rasped in her ear, an inarticulate endearment. She clung to him and rode the storm until he relaxed against her with a long, sweet sigh.

  Their breathing slowed, and Fiona became more aware of her surroundings. He was heavy, but his weight was a fortress meant to protect. She felt bereft when, moments later, he rolled to his side, but he pulled her with him and kept her in his arms.

  “I believe that’s how it’s meant to be,” he said at last, and kissed her on the forehead.

  She could think of nothing to say to that, so she pressed a kiss against his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. But surely he was right. She could not imagine it being better.

  CHAPTER 32

  FIONA BRUSHED AWAY a tickle on her ear, but it was back in an instant. She scratched at it, and heard her husband’s throaty chuckle. Even with her eyes shut, she could feel the daylight upon her face, but it seemed as if she’d only just gone to sleep. Memories of the night spread over her like honey from a comb, warm and golden and remarkably sweet. Her body ached in delicious ways, and she stretched to ease her muscles.

  “Good morning, fair damsel,” Myles said, ticking her ear once more.

  She slapped his hand away in jest. “Stop that. Haven’t you poked at me enough already?”

  He shook his head. “Not by half.” He pulled her back against his chest, pressing his arousal to her bottom.

  He was a randy buck now that she’d set him free. But little did she mind, for he’d shown her there’d be pleasure in her part of it. Nonetheless, she feigned a feeble struggle, thinking it the proper thing. “’Tis morning, you hound. Time to rise and begin the day.”

  He pushed against her buttocks firmly and wrapped a solid arm around her waist. “I have risen. See?”

  She laughed and tried to wiggle free, but his lips upon her shoulder silenced any false complaints. His kiss was a tonic to her senses as he nipped her skin and soothed away the tiny injury with his tongue. Trailing a finger down her side, along the curve of her hip, and landing on her thigh, his touch sent ripples of anticipation through her body. Warmth flooded through, draining any will to resist. She gave in to it, willingly, wantonly, sighing into the pillow. He ran the finger up to the side of her breast, then down once more to her hip, his touch soft as a feather.