by Tarah Scott
Colin undid the buckle of his kilt and allowed the plaide to drop to the stone floor. He shed the starched white shirt that hung over his groin and she couldn't stop her gaze from dropping to his erection. He wrapped thick fingers around the base and stroked the hard length. Light from the sconces glistened on the moisture that beaded on the crown. Her mouth watered to taste him, feel the hard shaft as she sucked him deep into her mouth.
He stepped close to her and covered a breast with his free hand as he continued to caress his rigid staff. Margot arched into his palm as far as her constraints allowed. With a groan, he pinched the nipple. She cried out. He shifted so that he stood directly in front of her and slid his cock up through her soaked folds. She lifted her hips off the wall, pulsing against the steel rod. Her blood heated. Colin shoved her back against the wall and crushed her under him, his hard length jammed between them.
Margot whimpered and tried to arch into him. He pressed her deeper into the cold stone and reached between her legs. Rough fingers delved into her heat and massaged her sensitive nub. In quick bursts he pulsed his cock into her abdomen, not losing the rhythm of vibrating her clit. Margot tensed as orgasm rose. He slowed, and she cried out. Colin gave a merciless laugh and massaged with slow, sure strokes that stoked the flame, but kept her on the edge. She clenched her hands into fists and strained harder against the chains. Her breath caught. He seized her hips, tipped them toward him, and jammed his cock into her opening. Margot cried out—
"Margot."
Margot shuddered—then the room snapped back into focus. She swept a frantic glance around the cell. Gone were the sconces, the chains. And gone was Colin Morrison. Colin Morrison? Margot sucked in breath. She'd been thinking of Charlie, a harmless fantasy, one she might play out with satin sheets and silk ties.
“Margot.”
She turned toward Cat’s voice and found the group standing in the hallway staring at her through the doorway.
"What happened?" Cat demanded.
She cast a glance back at the irons, then looked back at Cat. "I—this place…it makes me claustrophobic.”
Something flickered in Cat’s eyes. “Why don’t you go back the way we came? If you think the dungeon is claustrophobic, you won’t make it up the passageway.”
Margot nodded. “I think I will.
Cat started to turn.
“You sure you’re all right?” Williams asked.
Cat’s head jerked in his direction.
Margot nodded as if not having caught her reaction. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Williams hesitated.
“Everyone ready?” Cat asked.
“I’ll see everyone upstairs,” Margot said, and stepped from the doorway. She took three steps and made a right into the short hallway, then up the stairs.
Five minutes later, Margot entered her room. She crossed to the bed and sat down. What had happened? One minute she was mentally stripping Charlie, the next, Colin Morrison had her pinned against the dungeon wall.
Chapter Twelve
At seven that evening, Margot slowed her rented compact car on the narrow lane in Stornoway and read the thick letters on the side of the block-long Tudor building. Royal Hotel. She caught sight of an empty spot at the curb half a block from the door and pulled up. She let another car roll past, then backed her car into the space and headed for the hotel.
Inside, she spotted McNeil relaxing on a stuffed leather chair. He rose, long legs going on forever in faded blue jeans that hugged his hips like a second skin. He wore the same bomber jacket he’d worn the first time she saw him. An odd sense of relief washed over her as he approached. He reached her side, pressed a warm kiss on her cheek, and the image of Colin Morrison that had dominated her mental vision since she’d fled the dungeon blurred.
McNeil pulled back and scrutinized her face. "You look like you could use a drink."
"You read my mind."
He caught her hand and led her past the front desk, down a short hallway, and into a small, quiet lounge. He directed her into a booth seat, then slid in beside her. Margot ordered a bourbon and McNeil asked for the same.
Once the waitress left, Margot said, "I think Cat has set her sights on one of her guests, Franklin Williams."
"What makes you think that?"
Margot couldn't bring herself to relate the details of Cat and Williams’ tryst. The memory still evoked a flush of warmth. "I caught a glimpse of them getting frisky."
"Frisky?" he repeated, his cultured accent making the word sound refined.
"Williams is worth twenty-seven million," Margot said. “Too big a fish for Cat to let slip through her fingers.”
The waitress delivered the drinks, and McNeil took a sip after she left, then said, “He's richer than Cousin Harry.”
Margot laughed. "Maybe you should adopt him."
He grimaced. "I have quite enough relatives, thank you."
Margot took a drink of her bourbon. “I won’t sit back and wait for her to murder another man.”
“You didn’t sit back and wait for her to murder your cousin, Margot.” Margot startled, but before she could reply, he added, “For all you know, you're not giving this Williams fellow enough credit. Maybe he's not interested in marriage. A tryst hardly guarantees a trip down the aisle."
“No,” she agreed. “But Cat has a way of making a man want more. If she wants Williams, she'll get him.”
"I understand your frustration. But you really didn't expect an open and shut case, did you?” McNeil leaned back against the hard wood of the booth. “According to your chief, the coroner ruled the drowning an accidental death. Why are you so convinced it’s murder?”
Margot remembered the moment she stood in the living room of Cat and Donny’s mansion and told Cat her husband was dead. The flicker of emotion in Cat’s eyes—the only real feeling that had slipped through the veneer—had been that of relief. Margot had argued a thousand times that she had read the look incorrectly. But the same cold dread always wound its way through her insides…just as it did now.
“Today, Cat said she couldn’t bear staying in Wilkinson County after Donny died,” Margot murmured.
Was that really what she had said? Cat had heard the rumors, knew some folks hadn’t accepted her crossing the tracks into respectability. Had that chased her off once Donny wasn’t there to protect her? Margot recalled the anger in Cat’s eyes when Williams had shown concern for her. No. Cat didn’t run. Except maybe from Margot.
Margot met McNeil’s gaze. “It’s hard to hide the fact you murdered your husband from your best friend. But she knows me as well as I know her. I’m the cop who believes her husband’s death wasn’t accidental. So why invite me here?”
“Goes against the very idea that’s she’s guilty,” McNeil said.
“So does the fact that she didn’t murder the wealthy producer she took up with in L.A.”
“Doesn’t sound like a Black Widow.”
“There has to be a reason she let him off the hook,” Margot said. “Like the perfect setup she’s got here in Scotland. Williams is an example of the kind of men she has to choose from.”
“If she marries her clients and they start dying, that’ll put her in the spotlight.” McNeil studied Margot. “How did you feel about her marrying into your family?”
“I was afraid she married him for his money. Eventually I even suspected that she was using her marriage to Donny to hurt me.”
McNeil frowned. “Why?”
“Cat grew up poor. White trash, some called her.”
“But you weren’t part of that white trash?” McNeil asked.
Margot shrugged. “We’re respectable. Cat wanted that respectability, and it became clear when she started dating Donny that she begrudged my connection with the richest family in Wilkinson County. At first, I attributed her attitude to the mean-spirited rumors, then realized she held everyone responsible for the murmuring of a few gossipmongers. When I discovered she aborted Donny’s baby, I knew I was
right—about everything.”
“He was unaware of the child?” McNeil asked.
“She had a backwater witch abort the baby.”
McNeil grimaced. “That still doesn’t prove she killed him. Some women don’t want children, and most who marry for money don’t murder their husbands.” He grinned. “Despite the desire to do so.”
Margot laughed. “And despite the fact most deserve it.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he protested, but the amusement in his eyes said he’d taken the joke well. Then he said, “Try as you might, Margot, you’re not an unbiased party.”
“No, but I’m going to find the truth.”
He flashed a heart-stopping smile. "I'm at your service.”
His voice, low and sensual, sent a jolt of desire through her. Colin Morrison’s rose in memory as he had been in the dungeon that afternoon and her insides twisted. How—why—had her dream lover entered her waking world a second time? Dream lover? The man had lived and died three centuries before she was born. And the badge she’d seen on his belt existed in a legend she’d first heard about this afternoon.
Bayou magic, if ever she’d seen it.
“Margot.”
Margot refocused on McNeil.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
He stared, blue eyes intense…reassuring.
“I could be.” She slid a hand around his neck and drew his lips to hers.
His moist warmth met her heat even as he slipped an arm her shoulders. He crushed her to his chest and desire tightened her stomach. This was one way—the best way—to stop those damn dreams.
His tongue flicked her lips. She opened for him and he swept inside, hot, demanding, sure. Margot slid a hand down his chest to the bulge pressing against his jeans. She broke the kiss and found that his eyes had darkened.
“This place have a spare room?” Margot asked.
McNeil gave a hoarse laugh. “If they don’t, I’ll buy one.”
Fifteen minutes later, they stood outside room 29 as McNeil slipped the key into the door. The lock clicked open and he looked at her. “Are you sure?”
Margot lifted a brow. “Is there a professional conflict?”
He grinned. “Just doing a favor for an old friend. Nothing official.” McNeil swept her into his arms and stepped into the room, shoving the door shut with his foot.
He tossed her onto the bed, had his jacket off before the second bounce, and came down on top of her. “I had a devil of a time staying focused on the drive here. I was hard nearly the entire drive.”
Margot blinked.
“I considered jumping into the Atlantic. The water’s damned cold.”
“How did you solve the problem?” she asked in a business-like tone that made her want to laugh.
“I thought of my mother.”
“Your mother?” Margot wiggled beneath him, confirming the well-being of his erection. No thoughts of mom now.
He groaned, then his head dropped to her neck and her flesh tickled under the flick of his tongue. He nibbled her lobe as he'd done last night. Warmth spread through her. She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him closer. He undulated his hips, his cock pressing deep into her belly. Margot spread her legs, allowing him to settle tight against her mound. He gently thrust, jeans sliding past the thin silk of her slacks to her folds.
He lifted from her neck and covered a breast with his hand as he kissed her. The warmth of his mouth mingled with the gentle upward strokes of his hand. His palm edge slipped over the nipple and she gasped in pleasure. His tongue slipped into her mouth, sparring in quick thrusts. She envisioned that tongue on her clit, teasing the engorged sex from its hood, and arched against his hard length.
McNeil pushed upright, straddling her, and pulled her into a sitting position. He made quick work of the small buttons on her blouse, then pushed the sleeves from her shirt. He shoved aside the pink lace bra from one breast, then his head dipped, and he closed firm lips around the nipple. Pleasure streaked through her. Margot laced her fingers through his velvety soft hair and pressed him closer. He leaned forward, forcing her head back so that she arched into his mouth as he suckled harder. She moaned.
He reached between them and tugged his jeans button loose and Margot shifted her head to see white briefs bulging to perfection. McNeil lowered her onto the bed, then stood. He unbuttoned the starched white shirt. Her pulse quickened at sight of the broad, tanned chest. He sloughed off the shirt, then pulled his wallet from his back pocket and produced a condom from within the leather.
“No need,” Margot said.
He looked at her.
“I’ve used protection since I was seventeen.” He blinked and she almost thought he looked scared. Margo lifted her brows. “You’re not going to stop now, are you?”
He grinned and tossed the wallet and condom onto the corner chair, then shoved the jeans from his hips. His eyes held hers as he grasped the waistband of the underwear and shoved them down.
The long, thick shaft pointed to the ceiling, swollen and glistening with pre-cum. She could practically hear a yes ma’am. McNeil dropped the briefs to his ankles, then stepped out of them and onto the bed. He undid the button on her slacks and she lifted her hips as he tugged them down her legs. He paused, dropped a kiss on the tiny square of thong that pretended to hide her curls, then pulled the pants off and tossed them onto the corner chair.
He straddled her, and she braced for his weight. Instead, he leaned forward, gently kissed her lips, then trailed his moist mouth down her chin, along her neck, and to her breasts. Margot arched into his mouth and he took a nipple inside. A warm palm covered her stomach, and a quiver rippled through her when he slid his hand downward until brushing the curls. He slipped a finger beneath the tiny triangle of fabric and into her folds. Her body tightened with anticipation.
The finger plunged inside. Margot pulsed in several quick bursts. Pleasure rocketed to her core. He released her nipple. She laced fingers into his hair in an effort to pull him back, but his warm mouth made contact with her stomach and began working downward. Her flesh quivered when he slid across the sensitive area at her waist. He didn’t stop, his finger still fucking her as he pressed kisses downward to the edge of her mound. McNeil breathed deep, then released the breath, the warm air filtering through the lace of the thong across her swollen pussy lips.
He closed his mouth over her sex through the lace and sucked. Margot cried out. Pleasure crested with the intensity of a sudden rainstorm. She jammed shut her eyes. All thought fled and the approaching orgasm burst through her with the thundering of her heart.
Margot bowed off the bed like a young sapling yanked in the wind. “Oh-my-God.” She groaned and collapsed back onto the mattress.
McNeil came down on top of her and thrust inside with a single mighty stroke. The orgasm intensified. He shoved his fingers through her hair and kissed her long and hard, his thrusts picking up speed. Margot wrapped arms and legs around him and held on tight as he drove into her channel. Her walls tightened around him and this orgasm felt as though it would reach to her core. His warm palm covered her breast. She cried out when he brushed a thumb over her nipple.
He slammed into her. Her body tensed as he gave a deep groan. Take that, Colin Morrison, she telepathed as McNeil thrust again. He locked his arms around her, crushing her against his solid chest, then thrust most slowly, then slowly again, then one, last time before collapsing on top of her.
Chapter Thirteen
The clock in Cat’s office struck a single gong in the early morning darkness. Margot’s hand jerked as she tapped the left button of the mouse connected to Cat’s computer. Colin Morrison’s picture loading on the brightly lit screen provided the only light in the dark office. Despite leaving McNeil only an hour ago, she hadn’t been able to get the memory of the Scottish lord’s dark eyes out of her head.
She drew in a sharp breath. A hint of disdain had crept into his expression. Margot leaned closer. That arrogance ha
dn’t been there when she saw the picture yesterday afternoon. Ridiculous. Tales of killer ghosts along with her obsession to prove Cat’s guilt had worked her imagination. She must have run out of the office before getting a good look at the picture and simply hadn’t noticed the hauteur. There was the dream she’d had the night before…the dream she had recalled while watching Cat and Williams together. The way Colin had pressed Margot against the wall had been rough, and tinged with a sense of restrained malice, now that she thought about it.
Cruelty was something she didn’t tolerate. She wanted strength, a man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. A man like Charles McNeil. So why had she conjured Colin in his rougher version? She hadn’t created him that way that first night, despite his sarcasm—or this afternoon. She smiled at the warning he’d given in her first dream, “You’ll return from whence you came, if you have any sense about you—and quickly.”
Freud would say it was sexual. He’d be right. Warmth spread through her at the recollection of his mouth on her. Margot stilled. In all her years in law enforcement, her pursuit of a criminal—a killer—hadn’t evoked such a fantasy life. Her pulse quickened. She didn’t want the dreams, the fantasy lover, to end. Sweet Christ, what the hell was going on with her?
She straightened and shifted her gaze to the picture. Desire vanished and she grimaced. His contempt probably fueled the rumors about the ghost of Lord Colin Morrison feeding on women. She closed the window, pulled up the hidden files she’d found earlier, and went to work.
Twenty minutes later, Margot copied the fifth of the eight files from the computer onto her Blackberry. She hadn’t been able to open them. Cat’s codes could stump an amateur like her, but Bobby would break them in seconds. The file copied, and she grabbed the next one and dragged it to the Blackberry window. Something scraped across the floor behind her. Margot yanked her head toward the sound. Behind the armor, in the left corner of the alcove, a tiny seam of light shone from floor to ceiling.