Highland Sons: The Mackay Saga

by Connors, Meggan

  She put her hands against his chest to create distance between them. He reached for her, but with a shake of her head, she said, “Hold on there, handsome.”

  He dropped his hands and fisted them by his sides, but not before she noticed that his hands shook too. She took in the unabashed lust darkening his features. The intensity of the desire she saw in his expression mirrored her own.

  Slowly, she reached up and slid his braces from his shoulders. Tugging his shirt from the waistband, she unbuttoned the rest of it, and removed it from his body. Standing there in nothing but his undershirt and his trousers, he looked even more powerful than he did fully clothed, the definition of his muscular chest visible through the thin, worn fabric. She ran her hands along the hard planes of his body and he hissed a breath. He put his hands on her hips and started to bring her closer to him.

  “Wait.” She took another step away from him, and again he surprised her by allowing it. Swallowing hard, she inched her skirt and petticoat from her hips and stood before him in nothing but her underclothes.

  In her single year of marriage, she’d never felt as exposed as she did then, standing in front of Cameron in nothing more than her corset, her stockings and her worn chemise. These were not the beautiful underthings of the doves of the brothels or the lace undergarments of a bride, but the common garments of a peasant.

  She offered herself to him just as she was, and swallowed hard while she waited for him to accept her or turn her away.

  His nostrils flared, his breathing shallow and rough as though he’d just run a great distance. The muscles in the side of his face worked, and this time when he reached for her, there was no give in his touch. Grasping her by the arms, he whirled her around until her back was flush against his chest.

  “Cameron,” she whispered.

  He buried his face against her neck, running his tongue along the tender flesh just below her ear, and worked the stays of her corset. “You cannot offer me that and expect me to wait,” he growled. “It will be over before it begins.”

  The vibration of his voice against the sensitive skin of her neck caused her knees to weaken. She pressed back against his body, his thick erection hard against her back, and Fiona had her first moment of real doubt.

  There was more of him than she had expected. What if she couldn’t . . .

  Her fears evaporated like water in the desert when he kissed her neck, then lifted the corset over her head, his fingers brushing over her nipples through her linen chemise. He cupped her breasts in his big hands and kneaded them gently, her nipples puckering, her breasts swollen and aching for him. The sweetness of his touch was overwhelming, and she turned in his arms.

  His eyes were lidded with passion. He divested himself of undershirt, and beneath her searching fingers, the sleek, hard muscles bunched. Bending her head, she licked one of his flat nipples, and he groaned low in his throat.

  He walked her backward until the bed pressed against her knees and she sat down. Kneeling in front of her, he ran his hands underneath her chemise to slide down her stockings.

  He movements were achingly slow, his fingers brushing against the bare flesh on the inside of her knee. Unhurried, his expression serious, he turned his attention to her other leg, and began his careful ministrations again. And from the sensation of his fingers against her delicate skin, Fiona nearly came undone.

  His fingers skimmed the senstive skin of her inner thigh and desire tightened her stomach.

  “Oh, God, Cameron,” she moaned.

  The corners of his mouth tugged up in seductive smile. “You like that?”

  Taking her hand, he brought her to him and, in one swift movement, had her chemise up and over her head. An instant later, her drawers hit the floor, and she wasn’t even sure how that had happened. He laid her back against his bed, his hard body coming down over hers, and her thighs parted to accommodate him. She expected him to take her quickly, but he rolled to his side, taking her with him, then hitched one of her legs over his hips. His tongue darted into her mouth and his body rocked against hers, setting a fast-paced rhythm as his body glided against hers.

  She wanted him to soothe the ache building in the pit of her stomach. She wanted his body not merely against hers, but inside her. She wanted all of him.

  “Doona make me wait,” she begged, moving restlessly against him.

  He gifted her with a wicked smile, and her blood, already on fire, heated some more. “Patience, lass,” he whispered against her collarbone. “Now that I have you exactly where I want you, I don’t intend to stop.”

  Her stomach clenched at his words, her heart skittering at the unmitigated desire coursing through her, threatening to break her. Then he dipped his head and took the peak of one nipple into his mouth, and she lost all control.

  She arched against him, threading her fingers into his hair and holding his head in place.

  His laugh rumbled against her skin, and she gasped from the sheer pleasure of it. His mouth against her skin, his warm breath, his fingers exploring her body—it all became too much to take. This was what it meant to be truly ready for a man, where she felt like, if he didn’t take her then, she would lose her mind.

  She rolled to her back and lifted her hips, and, bracing his weight on his forearms, he eased into her. A startled gasp escaped her as her body adjusted to him. He stilled, his hand coming up to caress her face in a touch so tender she thought she might die.

  “You all right?” he whispered.

  Wrapping her leg around his waist, she moved beneath him. The movement slid him farther into her body, and he made a pained sound. She moved again, and his eyes closed as he began to tremble.

  “I’m trying to go slow,” he said.

  “Maybe I don’t want slow.”

  His features tightened with lust. He groaned and altered his pace to fast and insistent, and it was glorious. She was no innocent, but she hadn’t understood how good it could be between a man a woman. She had no idea how powerful it would be to clasp him, to hold him as he moved inside her. She hadn’t figured that when he touched the deepest parts of her body, he’d touch her soul as well.

  Desire tightened her stomach as his thrusts became more demanding, until she could think of nothing else but meeting the needs of her body, of experiencing the pleasure of their joining. Her hips rose to meet each of his thrusts as their sweat-slicked bodies glided against one another.

  When the passion built and exploded, she cried out.

  The first wave crested over her, her muscles contracting and locking up until it became nearly impossible to draw breath. She couldn’t tell where she ended and he began as the wave crashed and they were one. Yet even as the pleasure washed over her, she became aware of him continuing to move inside her. Passion soared and she exploded once again.

  With a groan, he shuddered and pressed his body to hers, but he kept himself braced on his forearms. He panted heavily against her shoulder and rolled to his back. She snuggled up beside him, her head pillowed on his chest.

  “That was . . .” he began.

  She smiled and kissed his chest, running her hand along sleek, damp skin. “Amazing,” she filled in.

  He squeezed her gently and kissed the top of her head as if they’d been lovers for years. “Amazing is a good word.”

  The salt of his skin lingered on her tongue as she kissed a path down his chest. His hands tangled in her tousled curls, his roughened fingers a gentle caress as they trailed down her cheek, her neck. As she glided against him, her breasts became heavy, swollen and needy, wanting him again.

  Desire built again as she leaned up and kissed him fiercely. It had been three years since she’d had a man—longer still since she’d wanted one—and yet, having had Cameron, she realized one taste, one touch would never be enough.

  She threw her le
g over him, straddling him as she had earlier straddled his horse. Inching her way up his body, she ran her breasts over his chest. Nuzzling up against his neck, she inhaled his scent, the smell of linen, wild sage and mint, and leather filling her nostrils, rugged and clean.

  He fisted his hands in her hair and tipped her head back to look at her. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he gazed upon her, his eyes intense, as if he were memorizing her face. As if he thought this moment could be anything more than a mere moment.

  The thought struck her. What if Seamus had followed them? Seamus was resourceful—he could find out where Cameron’s claim was, and she knew from experience what that man was capable of.

  Regret nested in her heart like a great, black bird. This had to end. Here. Now. Her band would leave in a matter of days, and Cameron would forget her. As it should be.

  But she could only protect him if she left now.

  “Cameron . . .” she began, and the black birds of remorse rose up from the depths of her chest to choke her.

  “Fiona.” His pale brows knit, and he cupped her face in his hands—hands she knew had to be strong from long hours working the mines, but which touched her with surprising tenderness. “Don’t say you regret this.”

  “No,” she whispered. “I doona think I could ever regret this night.”

  “Good,” he said. Grasping her about her waist, he rolled until she was underneath him, caged between his body and the bed. “Because I don’t.”

  “I can’t stay, Cameron. I need to get back before Seamus—”

  His lips against hers silenced her protest, and the muscles low in her belly clenched as a new wave of desire coursed through her.

  “Don’t think about him,” Cameron whispered against her lips. “He’s not here in the room with us.”

  “No, but he is the leader of my band,” she said. “We leave in a few days.”

  He kissed her again, and her next words were silenced by the glide of his body against hers. “I’m not asking for forever,” he said, his voice little more than a breath against her lips. “Just a night.”

  Just a night. Not forever. He made her no promises beyond tonight, didn’t seek to placate her with empty declarations of love. They had a night, and that was all.

  She had a future to think about. If Seamus discovered them . . .

  “Please, Cameron,” she said.

  Her words were lost as he claimed her mouth. His kiss stole the breath from her lungs and the anxiety of her heart. He said nothing to try to convince her to stay, but he didn’t have to.

  His kiss did it for him.

  She lifted her hips, and a laugh rumbled in his chest as he entered her. His fingers dug into her hips as she rocked against him, taking him deeper than she’d ever thought possible. Wanting more of him with each passing second, until she forgot her protests and Seamus, forgot her future and his. Until her whole world and her entire life was encompassed in these few precious moments. There was no future filled with uncertainty, and there was no past filled with loss and despair.

  There was only now.

  Only him.

  Chapter 7

  Cameron woke slowly as the sun peeked over the dusty brown hills and flooded his single window with light.

  He hadn’t slept this late in nine years.

  Since his arrival in this godforsaken mining town, he’d been up before dawn, down in his rabbit hole from before the sun rose until after it set. After today, if all went well, he’d never have to work in that hellish tomb ever again. He’d be free to go back to Virginia, buy his land back, and do the one thing he’d loved more than anything. Be who he was meant to be.

  Next to him Fiona stirred, her small, strong hands brushing against his abdomen.

  His bed, built for only one, was barely enough to contain them both. He was neither accustomed to nor particularly fond of being touched, especially while he slept, but he didn’t mind so much right now. She sighed in her sleep and he took her into his arms, her head pillowed on his chest.

  Contentment pierced his heart. Stroking the soft skin of her arms, he realized he hadn’t been so at peace since the war began. Beautiful in a way he couldn’t even begin to describe, her dark hair framed a face as pale and perfect as moonlight. Everything about her was so different from him. Her body. Her life. Her heart.

  She was like the night, calm and still and perfect.

  Gingerly, he moved out from beneath her. His chest ached from the loss of her warmth, her nearness. She sighed in her sleep.

  His eyes lit on her clothes, scattered on the floor. He could go through her pockets and she would never know. If she had his ring, he’d reclaim it and his curiosity would be at least partially satisfied. He should have demanded it back before now, but the guilty voice in his head acknowledged that if he did, he’d have no reason to stay by her side. One thing was clear after last night.

  He wanted to be near her, for however long they had.

  The clothes stayed where they lay.

  Cameron busied himself with making coffee. The scent filled his shack as he prepared them something to eat. He thought about those clothes again. About what might be inside her pockets.

  She’d had ample opportunity to return his property to him, and more than a small part of him was angry with her for both the taking and the keeping of it. He still intended to reclaim his heritage, but he had time. Tonight, tomorrow. . . It didn't need to happen today.

  That was what he told himself, anyway.

  She stirred again, and her beauty stole his breath.

  He poured some coffee into the same battered tin cup from the night before, his gaze shifting from her clothes to her face and back again. If she woke and found him going through her garments, she’d never forgive him.

  Maybe she doesn’t have the ring, the voice of hope whispered in the back of his brain.

  If he didn’t go through her clothes, he’d never know, one way or the other. But if he did and she caught him, he might lose her.

  He wasn’t prepared for that, either. If he hoped to make his meeting and sell his claim, he needed to leave, and soon. Coffee in hand, he knelt beside the bed.

  “Fiona.”

  She rolled over and blinked up at him. Full lips quirked up in a sleepy, slightly embarrassed smile, and his chest tightened. She stretched and beneath the sheet, her nipples hardened to taut little buds. He fought the urge to taste them again.

  “Morning,” she said, and her sleep-sexy voice had him wanting to crawl back into bed with her and spend the rest of the day making love.

  He handed her the cup in his hand. “I have a meeting in town in a little bit. I let you sleep as long as I could, but I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

  Her features contorted into an expression of horror and she sat up quickly, clutching the sheet to her chest. “Oh, no!”

  Fiona bolted out of bed. Concerned by her obvious distress, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook him off, found her chemise, then threw it over her head. He got a glimpse of the pale globes of her breasts before the chemise covered them and his mouth watered at the sight. She collected her clothes and when she straightened abruptly, she seemed unstable on her feet.

  His hand on her elbow to stabilize her, he asked, “What’s the matter?”

  “Seamus is going to kill me!” she hissed, wrenching from his grasp.

  Rage, sudden and unexpected, boiled below the surface of his skin. He clenched his teeth so tightly he thought they might break. “You can’t think I’d ever let him hurt you.”

  The look she gave him could have wilted flowers. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth set into a defiant, angry line. “If he wanted to hurt me, you would be wholly unable to stop him.”

  “I can protect you.”


  With a derisive huff, she threw on her clothes and twisted her hair into a makeshift bun. As she tucked the strands up at the nape of her neck, their gazes collided and her expression softened. “I’m sure you would try. But he’s the leader of my band and I answer to him.” Though her eyes seemed unnaturally bright with what he suspected were unshed tears, her voice never faltered or wavered. “I think I’d like to go back now.”

  He took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him. “You could stay here.”

  Pain flashed in her eyes before she masked it. “Not forever. Take me back to my band.”

  “You don’t need to go back to them. You understand that, don’t you? You don’t need them.”

  She pursed her lips and backed away from him. Her arms folded against her chest, her stance stiff and anxious, she glanced away. “You doona know what I need.” Her voice lacked the bitterness he had expected from her. “Take me back.”

  Anger twisted and curdled in his gut, but he nodded anyway. He couldn’t keep her unless she allowed it, and he was beginning to think she wouldn’t. “Very well.”

  She surprised him when she curled her fingers around his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Her hands were callused, but warm and small within his, and everything in him screamed at him to make her world right. He wanted to protect her, to touch her, to hear her sing. He wanted to spend his days loving her until neither one of them could stand.

  He wanted to see her smile light the room and real joy in her eyes, but he suspected that was something else she would be unable to give him.

  Wary eyes regarded him as he placed a blanket on Midnight’s back. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes while she watched him. Whenever she thought he wouldn’t notice, her expression held both pain and interest, like she didn’t know what to make of him. He mounted Midnight and went over to her, took her hand, and hoisted her up.