by Caro LaFever
His whole body went taut before a big groan came from him. He slumped once more.
“There it is,” she said with satisfaction. “The kink.”
“Yes.” He slurred the one word.
She kept the pressure on for thirty seconds, before brushing her palms over the spot. Then she pressed again.
His deep groan brought her imagination right back to life.
Would he sound like this when he came? Did he make the same noise when he slid inside a woman? Could she make him groan like this when they had sex?
Crap. Crap.
Or as Iain McPherson would say—shite.
Lilly swallowed the words before they alerted him to what was going on inside her. Instead, she tried to focus on the kink and making him better. But then he dropped his head, his dark curls parted and she saw the nape of his neck.
So tender. So boyish.
The man before her was all man. She’d seen it in his big muscles and towering body. She’d noted the toughness of his gaze and the power of his presence. So to see this tender part of him, this little reminder that he’d once been a child, once been an innocent, touched her right to the core. Before she could stop herself, she brushed her fingers into his soft hair with a light touch. A very different kind of touch.
He stilled, an immediate reaction that told her she was going into dangerous territory.
Yet she couldn’t stop. His hair was soft and light. Different than the man. Yet, very much a part of the child, the boy she’d found long ago. Tender and bright, eager and willing. The memory of his brilliant-blue eyes shining with happiness as he led her to the McPherson beach came back to her.
Her fingers laced through his curls.
He sucked in a breath, but didn’t move.
His hair was ash brown. She knew her colors. But the simple name belied the intense impact it had on her senses. The strands seemed to glow with a silver undertone that made her want to wrap it around her hands and arms and body. Lilly had thought it sad he’d grown his hair long and given away that sharp, military precision of his photos. Now, though, she wanted to beg him to grow it until it entwined around her like silver cords.
“What are ye doing?” he whispered.
The intensity in his voice shocked her awake. “Nothing,” she managed to say.
“Is this some part of the Japanese shite that ye do?”
“No.” Her fingers stopped moving through his hair. “Yes.”
“No or yes?” The intensity in his words changed from curiosity to seduction. She could tell by the slide of his accent, the rough edge of his words.
“Yes. Be quiet. I’m focusing.”
“Focusing on what, that’s the question.” Humor suddenly filled his words. “I think ye got rid of the kink a while back.”
“Fine.” She dropped her hands to her sides and stepped away. Snapped herself into reality and reminded herself of why she was here. She shouldn’t be dreaming of young boys with happy grins or grown men growing their hair for her pleasure. “You should get your hair cut.”
He stiffened and something inside her wept to see all those ropes of muscles grow tense and tight again. “I’m not going to get my hair cut.”
“Why not?” Her hands fisted before she let herself touch him. “You looked great in your soldier photos.”
He swung around to stare at her. “When did ye see me in photos?”
“Your dad always had them.” She took a step back from the sudden ice in his eyes. “Whenever I visited the castle or whenever he came to Fingal, he had them.”
“My pictures.” Shock shot across his face.
“Sure. Of course.” She couldn’t understand the confusion on his face and in his gaze. He had to have known how proud his dad had been of him and his accomplishments. “All the villagers saw the photos.”
“Shite.” He jerked to a stand and paced to the window.
“I heard all the stories, Iain.”
“The stories.” His voice didn’t match his tense body. His voice was dull in defeat. “What fucking stories?”
“Um.” Lilly knew she was hurting him, but she didn’t know how. “Maybe we should stop talking about this.”
“No, I want to know.” He leaned into the sill, looking like he’d have jumped if the window had been open. “What stories?”
“The stories of you being a hero.” Pushing the words out because of the command in his voice, she sucked in a breath at the end of her statement. She instinctively knew they were going to damage him.
They did.
He whipped around, his skin white, his blue eyes glazed. His body, the body she’d lulled into pleasure just moments ago, was rigid with anger. And grief. She was almost sure it was grief she saw in his eyes.
“God damn ye.” His punched words came from his mouth like blows. “And God damn my father.”
Chapter 12
The low sound of a creature in pain woke Lilly from a restless sleep.
She jerked up straight in the bed.
The rough moan came again.
“Iain,” she breathed into the gloom, the memory of where she was and who she needed to help flooding back.
They’d spent the rest of the previous day in comparative harmony. She’d thought she’d lit a powder keg by telling him of his hero status, but after his sharp outburst, he’d sullenly subsided into his usual go away mantra.
Which she’d ignored.
He’d played his sad songs, she’d teased him about them. He’d grunted his disgust and grumbled about her blethering, yet she’d seen the sheen of life in his eyes and rejoiced in how far he’d come in such a short time. He’d cooked her dinner again, a chicken stew he’d called a stovie. They’d spent the evening listening to the storm and she’d even got him to tell her about how he’d often climbed this tower as a child.
She was making progress. Lots of progress.
Another moan came from the den.
Had he hurt himself?
Scrambling off the bed, she congratulated herself for getting rid of those awful guns. She’d have been scared out of her wits if they’d still been lying around.
A hoarse shout echoed off the stone walls as she rounded the arch. She could barely make out the couch from the dim light of the window, but she could see he hadn’t fallen off the thing. He still lay there, the blanket covering him, his head on the pillow.
He was having a nightmare.
“Oh, Iain.” She crossed over to him, her heart filled with compassion and worry. Yet it wasn’t the same kind of emotion she’d felt as she hiked to the castle a few days ago. Not the kind of emotion any human would have when confronted with another person who hurt.
Now her compassion was personal.
Now her worry was for a man she’d come to like a lot.
“Hey, you.” Lilly edged to the side of the couch, wondering if she should shake him or just talk. Talking was her best skill, she’d always thought. “Wake up.”
Her eyes had grown used to the dim light, and now she could see the expression on his face.
Tortured.
Before she thought it through, she leaned down and touched his naked shoulder. Brushing her fingers across his hot skin, she murmured, “It’s okay.”
In a flash, his hand whipped from beneath the covers and grabbed her own. Yanking her over him, he rolled her under his big body.
She squealed in surprise.
“Don’t do it,” he bellowed into her face, his eyes tightly squeezed shut. “Don’t go that way. I was wrong.”
Recovering her composure, she realized he still dreamed. She lifted her hand and smoothed her palm along his whisker-covered cheek. “Iain. Wake up.”
“No, NO!” he roared, the muscles of this throat going rigid. “Don’t!”
His body went stiff, as if something terrible was about to happen, and her heart wept for his pain. “Please, please wake up.”
“God.” He slumped on top of her, the weight of him pinning her down. “I should have
listened.”
“Listened to whom?” Maybe he would tell her what was wrong in his sleep. Tell her what had happened to make him so depressed. Maybe that was going to be the only way she found out what disturbed him. “Who didn’t you listen to?”
He pressed his face into her neck, his breathing heavy and hoarse. “Why didn’t I listen?”
She swept her hand through his messy curls. Her other arm tightened around his naked, heaving body as her compassion dipped and dived into his pain. How she wanted to take him out of this painful memory for good. Whatever this painful memory was.
The trickle of his tears wetted her skin, and her heart broke for him.
“Iain,” she whispered into his ear. “Come back to me.”
Her words finally penetrated the nightmare because he went stiff. His head jerked up and those keen eyes of his glared down at her. “Shite.”
Ignoring his curse, she brushed his tears off his cheeks. “You were having a nightmare.”
“And I’m still having one.” He shook her hand off of him. “Why are ye here?”
“I heard you.” She suddenly became aware of other things besides his turmoil. Things like he was naked. Things like she wore only her thong and a T-shirt. A T-shirt that had ridden up to right below her breasts. “I came to help.”
“I can’t be helped.” The words were solid and sure, as if no one would ever be able to convince him differently. He shifted off her and without seeming to mind, stood, fully naked at the side of the couch. “Go away.”
The gloom hid most of the details, but the power of his body couldn’t be concealed. She fixed her focus on his shadowed face, yet the blush of attraction still crawled up her neck. But she wasn’t going to let her inappropriate lust get in the way of helping this man. “I think you should talk about this.”
“Talk. Jesus.” The line of his shoulders went rigid. “There’s no use talking anymore.”
The ragged grief in his voice made her want to cry herself. “Iain—”
“No, no.” He swung away and paced to his leather chair. “There’s no reason for anything, anymore.”
Her instincts went on high alert. She knew before he kneeled, what he was going for. Thank God she’d come here and done what needed to be done.
He crouched, like a predatory animal intent on finding the weapon of his own destruction.
Lilly’s hands fisted and her body went taut.
“What the hell?” His guttural cry shot into the room. “Where the fuck are my guns?”
Sitting up on the couch, she pushed down her T-shirt, a pitiful piece of armor, but all she had. No matter what, though, she was ready for his rage and ready to defend her actions.
Because she’d saved him.
She was sure of it.
The way his body vibrated with terrible pain. The way his eyes, even in the dim light, shone with ugly self-hate. The way he hunched over his chair in awful despair. If she weren’t here, if she hadn’t gotten rid of those guns, he’d might well have killed himself.
“Ye.” The one word was murmured, yet his potent, passionate fury filled it, blasting his emotions around the stone room like a bomb. “Ye did this.”
“Yes, and I’m glad I did.” She wrapped her arms around herself because the heat of his rage made her shiver.
Jerking to a stand, his glare pierced through the gloom. “Where are they?”
“They’re safe.” Hopefully, that would pacify him.
“Where?” he growled, not at peace at all. “I want to know where.”
“You shouldn’t have them right now,” she said with stout authority. “Perhaps not forever.”
His body froze. Only his loud breathing told her he hadn’t turned into a marble statue.
A beautiful, male statue.
She gulped in her stupid, unsuitable lust and met his menacing stare. A silence fell between them, filled only with his harsh inhalation and her stubborn intent to help him. Even over his resolute objections.
“Who are ye to decide that?” His accent softened the edge of his question, but the latent burn of his anger curled through every word. “Who gave ye that right?”
“I took that right.”
“Ye have no rights. I never gave ye that right.”
“I took it because you’re my friend.”
Standing would give her more authority.
His violent temper filled the room, however, making it hard to move a muscle.
“Friend?” He lashed the word at her like a whip of rejection. “Maybe I don’t want to be friends with ye.”
“Too bad.” She tightened her arms. “You have me.”
His gaze narrowed. “Is that so?”
Uh-oh.
She might have phrased that a bit wrong.
Before she could move or think another thought, he prowled to the couch, every inch of his body tense with anger. Yet with something else too. She could sense the change in him by the way his eyes glittered with feral zeal, the way his body went fluid with carnal intensity, the hungry challenge in every line of his body.
“Iain…” She scuttled back on the couch.
“Iain,” he drawled out his name using her flat accent. “Iain, she says.”
“I think we should talk.”
“Do ye?” Chuckling, he leaned down and slammed his fists at the side of her hips, effectively closing her in. “But ye just said I have ye. And that has nothing to do with talking, donas.”
“Not like you mean.” She met his gaze with a stern stare. “You have me as a friend.”
“A friend, she says.” His voice singsonged back at her, still filled with fury. But this close, she could see the amorous look in his half-mast eyes.
He wasn’t teasing now. Not at all.
“I think I should go to bed.” As soon as the words slipped from her mouth, she realized she’d made another strategic mistake.
He smiled, showing teeth. His gaze gleamed with satisfaction like he knew she’d made a fatal error. “There’s a thought.”
“Stop it.” Sensing she had only moments to break free of the spell he was trying to cast, she braved a touch, pushing on his shoulders. His skin was silky and hot, but she forced the realization away. “Move.”
“I don’t think so,” he snarled the words, yet his wide mouth had softened into a sultry slant. “I’m thinking ye owe me something for stealing my whiskey and my guns.”
His scent enveloped her, swirling around her like an erotic cloud, the piney, clean smell now tinged with male heat and sex. She wanted to stick her nose in the crease between his neck and shoulders and breathe him in. His passion and desire and need.
Friends, Lil, friends.
He leaned in closer, his mouth an inch from hers. “Tell me ye don’t want me, lovely Lilly, and I’ll let ye go.”
“I don’t—”
He sucked the lie out of her mouth in one swipe of his own. His lips pulled her straight out of her head and into her body where he lay waiting with his big, brawny muscles and his come-hither eyes. Where he lay waiting with his awful temptation.
Ignore my pain.
Be my lover, not my friend.
Accept the camouflage I hide behind.
Yanking back, she pressed against the leather. “No. Stop.”
“Touch me,” he crooned, his dark lashes masking his gaze. “Trust me. We’ll be good together.”
“No, Iain.” She didn’t dare touch him, because she might very well fall into the pit he offered her. And while she trusted him as a good man now, she didn’t trust that having sex with him would be a good idea. “No.”
He needed her to care about him.
Not take advantage of him.
“No, she says.” His beautiful mouth firmed and he straightened, his hands leaving her sides, his scent slipping away. “I guess ye don’t have any use for a drunk, broken soldier, eh?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Her heart broke that he would think such a thing. The man only had to look into a mirror t
o see how beautiful he was. And though his soul hurt with horrible wounds, she knew there was a good man underneath the snarls and threats. “Right now you need a friend, not a lover.”
He laughed, a harsh, horrid sound. “Really? I suppose somewhere along the way, ye gained the right to make that decision for me, too.”
“I wish you would just talk to me,” she whispered to his harsh profile.
“Ye know what I wish?” He paced toward the bathroom, his long legs so perfect, his ass so divine.
Lilly closed her eyes against his allure, hoping and praying he’d tell her something important.
He did.
“I wish I was dead.”
Iain took his rigid cock in his hand because he had to.
She made him do this.
That woman out there, who’d stolen more than his whiskey and his guns. That woman who’d stolen around his excuses and into his hiding place.
Even worse, she’d stolen inside of him.
“Fuck,” he groaned as his hand rode his erection.
The water poured down from the marble slits, filling the shower with steam, coating his skin with slick heat. He’d left her behind, with her blethering on about talking, with her rejection of his body and desire, with her incessant demands and claims of rights. He’d come here, the only place he was safe and free from pain.
But she’d stolen in here, too.
Because she surrounded him even now. Her provocative lips pursing under his when he first sucked her in, and then growing plump with need as he took what he wanted. Her sunny, delicate curls so silky on his cheek. Her lovely, naked legs, creamy and delicious in the dim light of his den.
His hand moved faster and he groaned again.
Softly though. Very softly.
He couldn’t let her know. Let her know how close she’d gotten, how near she’d come to being inside him. He couldn’t let her know she filled his mind with images too vivid and heated to ignore.
The donas already had too much power over him.
With one last pump, he exploded, panting as the fever of lust swept through his body like a giant wave of need. He shuddered, leaning back on the rough rock of the wall.
His hand dropped. His cock eased. His heart hurt.