“Isn’t he beautiful?” Sorcha said.
“Aye.” Alan looked up at his wife. “Beautiful second only to you, my love.”
“I know it is tradition to name our first son after your father, but I thought . . . I thought we might call him James.”
“Aye,” Alan rasped, his eyes shining. “For your brother. James it is.”
Cam and Ceana slipped outside to allow the three some time alone. Ceana clasped her hands behind her back. The success of the birth combined with the joy on both her friends’ faces made her heart swell with an aching sort of happiness.
Tilting her head up, she looked at the cloudless sky, at the glittering wash of stars overhead.
Cam slipped his arm around her. “I am in awe of your skill. You were wonderful.”
She leaned into him, content to have this time with him, content with the companionable way they touched. Agonizing over her attraction to him could come later. Now she meant to revel in the beauty of the night, in the welcome warmth of the man standing beside her. Who’d not balked at a woman in the throes of labor, but had held her hand and soothed her throughout.
That took a special kind of man.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.” She looked up at him. “How is your shoulder?”
“Good as new. Almost,” he added sheepishly.
She snuggled closer to him. “It’s cold out here. How can you be so warm?”
“It’s . . .” He shrugged. “It’s what happened in there. I’ve never imagined I’d see anything like that. It’s like battle, but with a joyful outcome instead of a deadly one.”
She wouldn’t remind him that on occasion, the outcome of childbirth was just as deadly as battle could be. She didn’t want to think about that now. The truth was, this had been beautiful. Everything about it, except perhaps the sheer surprise of it, had been ideal.
“You’re right.” She sighed.
He stared up at the sky. “It’s late.”
“It’ll be dawn in a few hours.”
“Sorcha can’t be moved tonight.”
“No,” she agreed.
“She has no more need of you, does she?”
“No,” Ceana said. “She’ll be well. She should be up and about tomorrow, with perhaps a bit of soreness.”
“And Moira is on her way here.”
“Aye.” Though it certainly wasn’t necessary for the midwife or Moira to come for medical reasons, she knew they would want to see Sorcha and verify that for themselves.
“You can’t sleep here, then. Your cottage will be too crowded.”
She shrugged. “I’ll survive without sleep for one night. I’ll wait to sleep until they have gone tomorrow.”
“No.” His gaze remained transfixed on the dark, shadowy trees of the forest beyond the clearing.
She raised a brow but said nothing.
“No,” he repeated, his voice quiet but deadly serious. “You will come with me.”
“That’s—”
Before she could say another word, he turned and disappeared into her cottage, leaving Ceana gaping after him. Just as she picked up her skirts to follow him, he emerged. Striding up to her, he grasped her hand, tearing it from the wool of her dress and clasping it in his own.
“Come.”
“Wh—”
His expression implacable, he tugged—no, dragged—her a few feet to where his horse stood, grasped her waist, and lifted her onto the saddle.
“Cam, what are you—”
He mounted behind her, clamping one strong arm around her waist, effectively pinning her against him. “Taking you away.”
“But—”
“Hush.”
It wasn’t until they were out of sight of her cottage that it occurred to Ceana that she was so bemused, she’d forgotten to argue. She should fight him, should object to the way he assumed he could throw her onto his horse and take her away from her home and her patient.
Then again, she realized with no small measure of panic, she had no desire to fight him.
She wanted to be stolen away, and she wanted Cam to be the one to steal her.
More than an hour later, Ceana sat rigidly, internally waging the battle of her life. They’d passed through the darkened village of Glenfinnan and rounded the tip of the loch almost half an hour ago. Cam hadn’t spoken at all, and he sat in still, stony silence, but he kept his arm braced around her, locking her against the warm prison of his chest.
Stay with him. Be with him.
Run, fight, get away!
Be happy again, if only for a brief time . . .
Demand he halt; demand he set you free! Before it is too late!
What demon possessed her? Why couldn’t she force herself to open her mouth and command him to return at once to her cottage? She knew that was the right thing to do. The honorable thing.
And yet . . . she couldn’t. She didn’t.
Cam kept the horse at a trot, and she was thankful the moon was so bright; otherwise this would truly be reckless. As it was, she grasped onto the horse’s mane for dear life, though with Cam’s solid arm around her middle, she hadn’t come near to falling from the animal.
They descended a gentle slope, and through the trees a structure came into view. Just beyond the building, the loch shimmered in the moonlight.
Ceana closed her eyes.
A remote shelter. They’d be alone . . . together.
She was doomed.
Nevertheless, the wild part of her took over, whooping in glee and trampling the sensible part of her into the dust.
The trees parted to reveal a pretty cottage about four times as big as her own home, yet to someone of Cam’s status a cozy, intimate place.
Cam stopped the horse and dismounted, then reached up to pluck her from the horse’s back. He hooked a hand behind her knees, lifted her into his arms, and, holding her tightly against his hard body, strode to the cottage.
He kicked in the door. It banged against the inside wall, but he paid it no heed. She stared up at him, shocked beyond words. He stared down at her, dark intent in his eyes, and she knew he thought of nothing else but her. At this moment, she was his world.
This was what she’d secretly craved. The wicked part of her wanted him to fight for her. To take her. To make her his, damn the consequences.
He walked through an arched doorway, entering a bedroom dominated by a large curtained bed. He walked to the bed and lowered her to her feet just beside it. Then he paused, his hands gripping her shoulders, and stared at her.
She looked up into his face. Slowly, she raised her hand and grazed his lip with her fingertip. Something flared in his eyes, and he caught her wrist in his hand, pressing her fingers hard against his lips.
He opened his mouth, took a finger inside, and sucked. An erotic spasm shot through her, and she struggled to hold herself still.
“What are we—”
He pulled back from her finger with a small pop and then cupped her cheek, his fingers tight over her skin.
“Shh,” he rasped.
The look in his eyes shattered her defenses and then crumbled them until they drifted away like dandelions on the wind.
She closed her eyes. God forgive her.
“I want you,” she whispered, against all wisdom, contrary to her better sense. It was the truth. She wanted him like she’d never wanted another man. This enigma of a man whom everyone despised but who cared so deeply for those who depended on him. Who’d sat beside a laboring woman for hours tonight just to offer her comfort.
Ceana didn’t just want him. She ached for him. The ache had grown in every moment that had passed since their kiss in her cottage. That kiss seemed like a lifetime ago.
She slipped her arms around his waist. He was so hard, so tight. Muscles rippled beneath her hands. And here she’d believed men of his class were always men of leisure, soft as dumplings. How wrong she’d been.
“Ceana.”
With that word, his lips crashed
onto hers. All at once, the pent-up need she’d been holding so tightly inside exploded. She yanked his shirt from his breeches as he pulled at the crisscrossed ties of her dress. Within moments, their garments flew across the room. Cam kicked off his breeches and stockings, and he was naked. Fumbling with her garter, Ceana glanced up at him, and her breath caught.
She’d known he was firm all over, but never had she imagined how the sight of him would affect her. He was all lean muscle, tight, hard. His cock just as rigid as the rest of him.
“Leave the stockings on,” he said quietly. He bent down and scooped her up. She shivered at the contact, the collision of their bodies, sizzling hot, igniting a fire beneath her skin.
He tossed her on the bed. Before she could move an inch, he loomed over her.
“God.” He stared down at her, glistening emotion crowding his eyes. “How I’ve wanted to touch you. To be with you. To love you.”
“Me too.” She gulped, trying to fill her body with air. Her mind reeled from the vision of him bare, from the hard press of his skin against hers.
“My need for you has grown since the moment I first saw you. It won’t stop, Ceana. I can’t stop it.”
The sensations rocketing through her originated from all the points where his skin touched hers, from her ankle to her breast.
“I want to touch you.”
“Aye,” she murmured. “I want to touch you too.”
They turned until they lay face-to-face. Gripping the back of his head, she drew him close. She kissed his mouth, explored every facet, every curve of his handsome, soft lips. She ran her hands through his short black hair, over the rough skin of his jaw, down his neck. She stroked his muscled shoulders and arms, gentling her touch when she passed over the newly forming scar of his gunshot wound.
He explored her too. Warm, questing hands ran down the undersides of her arms, beneath her ear, across her collarbones.
She pulled away from his lips to crawl down his body. His chest was magnificent. Each dip and curve of his lean muscle made her blood quicken and rush to center between her legs. Squirming a little, she brushed her tongue over his tiny, taut nipple. He jerked and let out a low groan, and she smiled against the smooth skin of his chest.
“I love your hair.” His fingers sifted through the curly strands and cupped the back of her head as she traveled down his body. She pressed her cheek against his tight abdomen, kissed the jagged scar on his side, then darted her tongue inside his belly button and reveled in his smoky male taste.
Her lips traveled down the light trail of hair dusting the lower part of his stomach, and her chin bumped his cock. He made a strangled noise in his throat.
His cock was long, hot, and hard. She trailed light kisses up and down the rigid length. Closing her eyes, she sank into the glory of it, wrapping her lips around his girth and taking him deep into her mouth. Curling her fingers around him, she pumped him in time to the thrusts of her mouth, pulling the foreskin over the head as she drew up, then chasing it away with a simultaneous pull of her fingers and push of her lips. Each time she swallowed him deep, he hardened beneath her touch, and the veins covering his cock grew more prominent. The knowledge that his orgasm loomed close made her breath release in sporadic bursts.
Suddenly, he hauled her off of him. In a blink, he’d flipped her onto her back and loomed over her, his cock grazing her belly.
“A little . . . lower,” she whispered, squirming in a vain attempt to move his cock into position to enter her.
“No,” he said, his intense stare focused on her face. There was something new in the way he looked at her. There was such caring in his expression. There was love.
“It’s my turn to pleasure you.” His body slid down hers until he paused at her chest. Caressing the outside of her breast, he sucked a nipple deep into his mouth. The shock reverberated through her. Gasping, she clenched the bedcovers and arched her body toward him, wanting him to suckle her deeper, harder.
His lips grazed over her skin with tender kisses, and he nudged her thighs apart with his body as he slowly traveled downward. Ceana rose onto shaky forearms and watched his dark head nestle between her legs.
He made love in the same way he faced life: with passion and with care. Such strong, sweet feeling surged deep within her, she could have wept with the force of it.
He pressed his thumb against her clitoris, and she gasped, unable to stop herself from wiggling against his finger. Lowering his head, he slid his thumb downward, gently circling her opening and then sliding into her. She fell back as his tongue swiped over her in long strokes, each pass sending a prickling jolt through her body. His thumb worked her, thrusting into her, then retreating to circle her passage, then gliding inward again.
He worshiped her body with his mouth, stroking her in her most sensitive places, driving her higher and higher until she thought she’d burst apart at the seams.
“Too much!” she moaned, her hips jerking against her will. She couldn’t stop the twitching movements, the spasming of her muscles. The pleasure contracted and tightened in her, so acute it was almost painful. “Oh . . .”
He didn’t stop. He hummed against her, and when his tongue brushed over her clitoris again, she flew apart. The tight ball of pleasure exploded, and a sweet, piercing sensation barreled through her, causing her body to arch and undulate atop the bed. It spread through her belly, and then her limbs, until the tips of her fingers and toes tingled in release.
As the pleasure slowly faded, leaving residual sparks shooting through her, she stilled, moaning softly. Cam released her, traveling up her body, touching every part of her with his hands and tongue as he moved, stoking the subdued flames until they flared to life once more.
The press of his cock moved up her thigh and then settled in the notch between her legs, and she whimpered again, achingly sensitive from the orgasm.
“Ceana?”
She opened her eyes to see him staring at her, the question evident in his expression.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Cam. I . . . want you. Please. I want you inside me.”
He gripped his cock and moved it into position, then, with exquisite slowness, slid in, inch by excruciating inch, pausing between each tiny push to revel in the sensation of their joining.
He watched her, and she knew he was aware of and receptive to every expression of pleasure that crossed her face, making it clear that her pleasure was as important to him as his own.
“Oh,” she whispered. Her body squeezed tightly around him, and the place where they joined burned with fiery heat. “Oh.”
He pushed deeper one final time, sliding the rest of the way inside her. They were lodged together, connected.
They were one.
He held that position, watching her with those dark, expressive eyes that said so much, that revealed his humanity, his care for her. His love for her.
“Tell me what you feel,” he whispered.
That emotion surged inside her again. Staring into his eyes, she slid her arms around him and held him tight, his firm skin sending tendrils of warmth through her to wrap around her heart in a sweet, comforting embrace.
“I feel you, Cam,” she whispered. “Only you.”
Right now, there was nothing between them. He was her world, and she was his. It was so right, so beautifully perfect. Ceana had never been happier.
He slid out and then in, staring at her. She strained toward him, gripping his solid arms. Suddenly, he drew back, and she whimpered her complaint. She clutched him, struggling to keep him close, to keep his skin touching hers, to urge him back inside her, to achieve that perfect connection once more. “It feels so good, Cam. I don’t want you to stop. Please . . .”
He lifted her legs and hooked them over his arms. Leaning forward, he thrust again, his invasion so deep she released a strangled gasp.
Lowering himself over her, his forearm resting beside her head, he gripped her thigh with his other hand. All by itself, his hand on her thi
gh would drive her to distraction, but the combination of that and his cock thrusting into her, his fingers tangling in her hair, and his lips taking hers in a ferocious kiss made her lose all awareness of anything besides the sensations his touch wrought on her.
She trailed her hand up and down his arm, her fingers taking in the flex of his muscle as he held himself over her. He pushed deep into her, so deep his pelvis brushed over her clitoris, and she cried out.
He strained over her, his body surrounding her, a rigid, powerful cage.
Ceana had never felt protected by a man. But this man covered her, worked her, held her within an armor of steel. And the way he looked at her cast a shield of warmth all around her, defending her from all thoughts of harm and death and misery.
She was safe here with him. She was no longer cold. She wasn’t alone. And she was so happy.
The sensations in her body and her heart built until Ceana sobbed out every breath, sure she couldn’t take any more. But, somehow, he held her orgasm at bay.
His eyes glittered down at her. His muscles flexed beneath her fingers.
Still, he held back, keeping her from coming, holding her on the brink of madness. She was going to fall apart, fly into a million pieces, shatter. She could not sustain this. Sweet release was within reach, but each time she stretched her hand to grasp it, he yanked her back.
“Oh,” she whispered. “No. No.”
“Yes,” Cam growled.
His thrusts roughened, turned savage, his gentle caresses forgotten. Her body was no longer her own. With each thrust, he wiped away her body’s memory of every other man it had taken into it. With each kiss, he cleared away every man she thought she’d loved. With each squeeze of her thigh, he obliterated every man’s touch on her skin. With each tug of her hair, he reminded her that it was him, Cam, the Earl of Camdonn, who protected her, who took her, who made her his. He softened her like clay and then refashioned her into something she’d never thought she’d be. Someone who was loved, without question and without fear.
She flew apart. Simply exploded, the sensation so intense she stopped breathing, stopped sobbing. Everything stopped except the white-hot rush of liquid pleasure. He went stiff around her, above her, inside her, and the intense pulse resonating through her body could have been coming from him or from her or from both of them as they reached the apex together, completely still and quiet, flooded with ecstasy.
Highland Surrender Page 19