She coughed when the sip of beer she was taking went down the wrong pipe. The sexual undertones in his voice were unmistakable. The air crackled around them like a lightning storm. After their kiss in the rain, she could sense the inevitable approaching like a force of nature, and she knew he sensed it too.
“I bought us a couple of bingo cards, but…” He let the possibilities dangle. She should take Ms. Frannie’s advice and hang on to what she wanted.
“But we could give them to someone else and head back to your cabin. I don’t care if it still smells like smoke.” They didn’t have all the time in the world. Not tonight—she would need to return to Ms. Meadows’s—and not in the future either. She wanted to be alone with him.
He stood and held out a hand. “Let’s go.”
He handed the cards to a couple entering the hall, and they were on the road in record time. She expected him to put the moves on her as soon as they walked in his cabin, but he didn’t. No, he wasn’t going to fumble with her like a boy. He was a man.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“A glass of wine?” Claire waited on the back porch of the cabin and stared over the field to the line of trees.
For once, she wasn’t afraid of the endless darkness, because she wasn’t alone. Were the answers she sought hidden in the deep, fathomless forest? The autumnal scents of crushed leaves and a bonfire stirred in the air. She’d always considered herself a city girl, but comfort lurked around her.
Holt joined her with her requested glass of wine while he sipped from a bottle of American beer.
Her parents had only ever served Glennallen Whisky in their house. Had she hated the taste because of her childhood or her palate? The light, uncomplicated wine banished her worries and she focused on Holt. “Is all this land yours?”
“As far as the eye can see.” A self-deprecating laugh accompanied his shrug. “Well, not technically mine. The deed is in my dad’s name.”
“But as an only child, you’re due to inherit.” She looked at him under her lashes.
“I suppose so, but I don’t want that to happen anytime soon.”
He tipped his bottle up, and Claire followed the line of his tanned throat as he drank deeply. When he finished, he set the bottle on the porch rail and took a seat on the top step. He looked up and gestured her over with a nod of his head.
She did as he bade, stretching her legs out down the steps. “It’s amazing to think the laws of primogeniture are alive and well in America.”
“The laws of whats-it?”
“It used to be in Britain the eldest male would inherit lands and titles. Even if he was tetched in the head or an absolute dolt.” She hid her slight smile by taking a sip of the wine.
“I’ll have you know, I’m not a dolt. Jury is still out on whether or not I’m tetched.” The voice he adopted reminded her of the dried-up priggish teachers at her boarding school.
The laugh that burst out of her surprised her to the point she covered her mouth to muffle the sound. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away, which only made her giggle more.
“Are you drunk after a beer with dinner and a glass of wine?” Holt’s smile was a little lopsided. The crinkled lines at the edges of his eyes only emphasized their twinkle.
Claire was a lightweight when it came to alcohol. Her boarding school roommates had smuggled in half-full bottles of gin and vodka and wine all the time. One girl had even managed a mostly full bottle of tequila once. That had been a fun night, but a bad morning. They had begged her to bring back bottles of Glennallen Whisky but she never did.
Alcohol and drugs were in constant circulation when she’d been on the road with the Scunners. Being fuzzy-headed around a bunch of blokes she didn’t know and didn’t particularly care for wasn’t an option. As much as she had rebelled against expectations, she had a firm sense of self and safety.
“I’m hardly drunk,” she said with more vehemence than she’d intended. His smile wasn’t defensive or judgmental.
“It’s okay if you are. I’ll take care of you.” Holt transferred his attention to the sky, where stars twinkled. “And don’t worry, not in a creepy way.”
His words reverberated and echoed in the vast emptiness that had been part of her life for so long, she’d almost forgotten about its existence. Until Holt had reminded her.
She didn’t need anyone to take care of her. She’d been standing on her own since she had left school. Yet for the first time in forever, she felt like she could close her eyes and fall backward and know there would be someone to catch her. A trust fall.
She hadn’t trusted anyone in a long time. Now, all of a sudden, she had Holt. And Anna. And Ms. Meadows. They were all worthy of her trust, and she was a first-class rotter for withholding it.
She scooted closer and angled her torso toward him, draping her arms around his shoulders. She brushed her lips across his cheek in a prelude. He didn’t move except to turn his head to make kissing him easier. Their lips met with an aching gentleness that undid all her carefully wrought defenses.
Holt was always trying to make things easier for her. He had helped her with her bike. He made her feel attractive and worthy. He had cleared the way for her to confide in him even though she was still resisting. In short, he made it easy—too easy—to fall for him.
He would also make it easy to leave. He wouldn’t pile on recriminations or guilt. He would be happy with what she could give him, which didn’t feel like enough. He deserved more.
She broke away and buried her face in the crook of his neck, needing to be as truthful as she could be. “I can’t stay in Highland in forever.”
“I know.” He raised a hand to brush the hair off her forehead. “I’ll take whatever you’re comfortable giving me.”
She raised her head and stared into his eyes. “Nothing good will come of us getting involved.”
“Nothing good? Darlin’, you haven’t even given me a chance to show you what I can do.” His slow, sexy smile matched his honeyed drawl.
A blush lit her like she was experiencing spontaneous combustion. Traveling the world had left her jaded when it came to men, but Holt had reset her expectations. More accurately, he had raised them. She was usually so careful, so reserved, so protective.
A little voice urging her to surrender grew louder and more insistent. Her body tipped into his before her head came to the same decision. The sound he made was a throaty growl of satisfaction. He wrapped his arms around her and lay flat on the porch, drawing her down until she lay half on top of him, her chest pressed tight against his.
One of his hands cupped the back of her head, and he speared his fingers through her hair. She let him take control. While she might not be ready to trust him with the truth or any piece of her Franken-heart, she did trust him with her body, which was no small thing.
His fingers edged under her shirt and skimmed across the skin of her back, inciting pleasurable shivers. He sat up without taking his arms from around her—which made her wonder at the state of his abs—and pulled her into his lap. His meandering hands were heating her up in ways she’d forgotten existed.
“How about we move this party inside?” It was a question that most men might not wait for an answer to, but Holt didn’t move, his patience awing her.
“That’s a fine idea.” Her Scottish lilt had grown more pronounced with her arousal, as if letting Holt get a foothold behind her defenses put him closer to the true heart of her.
He rose to his feet, bringing her with him until she stood on the top step and he stood on the one below, their faces level. His dark-blue eyes were nearly black and unreadable in the shadows. A shot of trepidation had her mind whirring to life. Was she making a mistake?
The question fragmented into meaningless letters the moment he kissed her, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip before his tongue teased hers out to play. Urgency sharpened his earlier tenderness into something less comfortable, but more exciting. Before she could react, he scooped her
into his arms and walked toward the cabin door.
He grappled with the handle, his lips curving against hers. “Done in by a door when I was trying to be suave. Could you help me out?”
Her laugh was breathless both from his kiss and the situation. She blindly reached below her hip, grasped the handle, and pushed the door open. The scent of singed food lingered, but it only made the welcome of the cabin warmer. The place bore Holt’s fingerprint in the most delightful ways.
The furniture was a combination of heavy wood pieces that qualified as antiques and more modern oversized couches and chairs that looked inviting. Tartan throws in various plaids were tossed around the room as an invitation to cuddle. Holt bypassed the living room and carried her down a short hall toward what could only be his bedroom.
Butterflies began to waltz in her stomach. She was nervous and excited for what was to come. To come. Thankful the darkness gave refuge, she buried her hot face in his neck. The pulse of his blood registered hard and brisk against her lips. Hers galloped along even faster.
A rustic king-sized bed made of roughhewn logs took up most of the room. A simple green quilted cover and white pillows were the only decoration. The rest of the room was utilitarian and uncluttered.
Holt set her down on the long edge of the bed, cupped her face with both hands, and proceeded to kiss her until the laws of time and space fractured. She was floating through the universe, her only tether to reality his touch.
Her hands went to the edge of his shirt. It was half tucked in, and she remedied the situation by yanking it up and over his head. Then she was touching his skin—smooth and hot—and scored her fingernails down his back. His intake of breath was gratifying and gave her a sense of control.
That control lasted less than a millisecond. Holt’s hands grasped her shirt and lifted. She grabbed his wrists and clamped her arms down to stop the rise of cotton. A shot of something resembling modesty overtook her. The number of stage changes she performed in front of her male bandmates had driven her self-consciousness to nil.
But if she allowed this to continue, he would strip away more than her clothes. Vulnerability was not a welcome state.
“What’s wrong?” His gruff voice didn’t hold its usual lightness and charm. Did she really know him?
“My bra and knickers aren’t terribly sexy.” It was an accurate if not entirely truthful answer to his question.
The flash of his teeth in a smile reassured her. “I don’t mind. Anyway, you won’t be wearing them for long.”
“But what if you’re disappointed after you actually see them?” She swallowed past a rising lump of emotion that included both confidence and shame. She was complicated and so was her life. She had been living in a limbo that was coming to an end. Why was she dragging a nice bloke like Holt, whose life was serene and perfect, into the maelstrom with her?
His smile disappeared and the shadows masked his expression. He twisted one of his hands around to break her hold and link their fingers. “I do see you, and I’m not disappointed.”
The lump grew until she was afraid if she spoke, the truth of her would spill out. Instead, she raised her arms. He took the cue to lift her shirt over her head and make quick work of her plain white bra. Gently, but inexorably, he pushed her flat on the bed with the hard heat of his chest, his hips driving her knees apart.
She was trapped. It was scary and thrilling. She’d always had an out. An escape route. She had run away from complications more times than she could count, starting with her parents. She squirmed against him, the friction of his hair-covered chest against her bare breasts distilling her thoughts over escape and truth and guilt into an intense need.
She fisted her hands in his hair and drew his mouth to hers. There was nothing sweet or innocent or gentle about the kiss. He didn’t protest, but met her intensity with a bruising sexual need of his own. She grappled with the waistband of his jeans.
He lifted off her to rip at the button and zipper with one hand and reach toward the chest of drawers by the bed with the other. He clamped a condom packet between his teeth while continuing to work on the fastenings of his jeans.
She took the opportunity to shimmy out of her jeans and knickers, tossing them over his shoulder and grabbing his biceps to pull him back to her. His jeans and underwear had only made it as far as his thighs, but she didn’t care. The part of him she needed was ready and available.
She plucked the condom from between his teeth, ripped it open, and rolled it onto him. Her fingers lingered on the hard length, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out in thanks. She didn’t deserve him in any way, but she wasn’t going to be all noble and walk away now.
“Tell me what you want.” The growl in his voice made her even more aware of her emptiness.
Never had she told a man what she actually wanted. The question was too complex, so she simplified it. “I want you.”
Had she said the wrong thing? She only had a millisecond before the worry poofed into nothingness. No, not nothingness. He entered her in one swift stroke, his hips flush against her. Her back arched and her fingernails dug into his back muscles. She was filled and surrounded by him. He’d given her what she wanted.
Her body convulsed around him. Had anything felt as good as he did inside of her, on top of her? She didn’t have time to ruminate, because he began to move. Not too fast or too slow, but hard enough to move her across the bed. He was just right for her.
She slid her hands down his back, glorying in the shift of muscles, to grab hold of his bare buttocks. Her eyes closed. The oblivion of pleasure was nigh. Uncomplicated pleasure was what she needed, but was that all she wanted?
Her hands tightened on his flesh and his thrusts slowed. He shifted over her, propping himself on his elbows and threading his fingers through her hair. “Look at me.”
Danger pulsed through her, pacing her pleasure. She should keep her eyes closed and spur him back into rhythm. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. The rising moon sent diffused light through the open curtains. It was painfully romantic.
Her heart throbbed in concert with her body. One fact crystallized in her head. She did want him, but not just for sex. She wanted to cuddle next to him in bed and tell him about her childhood, the push–pull of her family’s expectations, her life since running away. She wanted to slip on one of his T-shirts and wallow in his scent. She wanted to make him laugh.
She tried to save herself and look away, but he wouldn’t allow her to. Their gazes remained locked as his strokes slowed and gentled. Her climax came over her with the suddenness of a fall. But he was there to catch her.
She floated through the blissful feeling until she tumbled back to earth. He rode her until her body slackened and then held still over her, a fine sheen of sweat breaking over his shoulders.
Still, he didn’t allow her to escape. He kissed her with a tenderness that drew tears to her eyes. One slipped out and trailed toward his hand. This time when she squirmed, he rolled off her. He discarded the condom and pulled his underwear and jeans back up, but left the front gaping.
Her nakedness sent a fiery blush over her entire body. She was raw, her nerves exposed by pleasure, and shocked by the vulnerability he’d demanded and she’d surrendered.
What now? Would he expect to lie in bed and have a heart-to-heart? If she stayed, she might reveal more than she was comfortable with. Rising, she slid off the bed and searched for her clothes. Her shirt had been flung in one direction and her knickers the other. She didn’t bother with her bra. Lynyrd Skynyrd didn’t seem the type of band to mind. She pulled her knickers and jeans on.
“What are you doing?” No anger or frustration could be detected in his question, but she tensed anyway.
“I’ve been gone too long and need to check on Ms. Meadows. It’s my job.” She stuffed her arms into her jacket and zipped it all the way up to her neck.
He regarded her long enough to send shards of panic whizzing through her. She was at an impasse
. Or was she? She would simply walk home. The moon had risen and it wasn’t far even without a bike. She turned away from him, stuffed her feet into her trainers, and made her way outside.
The darkness gave her a moment’s pause. She didn’t relish running off into the night. Her imagination was active enough to picture threats only seen on the pages of fairy tales.
“Hang on. I’ll drive you.” Holt walked out of his cabin barefoot, pulling on a T-shirt with his jeans unbuttoned, his white underwear visible.
She weighed the ignominy in accepting a ride of shame versus getting eaten by a wolf and scrambled into his truck. They didn’t speak on the short trip, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her from bolting to the safety of the house.
“Did I do something wrong?” The interior lights threw his face into harsh relief.
What he’d done wrong was be too nice and caring and sexy. Which made him sound perfect and her crazy. She was the one who’d screwed up. She shouldn’t have let Holt charm his way past her defenses. “I’m the one who did something wrong.”
His eyes narrowed in disbelief at the it’s not you, it’s me line, but even the most trite excuse could reflect a patina of truth.
She slipped away and barely kept herself from sprinting to the house. When she was inside, she allowed herself the weakness of looking back. Only the outline of the man was visible on his reverse up the lane. If it had only been great sex, then the night would have lived on as a warm fuzzy memory to recall when she was old. It had been more than great sex. The way he’d looked at her and made her look at him had transformed the experience into something both terrible and beautiful.
“How was your date?” Ms. Meadows’s voice came from her bedroom.
Claire pushed the bedroom door open and peered inside. Ms. Meadows was tucked into her bed with the CD player next to her and a pair of old-fashioned headphones around her neck.
Claire wanted to deny it was a date, but with the scent of him clinging to her skin, she didn’t even try. “He burned dinner, so we ended up at a bingo hall eating barbecue.”
A Highlander is Coming to Town Page 12