At the appointed door, she drew back her shoulders, rapped quickly before she lost courage.
"Come in," the deep male voice said.
THREE
As Bella entered, Will rose from the chaise by the fire. Lust simmered in his veins at the stunning vision of her in a clinging scarlet robe, the deep crevice between her breasts exposed by the plunging neckline. Her hair spilled in a red-gold cascade down to her waist, and her eyes were dark, unfathomable. Closing the door behind her, she came toward him and dropped a graceful curtsy. He thought her knack for aping gentility quite remarkable.
"I beg your pardon." Her calm demeanor was betrayed by the slight tremor in her voice. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting."
"I haven't been here long," he said huskily.
Her gaze widened as it flitted around the chamber. He couldn't blame her—the Purgatory Suite was rather an eye-opening sight. The walls were papered in red silk damask, the furnishings painted with gilt. A massive bed dominated the chamber: it was covered with black satin, and a looking glass was fixed on the ceiling above. The velvet chaise and fur rug in front of the fire added to the debauched ambience.
For Will, however, the cherry atop the cake was the pair of life-sized statues flanking the fiery hearth: each depicted a satyr and a nymph engaged in a lascivious act. The positions of the lovers made Will's brows rise—and another part of him perked up as well. For the flames' shadows flickered over the stone flesh, giving the illusion of movement, of deep, thrusting ecstasy ...
Will's belly tautened. He reached to brush an errant curl from Bella's cheek, and the contact with her soft skin jolted him. She reacted as well, her breath hitching, a pulse fluttering near the base of her throat. The swells of her breasts rose and fell in swift surges.
The signs of her arousal heated his blood. They confirmed his earlier hypothesis that she was a sensual doxy playacting as a lady. Which suited him just fine—because making love to a lady happened to be his fantasy as well.
Pale blond hair and cornflower blue eyes shimmered in his mind's eye; he pushed it away with the force of habit. Laura would never be his, and thinking of her—of the life he'd left behind years ago—only made bitterness well up again. By nature, he was quick to anger and equally quick to forgive ... except when it came to betrayal.
The Scotsman in him—the man in him—could not abide disloyalty.
Especially when it had come as a double blow. Delivered by the woman he had loved and the man with whom he shared a father. Though he and his older half-brother Alaric had never been close—the latter being a cold, controlling bastard—Will had never guessed that his own kin could be capable of such duplicity. Through a series of deaths and misfortunes, Alaric had inherited a title and wealth, and yet that still hadn't been enough.
He'd taken the one thing Will wanted.
And Alaric had had the gall to send a letter this week. 'Twas the first contact that Will had received from his brother in years. He'd held the missive, run his thumb over the majestic Strathaven seal ... but he hadn't opened it.
Wasn't it enough for Alaric to have everything: a distinguished title, Laura, and a son and heir to boot? Why did he insist on rubbing Will's nose in those facts?
Drawing a breath, Will forced himself back to the present—which was a damned sight more appealing than wallowing in the past. He wanted nothing to do with Alaric's machinations: he'd worked hard to be his own man, independent and free. Tonight, he wanted to forget everything but the pleasure of a woman in his arms. He wanted to lose himself in earthly delights. Eyeing the beauty in front of him, he did not doubt that the oblivion would be sweet.
He offered her his hand. "Shall we get more comfortable?"
Bella gave a nod, and after a moment, her hand slipped into his. He was surprised by her chilled fingers—nerves, mayhap? Was that common for those in her trade? For though her fingers were long and slender, they had a firm, capable grasp that did not belong to a lady of leisure. The lass had clearly worked for a living.
Perhaps he—his size and appearance—disquieted her. She wouldn't be the first to find his looks intimidating. He had a Scot's hardy build to begin with, and the years in the infantry had toughened his frame. His looming exterior contributed to his success as a guard-for-hire: ruffians oft took one look at him and bolted.
As he led her to the chaise, he wondered if he was pleasing to her. The irony struck him. Clearly, he hadn't spent enough time in petticoat pursuits if he was concerned about what the light-skirt thought of him.
But that was his nature. His fantasy. He enjoyed a woman's pleasure as much as his own, and even if it was for one night, he wanted Bella to be comfortable with him.
For if she was trying to act the part of an unschooled miss, she was doing a fine job of it. She perched on the edge of the chaise, her posture stiff, her breath puffing between her rosy lips. With each inhalation, the plump inner curves of her tits pressed against the opening of her robe, and his rod took note, burgeoning with anticipation. Hell, playacting or not, she was making him randier than he'd been in a long while.
He sat next to her, and his blood sizzled at the plush press of her thigh against his. By God, she was graced with womanly charms. Crooking a finger under her chin, he tipped her head up.
"May I kiss you?" he murmured.
She grew still. Gave a stiff little nod.
Bending his head, he took what she offered.
Her kiss surprised him. Her lips were petal-soft, unexpectedly shy and sweet. Her innocent flavor spun his senses, made it easy to forget where he was and with whom. Her lips trembled beneath his—almost as if she'd never been properly kissed. As if she didn't know quite what to do and required instruction. The fantasy was irresistible. Dug deep into the heart of his desires, excavating the shards of the dreams he'd once built around Laura.
What would it be like to claim a lady of his own, to introduce her to the art of love, show her pleasure for the very first time ...
Need pounding in his veins, he cupped Bella's downy jaw in one palm and continued his exploration. He told himself to go slow—this little game of hers was far too good to rush, and she too delicious not to savor. When he licked her mouth's lush seam, her shiver shot straight to his balls.
Easing her back against the chaise, he delved into her sweetness. His hunger grew as cinnamon and woman flooded his senses. She was headier than mulled wine. When he stroked her tongue with his, she let out a gasp, a sigh. Groaning, he thrust deeply, laying claim to her honeyed cavern. He left her mouth only to sample the softness of her earlobe, her neck, the alluring dip of her collarbones.
Soon, his body clamored for more. His cockstand tented his trousers, and his bollocks were tight, pulsing with need. Her nipples poked into his chest, the stiff points tantalizing him through the thin layers that separated them. Breathing heavily, he tugged on the tie of her robe ... and felt her tense.
He gazed into her dazed eyes. Some of the soot had rubbed off her lashes, revealing their bronze tips. It made him mad to know what else lay under her paint, her clothes.
"Not afraid of me, are you pet?" he said hoarsely. "You have my word that I'll not hurt you. I'll take care of you, your pleasure."
"I thought ..." She bit her lip, her auburn brows drawing together. "That is, shouldn't I be the one saying that?"
Her ingenuous response made his lips twitch. By God, she seemed so adorably confused and innocent. The clever chit knew just how to arouse him—to entice him both body and mind.
Tracing her reddened lips with a finger, he said, "We play by whatever rules we choose. 'Twould give me the greatest pleasure to go on kissing you, for instance."
"You must ... do as you like. That is why we're here, after all." Her flush spread beyond the edge of her rouge. "My pleasure has nothing to do with it."
She was wrong. But he wasn't going to waste time arguing when he could demonstrate.
"There's my good lass," he said. "Lie back and let me have my way, then."
She settled against the chaise, her bottom lip caught beneath her teeth. He undid the belt of her robe, and as the silk panels parted, his jaw slackened at the unveiled masterpiece. By all that was holy, he'd never seen such splendor.
She was like a dish of strawberries and cream, a contrast of temptations. Her plump white breasts were topped with ruby berries that begged to be sampled. Her milky curves were as generous as he'd imagined and juxtaposed by a delicate, nipped-in waist. His gaze roved lower, between her sweetly dimpled thighs ...
Lord love him. A true redhead, after all.
Breathing heavily, he curved his hand around the smoothest, roundest breast he'd ever encountered. His cock jerked as its firm heft overflowed his large palm. He rubbed his thumb over the blushing tip, and he didn't know who shuddered, he or she. Mayhap both. He'd always adored this part of a woman—and there was much to adore here. Hunger charged through him, and he lowered his head to feast.
Her startled cry burned through him, made him suck harder. Her nipple blossomed beneath his tongue, ripe and full, maddeningly sweet. Kneading the full mounds, he licked and played until she went pliant against him. Lust bolted through him as her eyes closed, her neck arching in silent bliss. Damnation, 'twas a gorgeous sight. His hand smoothed over her supple belly, slipped between her thighs.
Wet, luscious heat.
He groaned. She gasped.
Her thighs locked around his hand, and she blinked at him, breasts heaving.
He cocked his head. "What's the matter, pet?"
"N-nothing." She licked her lips, and his nostrils flared. "I ... I just ..."
"Said I'd take care of you. Relax for me, little one," he coaxed.
"I'm not ... little." Her voice hitched as he managed to swirl his fingers, his lungs burning at her lushness. Her slick response to his touch.
"Compared to me, you are," he said huskily. "Let me take care of you. Let me ..."
After a moment, her thighs slackened, granting him access. Triumph roared through him as he petted her decadent little puss, the fiery curls soft, the folds beneath even softer ... and damp. Lungs burning, he felt his own leaking moisture, the eager pre-spurt of his cock as he found her little pearl. She jerked against him, whimpering as he diddled her.
"So sweet," he breathed as her eyes squeezed shut. "Aye, lass, don't hold back ..."
With a hungry growl, he went to his knees beside the chaise and put his mouth on her. She jolted, but he held her thighs open, groaning as her essence saturated his senses. Spicy and sweet all over. He tickled her clit with his tongue, and she made a sound of sweet distress. As he laved and suckled the bold little nub, he eased a finger inside her.
Fire shot up his spine.
She was incredibly tight. Hot.
"You're gripping me like you don't want to let me go ..." he gritted out. "Beautiful."
She cried out again, but the roar in his ears was louder. Consumed by feverish need, he slung her knee over his shoulder, burying his mouth in her cunny and fingering her at the same time. He grunted with pleasure as her dripping honey coated his tongue. She was so small and snug, each ripple of her passage clenching his fingers. Her eyes remained closed, her expression strangely vulnerable. He didn't let up until her moans soared into a crescendo, until her climax left her limp and shuddering against the velvet.
Only then did he lift her effortlessly into his arms. Her eyes were dazed pools, her cheeks glowing. Claiming her lips once more, he carried her to the wide, waiting bed.
FOUR
Annabel awoke from a disorienting fog. She blinked at the reflected image of herself: her hair spread in tangled skeins over black satin, her breasts bare, and a sinewy, hair-covered arm slung possessively across her belly ...
Her breath jammed in her throat. Her head turned swiftly on the pillow.
McLeod lay on his stomach beside her. Naked as she was. The even rise and fall of his muscular backside indicated that he was asleep.
Heaven help me ... what have I done?
Panic flooded through her, images of last night flittering through her mind. Literal images, for the looking glass above the bed had given her a bird's-eye view of what had transpired. Her wantonness in the arms of a stranger. The way she'd panted for him as he came atop her, arched her back as he'd thrust so firmly inside.
For an instant, she'd frozen: he'd been so big. He'd stretched her, an invading presence buried deep in the core of her. His thick, pulsing manhood had touched places where she'd never been touched before.
Randall hadn't been half the man McLeod was. Ironically, her husband hadn't showed an iota of the gentleness that the rugged stranger had. With Randall, the act had always been quick, hurried. If not painful exactly, it hadn't been pleasurable either, and he'd shown little consideration for her response. As if sensing her discomfort, however, the Scot had stilled immediately.
"Not hurting you, am I?" he'd said, his brow furrowing.
His gentleness had disarmed her into giving him the truth. "No," she'd whispered. "If you could wait a moment ..."
"As long as you need, beauty." He'd leaned down, kissed her until she'd been drunk on his virile flavor, on his murmured assurances.
You've nothing to fear. I'll take care of you. Beautiful ...
Words she'd never heard from a man.
As fantastic as it was, for the first time in her adult life, she'd felt ... safe.
The darkness of the past year had receded as she'd surrendered to the temptation of safety and passion. In the Scot's powerful arms, she'd lost herself. For one precious night, she'd lived without fear or shame, had felt as beautiful as he'd said she was.
Now the night was over, and reality broke over her. She'd slept with a stranger. A ... customer. Worse yet, she'd given far more than her body. Had she imagined the magic of what had transpired between them, the fierce tenderness of McLeod's touch?
It doesn't matter—I cannot do this.
The truth was as blinding as dawn's first rays. She couldn't be a whore. Couldn't do what she'd done last night with another man. Didn't want to ... Dash it all, what had she been thinking resorting to this? Heat prickled behind her eyes. She looked at the man beside her, who held her with a lover's possessiveness as he slept on, his russet hair tousled, a night beard shadowing his strong jaw.
Somehow, he'd changed everything.
He'd given her back her courage.
A plan took shape in her mind, resolve walling off her other emotions. Plenty of time to wallow later. Now 'twas time for action. Breath held, Annabel gingerly moved from beneath McLeod's arm, easing the heavy limb onto the mattress. She got up stealthily from the bed, made her way to the pile of clothes tangled next to the chaise.
Stubble it, she had only the robe she'd worn last night. She couldn't risk returning to the wenches' wing to retrieve her things. For she meant to break her contract with Todd ... which meant she had to get out of the club now. Time was of essence. At this early hour, she had a chance of slipping out undetected whilst everyone was asleep or passed out from the previous night's proceedings. With a little luck, her absence might not be noticed for an hour or two. Good enough for a head start.
She grabbed McLeod's shirt and yanked it over her head. It hung almost to her ankles, and his masculine scent enveloped her, a virile blend of wood-spice and ... him. Tingling, she rolled up the sleeves, considered and discarded the idea of donning his trousers. There wasn't a hope of those fitting her. Instead, she pulled her robe over the shirt and donned her slippers. It would have to do until she could find something else ...
Her gaze landed on McLeod's jacket where it lay carelessly on the rug. An instant later, her fingers were fumbling through the pockets of the dark blue superfine, her heart thumping. Her search yielded a small leather bag. Her hands shook so badly that the coins within jingled, and her eyes darted to the figure on the bed.
Her heart shot into her throat as McLeod mumbled something, rolled onto his back. Her pulse continued to hammer as his
muscular, hair-dusted chest surged up and down. He dozed as innocent as a babe … oblivious to the fact that she was picking his pockets.
Her throat closed. I'm sorry. Forgive me.
And ... thank you.
She tamped down her emotions, focused on the dangers ahead. Once started, there was no returning from this new path she'd chosen. If Todd caught her ... she drew a breath. She had to take the risk. Because denial had been ripped from her, and she now knew what was at stake: between her life or her soul, she knew what choice she had to make.
Clutching the coin purse to muffle its sound, she fled from the chamber.
*****
Will opened his eyes, befuddled when the rolling emerald hills and shimmering loch vanished, replaced by the view of a strange bedchamber. He blinked. He'd been ... dreaming? Since his time in the 95th Rifles, he'd rarely slept deeply enough to dream—or at least to recall his nighttime fantasies. He had a habit of waking fully alert. But at the moment he felt groggy, pleasantly relaxed from the deepest slumber he'd had in a good long while.
Memory returned, and a grin curled his lips. He couldn't help it. By God, of course he'd been exhausted—the insatiable wench had worn him out.
He turned his head, eager to see Bella in the daylight. But the place next to him was empty. He felt a twinge of disappointment to find her gone. Perhaps she'd gone to use the convenience. Or powder her nose. He hoped it wasn't the latter. Because as the night had gone on, layers of her paint had worn off, and he'd glimpsed the most alluring sprinkle of golden freckles on her nose ...
Bella had been a female straight out of his fantasies. A goddess who'd managed to be both sensual and oddly innocent at the same time. Her unexpected vulnerability made him hungry to know more about her. To know everything ...
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