“Hey,” she said softly.
He turned toward her, concern reflected in his dark eyes. “Are you all right?” he murmured and cupped her face in his warm hands. He was ashamed of his earlier behavior and needed this physical connection with her to feel human again.
“I’m fine, but I’m wiped out. It’s dark in here, I must have fallen asleep.” They were both whispering, the room’s dimness forming an impregnable bubble around them. “When did you get back? Did you see John?”
“I watched him leave the hotel about an hour ago. It’s killing me to know that I’ve got that man’s blood in my veins. When I saw him today I was stunned by the rage I felt and I’m surprised that I was able to control myself as long as I did. What I’m using too many words to say is you were right to throw me out. I was useless to you and I’m so very sorry that you had to do this alone.”
“It’s okay,” she murmured as she studied his face. The earlier anger was gone and she only saw tenderness in his gaze as he continued to stroke her face. If she were a cat, she’d purr. His touch was strong and warm and felt so good and she needed…so much. She brought one of his hands toward her mouth and slowly kissed its palm. She was pretty sure that he was offering something, but he’d made it clear that it would be her choice.
Her lips were soft and lingered long enough for him to understand that she wouldn’t be kissing him like that unless she wanted more. He stood and headed toward the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” she mumbled, confused. Had she read him wrong? There was that honor thing of his. Maybe he couldn’t stop thinking of her as Will’s wife. Or did he expect her to follow him?
“I remember that a long, hot soak calms you, so I’m going to fill the tub. Is that all right?”
“More than all right,” and she smiled as she visualized sinking into the deep tub, the water’s heat seeping into her bones.
“It’ll take a while to fill,” he said as he perched on the edge of the sofa and drew her pliant body to a sitting position. The soft light coming through the partially open bedroom door allowed her to see the question in his eyes. The decision was hers. It always had been. She wrapped her arms around Diego’s broad back and drew him closer until their bodies made contact. It felt right somehow.
Diego’s kiss was tentative and his hands quivered as he cradled her face. His full lips opened a bit, testing her response. She ran her hands through his thick hair and down his arms, afraid that if she didn’t hold him he’d disappear and the moment she’d been simultaneously dreading and hoping for would be gone. I’m not cheating on Will, she rationalized. It’s just sex, a physical need like food or air or sleep. He smelled of sweat, peppermint and spicy cologne, and it was surprisingly easy to surrender to her body’s desire once she made up her mind.
Will was on Diego’s mind as well. The woman he was hoping to make love with was his brother’s wife. But Will was dead and he…well, he was very alive and he’d wanted this woman for a very long time. Miraculously, it seemed that she finally wanted him too. He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the softly lit bathroom.
With the uncharacteristic shyness of a virgin, she kept her eyes closed as he slowly unbuttoned her blouse and lowered the zipper of her pants. Some modesty vanished with the sigh that escaped her lips as he slipped a bra strap off one shoulder and replaced it with his mouth. In her last moment of lucidity, she told herself that she’d better be fully committed to whatever was to come. Could she really do this? The instant she felt Diego’s warm breath on her shoulder, she had her answer. No turning back, she realized, as his mouth crumbled the last vestige of her control. She shivered as he ran his tongue up her neck and nipped an earlobe before resuming the soft kisses that were already driving her mad.
The room was steamy and fragrant from the bath water and Alex wasn’t sure whether she wanted to let go of Diego long enough to immerse herself in the tub. But he seemed to know what he was doing, and he was doing it so well, that she gladly relinquished control. There goes the bra, she thought dreamily as he deftly unhooked that bit of lavender lace and continued to nuzzle her neck. Oops, no more panties. He ran his hands slowly down her hips and his fingers stroked the small of her back, massaging away the day’s tension. She rested her head against his chest and inhaled his musky scent. Christ, she loved how men smelled. They reluctantly loosened their hold on each other and she slowly lowered herself into the tub. As the water’s heat enveloped her, she sighed with pleasure and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Diego was seated on the edge of the tub.
“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was husky and filled with emotion. His obvious appreciation made her less self-conscious about her nakedness and his gaze, smoldering with desire, intensified her arousal.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied and blushed. She waited, expecting him to strip and join her in the big tub, then watched, mesmerized, as he pulled the black T-shirt over his head and flung it across the room. His chest was a marvel, its well-defined muscles lightly covered with silky black hair. She wanted to feel that chest against her breasts, but he resisted when she tried to pull him into the water.
He wanted to ravish her, to feel and taste every inch of her body, but he held himself back. He’d fantasized about this moment for years — never expecting it to come and conflicted that it had — and he planned to savor it. He also knew she might regain her sanity at any moment and pull away, so he forced his own need into that part of his mind where his iron will resided.
“Patience, Alessandra, patience,” he said softly. “I only took off my shirt so it wouldn’t get wet while I wash you.”
“Wash me?” she said as a slow grin lit her face.
“Mmm hmm,” was his smug reply.
A small gold crucifix dangled from his neck and she was transfixed by the tuft of black hair beneath the arm he stretched toward a cake of perfumed soap. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his body as he rubbed the soap against a washcloth until it was covered in foam. Then he took her hand in his and began to run the slippery cloth up her arm.
“Ohhhhh,” was all she managed to say as she melted into a puddle of sensation.
The washcloth continued its journey, circled her neck and slid down the other arm. He leaned her body forward to wash her back, then brought the cloth around and rubbed it gently first around one breast, then the other, and finally across her nipples. I’m going to scream, she thought, but lay back and allowed him to continue. He followed the same procedure with her legs, pausing to kiss each toe and run his tongue along her foot’s arch. His mouth was on her foot, but the signal was telegraphed to another part of her body.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she moaned.
“Shall I stop?” he whispered and their eyes met and locked. There was a taunting smile in his gaze.
“Nooooo…” she slowly shook her head from side to side. “Do more. Please do more.” He slowly slid the washcloth to the top of her thighs, then let it sink into the water as his skilled fingers began to caress her. Pleasure built and built until her body tensed before spasming against his hand.
It was hard to look at him when she finally opened her eyes. She was a bit mortified to respond to his touch so quickly, but she had a healthy sex drive and it had been a long time. Plus, Diego was obviously a gifted lover.
“I moaned, didn’t I,” she said.
“Yeah, you did,” Diego grinned as he wrapped her in a thick terrycloth robe. Their eyes never left each other as his arms slid underneath the robe and circled her waist. He was surprised to realize that if she weren’t willing to give him any more than this, he’d be satisfied. Disappointed, extremely frustrated, but definitely satisfied. He wanted to give this woman pleasure. His own could wait until she was ready for him.
“You said I had to be patient, but I want you…now,” she whispered breathlessly in his ear. Goose bumps rose on his skin as she ran her hands over his chest and became the aggressor. She pressed her mouth to his until h
is lips parted to welcome her invading tongue and met it with his own.
Somehow, they made it to the bed. Diego tossed aside the blanket with one hand and the two of them tumbled, only marginally aware of finally being on a flat surface. Alex didn’t know when he’d shed his shorts, or she her robe, but those barriers were gone and nothing hindered the exploration of each other’s bodies they’d craved, but refused to yield to, until this moment. Hard muscle met soft skin. Lips touched, tongues tasted. Hands teased, stroked and finally demanded.
Diego’s mouth made her world spin out of control for a second time and she heard his groan as he finally buried himself in her with one thrust. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist to draw him more deeply into her body and their hips moved rhythmically as the two of them became one.
Before she lost herself again in sensation, she silently said a brief prayer, asking Will to understand. She wasn’t being unfaithful, but she needed the touch of another human being at that moment as much as she needed to breathe. The fact that both she and Diego loved Will, and would never do anything to hurt him, made her hope they’d have his blessing.
Chapter 19
“Fucking, lousy Scottish weather,” Serge muttered as a wind-driven summer deluge soaked his jeans. The heavy denim whipped around his legs like sails in a gale as he made his way across the bridge over Inverness’s River Ness, headed for the gift shop owned by James Mackinnon. He fought to keep his Yankees’ baseball cap atop his head with one hand while the other gripped the collar of his jacket to keep the rain from running down his neck. From mid-span he could see the red sandstone of Inverness Castle atop a hill overlooking the river and hoped he’d have a chance to explore it.
He’d enjoyed the scenic drive from London to the Highlands and added Scotland to the growing list of places he would visit as a tourist someday. His travel, as Diego’s bodyguard, rarely included the luxury of time to roam aimlessly for his own pleasure. Today, drenched and chilled, his fantasy destination was a no brainer — any island in the South Pacific.
Only a few pedestrians braved the squall with Serge. Scots may be hardy people, but they’re not fools. Those who didn’t have to venture out wisely remained indoors. He briefly considered returning to his hotel, but Diego would be pissed if he wasted a day, so he’d have to make the best of it. Besides, he had a soldier’s discipline and would never abandon a mission simply because of something as trivial as weather. He could even turn it to his advantage. He’d hoped to observe Mackinnon undetected, when the man’s shop was crowded with tourists, but on a miserable day like this he’d be able to have the same kind of uninterrupted exchange with him that Will and Alex had during their visit.
When he’d checked into the four-star Palace Hotel that morning, he methodically swept his room for bugs and only relaxed when he’d found two ways to exit that space and the building quickly. He also installed a miniature motion-activated camera that would record anyone entering his room while he was out.
Instead of continuing to use the identity of the barrister he’d been in London, Sergei Ivan Sidovsky transformed himself into Steve Spencer, American businessman. Careless slips were more easily avoided with an alias that started with the same sound as his real name. Passport, credit cards, driver’s license, return plane ticket and even half-used American toiletries obtained from a contact in London supported the metamorphosis. Only Diego knew that he was in Inverness and the name he’d adopted. His painstaking caution might seem excessive, but his years as a Mossad field operative taught him that one tiny, seemingly insignificant mistake could cost him his life.
Despite the downpour, habit and training made Serge take a circuitous route to ensure he wasn’t followed. As he neared Mackinnon’s shop on the High Street he ducked into a doorway to mop the rainwater off his face. When he spotted the sign for a small shopping center across the street, he decided it might be a good place to dry off. He was chilled to the bone; it wouldn’t hurt to take five minutes to warm himself with some hot tea.
As he wandered through the quaint mini-mall looking for a teashop, he zeroed in on a store selling replicas of historic weapons. Its window had an intriguing display of brutal armament that Scots had used in their own defense, and Serge marveled at the upper body strength ancient clansmen needed to slash and thrust the five-foot-long, double-edged claymores they’d wielded in combat. He’d used many weapons in his time, but none so massive as this broadsword.
“Do you know where can I get something hot to drink?” he finally asked a passerby, annoyed that he’d been distracted.
“You’ll be wanting the wee teashop just past the chemist’s. It’s nay so easy to find, but if ye go straight on you’ll no miss it.”
Serge ordered a scone and tea — black, without milk — from the bored waitress. He dumped two heaping spoons of sugar into the hot liquid and uttered a satisfied “ah,” as he embraced its warmth. He was the only customer in the inviting little shop and the girl who’d served him was happy to chat.
“I can tell that you’re a Yank. Where in America are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“No problem. I’m from Florida,” he replied, slipping into character like a chameleon. He aimed a friendly grin at her.
“That’s grand.” She returned his smile and cocked her head. “You wouldn’t want to take me home with you when you return there, would you? “ She added that she’d finished school, hated her job, hated living with her parents and most of all she hated Scotland’s climate. “Does the sun always shine in Florida? Are you at the beach every day? Is it as beautiful as it looks in photos?”
Serge was amused by the girl’s bubbly enthusiasm and he liked how her gray-green eyes sparkled. He also couldn’t ignore the way the fuzzy pink sweater she wore clung to her remarkable chest. If she were ten years older, he’d be tempted to give her a trip to Florida and she’d give him…well, forget that. However, he was flattered that she was interested enough to flirt with him.
“Tell me, what brings you to Inverness? Have you come on holiday?” She refilled his cup and added a couple of shortbread cookies to the plate where his scone had been minutes earlier. “Me ma says I’m terribly cheeky, but I’m curious about people, which is the one thing about this job that pleases me. Ach, look at me blethering on and you wanting a quiet cup of tea.”
Serge laughed. Americans were friendly and he was now Steve Spencer, American, so he’d be friendly. He tousled his wet, blond hair to help it dry and directed his light blue eyes at her. “I don’t mind at all. I had business in London and decided to take a few days to see a bit of your beautiful country.”
“And what sort of work do you do? Oh, my. There I go again, asking questions that are none of my business and I’ve yet to introduce myself. I’m Mairi. Mairi Graham.” She laughed and extended a hand to him, which he grasped and held a second longer than would be expected.
“Steve Spencer,” he said, never taking his eyes off her. She flushed as she openly checked out Serge’s tanned face, so very unlike the pasty complexions of her fellow Scots. She’d be disillusioned to find out that his Florida tan had been expertly sprayed on his entire body before he’d left London.
“I own a chain of gift shops and I came over to visit one of my suppliers in England. I’ve never been to Scotland, so I thought I’d check the place out. I like to wander around touristy stores in other places to see if I can steal any of their ideas. Not nice, but that’s business,” he shrugged and smiled, feigning embarrassment. “Are there any stores like that nearby? I’ve just arrived and haven’t had time to look for any yet,” he lied. Serge hadn’t intended to fish, but the girl had started the conversation and he wasn’t one to miss an opportunity. Besides, he wasn’t anxious to venture outside quite yet now that he was warm and his jeans had started to dry.
“Oh, you mean tourist shops, aye?”
Serge nodded.
“Well, then. Lots of tourists visit Inverness as they travel around the Highlands so of co
urse there are stores hereabouts that sell things to them. One of the best is nearby, on the next street in fact. It’s called Mackinnon’s. That’s the one I’d recommend.”
Bingo, thought Serge. “Great! I’ll start with that one. Shall I tell the owner that you sent me? I know how businesses sometimes help each other out by sending customers their way.”
“Oh, no, it’s not like that. First off, this isn’t my shop. I work here is all. But you can tell Uncle Jamie—er, I mean Mr. Mackinnon — hello from Mairi. He’s not my real uncle you see, but he’s known me since I was a wee lass. The Mackinnons and my family go way back. We’ve lived here forever,” she said and rolled her eyes dramatically to show how unexciting she found this kind of stability.
“Thanks for your help. I’ll be sure to give him your regards.” He chose his next words carefully. “What’s your uncle like?” He leaned back and crossed his long legs at the ankle to indicate he was in no hurry to leave.
Mairi wasn’t a star student in school, but one thing she knew was people. She tilted her head to the side as she studied Serge. He was beautifully built, not fleshy like so many other American tourists. She’d noticed his body the minute he walked into the shop. Unlike clumsy boys her own age, this man would know what to do to please a woman. Serge sensed that she was appraising him like a prize stallion.
“Some would say Uncle Jamie’s dour and no very friendly, which is not the best way for a shopkeeper to be, but the one thing that can get him talking is Scottish history. He’s brilliant on that subject and once he starts in on it, it’s fair impossible to get him to stop. That’s how I’d do it if I were you, as a way to warm him up before you start to ask any questions about his business.”
Legacy of the Highlands Page 16