Callum

by Melissa Schroeder

  "What? Just spit it out."

  Her eyes widened. "You were born in the year 1730?"

  "Yes."

  "And you fought at the Battle of Culloden? That would make you fifteen at that time."

  He shrugged. "It was a different time."

  She stepped forward and shook her head. "No. Well, yes, it was. But you were to be laird. Even then they would have known it would be your role. They would have not let you fight. You were the oldest cousin, and still young for something like that."

  He sighed. "I defied my father. My grandfather."

  "You went without permission."

  He shrugged again. "Of course. Every other young man was going." And he could still remember the irritation and embarrassment of being left behind. He had friends leaving who were just months older than he, but they were allowed to prove their masculinity.

  She stepped closer. "Yes, I agree. And I know there were a lot of young men who did. But someone like you, in line to run the clan, you would not always be taken. You would be left behind to ensure that the line would last."

  "I wanted to go."

  She nodded in understanding. "How did you do it?"

  "I stole away in one of the supply wagons. I was prepared, I had been trained so there was no reason not to go." The memory of that trip, of the fear of the battle to come, and the anger of his father flashed through his mind.

  "You broke a rule."

  "Yes."

  "And you would have been witness to some horrible things,” she murmured. “What happened?"

  “What?”

  “You went, and from what I just read, you were the only one who survived. Actually, it was thought you had died with your father and uncles. So, what happened?”

  "I was injured, knocked unconscious. I didn't wake up until we were on a ship to the continent."

  She opened her mouth but he’d had enough. His skin was crawling, and he itched from the inside out.

  "Don't you have anything to say? Anything outside of the realm of your bloody studies that would be interesting to you? Do you always think like an encyclopedia?"

  Her face whitened. "I'm very sorry. I have been accused of that before. I understand that I seem cold to most men. It is the only way I know how to work."

  He finally saw beyond his own hurt and saw her. The pain in her tone and her gaze told him that he had said something to injure her. It was the one thing he didn’t want to do.

  "I apologize. I dinna mean it like that.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I feel like a freak."

  "A freak?" Her gaze softened, and her voice faltered when she spoke next. "You are far from a freak. You're..."

  She shook her head as if afraid to speak her mind.

  "What?"

  She stepped up closer to him. He could feel the warmth of her body and breathe in the sweet scent of her. The only thing that came to mind was that she was close enough to grab.

  "You're a treasure." Her tone was filled with admiration and wonder.

  "A treasure?" he asked, trying to ignore the way she was looking at him.

  "You know what you are?"

  He shook his head, unable to speak.

  "You're a bloody Celtic legend. Living, breathing...a treasure."

  He heard the interest, but it still rubbed him raw.

  "I am a man. A real man. Flesh and blood and just like every man out there."

  She shook her head. "For years you have held the family together. You’re the one who keeps them safe."

  Dammit, he didn’t want this. Not now. "Don't mistake me, Phoebe. I am no saint."

  She smiled. "Saints don't have the control you do."

  Uncomfortable with her almost hero-worship gaze, he said, "You're believing in fairy tales, lass. You have no idea what I have done to keep the family together."

  She nodded. "And the servants?"

  "No. They live normal lives."

  "But you make sure they have a living, keep the clan together. I noticed that many of the servants are loyal beyond what you’d expect of a regular servant. Especially Belvidore."

  "Yes. ‘Tis my duty."

  "You keep saying that, but that shows just what a remarkable man you are. You have so much money. In your lifetime, even in your extended lifetime, you couldn't spend it all. A lesser man would run off, live it up. You stay. You take care.” Her smile faded. “I know personally I would never match up. I've done things in my life that are questionable even for me, but for you they would be unthinkable. You would never do it."

  She looked so sad, so lost. It was enough to push him over the edge. He didn't want her thinking he was some kind of saint who did everything right.

  "Dammit, Phoebe, I am not some kind of hero to be worshiped. Like I said, I am a man." Unable to keep his hands off her, he grabbed her by the upper arms and tried to shake some sense into her. "Don't think I can't be ruthless. Test me on it and you’ll regret it."

  She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek. The touch sent sparks of heat racing through his blood. The smile she offered him sunk into his soul, fed his need.

  "But don't you see? That is what makes you extraordinary. Most men would use it to their advantage. You do it to protect. It makes you one of the most wonderful men I have ever known."

  Tears simmered in her eyes, and it hit him then that she meant it. That it wasn't some kind of hero worship. She admired him for who he was, what he was. It was more than he had ever had from another woman in his life.

  With a groan, he yanked her against him and crushed his mouth against hers. The taste of her exploded within him and drove the craving he had for her to new heights. In this one moment, he wanted nothing else than this. To feel her lips on his, taste her desire on his tongue. When he pulled back, they were both breathing heavily.

  The tears had dissolved and passion now filled her gaze.

  "Phoebe?" he asked, his voice raw with need.

  She shook her head, and his heart sank. She might want him, but she wasn’t going to take another chance on him. Then, she slid her hands up his arms and over his shoulders. Rising to her toes, she kissed his chin. She gave him a brilliant smile that stole his breath.

  “Take me to bed, Callum."

  Chapter Ten

  For a moment, Callum didn’t move. Phoebe waited, her breath backing up in her lungs at the intensity in his blue gaze. Then, he crushed his mouth to hers. Desperate need filled Phoebe as she tasted it on Callum’s tongue. She had never had a man act as if she were the only thing in the world he needed. Phoebe's world spun as Callum lifted her into his arms and then turned to almost race to his bed. He practically threw her on the bed, and she laughed as she bounced on the mattress. He gave her no time to catch her breath. He slipped over her body, pinning her against the bed. He kept his eyes open as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her heart was pounding so hard that she thought she would pass out. Gently, almost reverently, he kissed her. First softly, sweetly, almost too sweetly. She slipped her tongue over his lips. He groaned her name then closed his eyes and took her mouth in a hot, wet kiss. She closed her eyes and let herself be taken.

  As with every time before this one, she was lost in the kiss, in him. Even before she knew about him, she was enthralled. Now, knowing the man, knowing what he was, she was beyond enthralled.

  He pulled back then slipped his hand down the front of her shirt to cup her breast. With those wicked hands, he unbuttoned her shirt. He pushed the fabric aside and sighed.

  "No woman was made so perfectly for me as you."

  She must have made a sound because he looked up at her with narrowed eyes. "What? You doubt me?"

  "I know my appeal is limited."

  He shook his head. "You aren't a very smart woman. All those Ph D's taught you nothing. But I am going to teach you more than you need to know."

  He bent his head and grazed his mouth on the sensitive skin that rose above her plain cotton bra. Sparks of heat lighted through her blood. Bloody hell, the man was barely touc
hing her and she was already losing control.

  He slipped his tongue between her breasts, and she shivered. Without removing her bra, he moved his mouth over her breast, teasing her nipple. By the time he was done, she was squirming and her bra was damp. He lifted himself from her then undid her bra. He pulled off her skirt, pantyhose, and panties, and she found herself laying there naked while he was still fully clothed.

  She opened her mouth, but he shook his head.

  "No. No modesty. He slipped down her body, caressing her with his hands, his mouth. As always, she responded, but this time, the connection was stronger, the need almost overwhelming. He slipped off the bed and pulled her to the edge and without waiting, set his mouth against her sex.

  Wave upon wave of heat rolled through her. Desire spiked as he continued the sensual assault. Soon he stood abruptly. He tore at his clothes until he was standing in front of her completely nude. Lord, the man would never cease to amaze her. Sinewy muscle encased with the most amazing golden skin. How did he get every inch of himself to look like he walked around in the sun naked?

  His erection jutted out a drop of his pre-come wetting the head. Unable to resist, she lifted her hand to his cock. She wrapped her fingers around him, and he groaned. With one stroke, he shuddered. Having this kind of control over him was an empowering feeling. She leaned forward and took him in her mouth. Before long, he was pulling her back. He grabbed a condom, donned it, then covered her with his body.

  He entered her with one hard thrust, and she moaned in pleasure. She had never been so completely taken by a man before.

  "Sorry, love," he said, then he gave her a gentle kiss. "I can't seem to control myself around you."

  She shook her head. "I don't want you to."

  He groaned and dropped his head and started to move. With each thrust, she felt his passion rise, grow, pushed to the edge. He rose to his knees, and taking her by the hips, he thrust deeper, harder.

  "Phoebe, look at me."

  She couldn't obey the order.

  "Now, look at me," he fairly shouted.

  With much work, she did as ordered. His eyes were intense, the stark lines on his face easy to see.

  "You are the only woman to know me, know the real me."

  The intensity in his voice, in his gaze had panic backing up in her chest. Fear clogged her throat so she couldn't talk.

  "You are in my soul, and I am in yours."

  He continued to thrust into her, pushing her higher than she had ever really been before. She shook her head again, unable to accept what he said. She loved him, loved him beyond anything, but he would hate her soon enough. She couldn't let him think there would be anything else.

  He wouldn’t accept it.

  "You're mine, Phoebe. Mine to love, mine to keep. We are one for now and forever."

  He thrust into her hard, pushing her over the edge. Her body convulsed as her orgasm took her to new heights. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. As she felt herself coming down from it, he was still moving, still pushing her. She hadn't recovered from the first orgasm when she felt herself thrust into another one. She screamed his name this time, and his fingers dug into her skin. He followed her that time, thrusting into her one last time.

  He collasped on top of her a few minutes later.

  "Sorry, love, but I think you killed me."

  She laughed and wrapped her arms around him. He raised himself to his elbows and gently pushed the hair from her face.

  "I meant it, Phoebe. I'll never let you go."

  She shook her head. "Don't say things like that. I've done things that would make you hate me."

  He frowned, and she knew she needed to explain. She had just about outed them to McWalton, given the bastard man the key to keeping the Lennons stuck in their immortality. Knowing that angered and shamed her. She hated to ruin this, but she needed to tell him. But when she opened her mouth, he shook his head.

  "No, love. Your past is not as important as the future."

  He bent his head and kissed her then.

  Chapter Eleven

  In the soft glow of the morning light, Callum watched Phoebe sleep. There were mornings he’d cursed the sun. Now, though, he felt blessed because it meant another day with Phoebe—another chance to taste her passion. He’d lost count of the times they’d made love somewhere in the middle of the night. Every time he had turned to her, she had been willing, loving, and so accepting of him. For the first time in over two centuries he felt complete in bed with a woman. She knew him, and he could let her see everything. He was so bloody sick of hiding his true self.

  He wanted to wake her again, but she was finally sleeping. He knew she was exhausted from the dark circles beneath her green eyes.

  "If you keep staring at me like that, I am never going to get any sleep."

  Her voice was filled with sleepy amusement, and he couldn’t help but smile.

  "Sorry, love, but I've wanted you in my bed since the moment I met you."

  She opened her eyes. "Don't try to bam me."

  "’Tis true. What do you think that moment was in my office? Hell, I was ready to ravish you on my desk in front of my cousins."

  She studied him for a second. "And you didn't like it."

  No, he hadn't. Mainly because it scared the living hell out of him, but he wasn't about to admit that to her.

  "No. It was disrespectful."

  She chuckled. "You're so old fashioned."

  "It's because I am old."

  She snuggled deeper under the covers and closed her eyes again. "I wasn't sure if I would be ready to be involved with another older man."

  "Your husband was older?"

  She nodded.

  "And your other lovers?"

  "There were no other lovers. Just my husband."

  He stared at her for a second, unable to fathom what she had just told him. This woman was so sensual it knocked him on his ass. To think that she had no other lovers than he and her husband was well…unthinkable.

  "You’re bamming me."

  She laughed, but it was tinged with sadness. "I was a geek. Worse, I was at university when I was in my teens. I would not wish that on anyone. I was going through puberty while most of my classmates were going to clubs. Boys my age were not about to ask a college girl out, especially one like me. My husband was my first and only until you."

  "It's hard to believe with your passion that you've never been with anyone else."

  "First, I wasn't so...passionate with my husband. We had issues. And secondly, it is hard to find someone on a dig that isn't afraid of my parents. When I was younger, no one wanted to mess with their daughter. It could mean they would lose their jobs. Now, they are usually working for me. My friend Izzy said they are intimidated by me."

  “What about men outside your profession?”

  She sighed as she opened her eyes. “I don’t have a lot of time to date.”

  It was starting to make sense now. She seemed to be surprised by her desires, as if she were a virgin when he met her. But...

  "You were married."

  The lightness dimmed from her eyes a little more, and he wanted to call back the words. He knew her marriage had not been a good one.

  "I was so young when we married. So...unworldly."

  "I find that hard to believe. You grew up all over the world."

  "No, I didn't. I grew up on digs. That is completely different. I was very sheltered as I grew up. I never went to school with other kids until college. I was surrounded by adults who were either afraid of my parents or in awe of a ten-year-old who could speak five languages and had a higher IQ than most adults."

  "It was lonely." It wasn't a question. He could hear it in her voice.

  "Yes. I guess it was, in a way. I had every advantage when it came to education.”

  But they didn’t love her. Or it didn’t sound like it. The way she spoke of her parents made him think she saw herself as a separate entity instead of a unit.

  �
�It made me unable to spot a snake in the grass. Simon wasn't a very good husband, although my parents picked him out for me."

  "Sounds archaic."

  She laughed. "Yes, it was. It wasn't arranged, but I found out later on they brought him on the dig in hopes we would find each other attractive."

  "And I guess you did."

  She shrugged and closed her eyes again. "Do we have to talk about this? It is all very embarrassing."

  "Not if you don't want to. I just wanted to understand you more. Know you."

  The moment he said it, he knew it was true. He had never really wanted to know everything about a woman until he met Phoebe. Now, he needed to understand her, know what made her tick. He wanted to know every bit of her life, no matter how painful it was.

  "At first it was wonderful. Simon knew just how to romance me. It wasn't until about two years into our marriage that I discovered I wasn't really his type."

  "What was his type?"

  "Stupid and blonde. The stupider the better. I wanted a divorce. We separated, and I went to file for divorce. In reality, at that time it was very civil. Then, he got sick, cancer. They gave him a year, he lasted seven months."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. It was the worse seven months of my life. He was very angry with his condition, and he took it out on me."

  Anger surged and he felt his hands fist.

  "He hurt you."

  Her eyes shot open. "No, there was no abuse. He was much better at words, not physical confrontations. He let me know just how unhappy he was in the marriage. With me, with the marriage bed, with me in it."

  Now it was starting to make sense. A man like that probably looked at her as a way to make more points for himself. Bloody Sassenach. Only a damned coward would blame his infidelities on his wife. There was more she wasn’t telling him, more she was hiding,, but he didn’t want to push her anymore. She was laying there, looking sad and embarrassed, and he couldn't take it.

  He bent his head and kissed her nose. "He was a bloody fool, love."

  She cupped his cheek, and he moved to her mouth, gently pressing his lips against hers. The soft kiss expanded, lengthened. With each caress he tried to show her just how he felt. He wasn't a man who could always tell people how he felt about them. So he would show her. His blood heated, his body responded. All she had to do was look at him and he wanted her. Having her in his bed was a fantasy come to life. Every taste he had of her bound him to her tighter.