For within the blink of an eye, she had dressed and was opening the door to the corridor. With a single backward glance – one Alasdair fortunately had anticipated – she slipped out into the silent establishment.
Alasdair waited only to hear her footsteps fade before he rolled out of bed. His prey gleamed in the lock of the bathroom door. He captured that cursed key in one smooth move, padded across the room, and flung it out the window. It flashed in the pale morning light, then disappeared, never to be seen again.
Well satisfied with what he had wrought, Alasdair resumed his sleeping pose and waited to see what the sorceress would do next.
He did not have long to wait.
*
Morgan refused to think about how early it was when she came to a stop outside the door to Room 11.
Surely Justine wouldn’t mind? This was important, after all.
But Morgan had a funny feeling her sister wouldn’t see things that way. The DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging jauntily from the door knob made her hesitate.
Still, her point of view counted. This was Morgan’s vacation, too. Despite Justine’s obvious matchmaking, Morgan didn’t want to spend her holiday locked into a romantic bed-and-breakfast in the highlands of Scotland with a wildly attractive man bent on seducing her.
That didn’t sound quite right, but Morgan knew it was true anyway. She raised one hand to knock on the door.
And froze as the squeak of a mattress carried clearly through the door.
It squeaked again.
And again.
The rocking rhythm was pretty unmistakable.
Morgan chewed her lip, her fist an inch away from the door. Did she want to get out of here badly enough to interrupt a Moment of Potential Procreation?
She grimaced and backed against the far wall, thinking furiously. What was the rush? After all, Alasdair was still out cold.
Blake and Justine couldn’t “do it” forever. Morgan was sure Blake had other items on his agenda for the day.
Maybe this would be a good chance to zip back to the room and have a shower.
Morgan hadn’t washed her hair the night before and it needed it. On a sunny morning like this, being without a blow dryer wasn’t necessarily a precursor to pneumonia.
Plus she’d be all ready to go when Justine agreed.
The bucking tempo of the mattress squeaks increased and a slight moan escaped under the door. Morgan had the sudden, quite definite sense that this was not exactly where she wanted to be.
A shower. Alasdair would sleep right through it, and she’d be back here in half an hour. At least Morgan knew that Justine and Blake were already awake.
There was nothing more to worry about, she told herself as she returned to her room. The closer she got to Room 7, the faster her own pulse raced. But her sleeping potion had worked on Alasdair, Morgan knew it.
And besides, she could lock the bathroom door.
*
At least, she could have locked the bathroom door if the key had been anywhere in sight.
But it wasn’t.
Morgan looked high and low, careful not to make any noise that might disturb her sleeping companion. No luck. The key had disappeared.
What had she done with it? Morgan propped her hands on her hips and glared around the room, willing the errant key to reveal itself.
But the fact was, she couldn’t remember where she had put it. She thought she’d left it in the door, but that couldn’t be the case. She had been so intent on checking on Alasdair and making sure she hadn’t killed him that it was entirely possible she’d absently set it down somewhere else. The rhythmic sound of his deep breathing distracted her even now. Morgan stared at Alasdair and tapped her toe, halfway feeling that this was his fault.
With increasing irritation, Morgan checked the desk, the end table, the floor under the bed, even the closet. She had a rummage through the dirty dishes still waiting outside the door, but the key was gone.
It was old news that Morgan would lose her head if it wasn’t screwed on. Frustration rolled through her but there was nothing she could do about it.
The damn key was probably somewhere “safe”. Morgan would find it in her luggage the next time she planned a trip, or something equally stupid. It happened to her all the time.
But what about her shower?
Morgan eyed Alasdair with uncertainty, feeling as if her scalp was itching. Her hair wasn’t that dirty, but now that she’d thought of having a shower, she wanted one. Badly. Did she dare to take a chance?
As though he had heard her very thoughts, Alasdair nuzzled his pillow, then rolled to face the wall and started to snore softly.
Well, that decided that. Morgan smiled. Alasdair wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon, that was for sure. She had really knocked him out cold. With luck, he might even sleep most of the day, and she could work, too.
Maybe this hotel hadn’t been such a bad idea, after all. Morgan picked up her toiletry bag and bustled purposefully toward the shower, merrily thinking up baby names to suggest to Justine.
It was, at best, a poorly calculated risk.
*
Chapter Eleven
Alasdair rolled over in time to see the sorceress stroll into the bathing chamber. She pushed the door closed with one toe and when he heard her clothing hit the floor, he smiled to himself.
As soon as the water began to run, he was on his feet.
Alasdair cast aside his towel and stealthily made his way across the room, eying the half-closed door all the way. He flattened himself against the adjacent wall and edged toward the narrow opening.
What would Morgaine le Fee do to a man who surprised her in her bath?
Alasdair refused to think about it. He had to win her approval, he had to gain her affections, and some hard thinking had given him an idea of precisely how to manage the deed. The lady was wary of men, that much was certain, and ’twas clear she had been poorly used in the past.
But Alasdair had a plan. He took a deep breath, tried to slow the pounding of his heart, then peeked around the corner.
A buttock flashed creamy as the sorceress stepped into her bath. That cascade of dark hair bounced behind her and Alasdair caught a glimpse of her face.
Had she seen him?
Alasdair snapped back against the wall and held his breath. His heart thundered with the certainty that he had been discovered. His fists clenched and he half-expected Morgaine to explode out of the chamber to smite him.
But instead she began to sing quietly.
’Twas clear she had little confidence in her voice, for she sang softly, but Alasdair strained his ears and was delighted to recognize the tune he had sung just the night before.
He needed no more incentive to round the corner on silent feet.
A curtain was drawn round the tub, the water was running merrily and steam rose toward the ceiling. Alasdair could faintly discern the enchantress’s silhouette behind the curtain and his mouth went dry. He would have but one chance.
He had best put his all into this.
*
To say Morgan was shocked when someone eased the shower curtain open would be the understatement of the century.
The curtain moved, Morgan squealed, she dropped the soap at the sudden draft of cooler air. Her mouth gaped when she found a naked Alasdair eyeing her with steely determination.
What was he doing awake?
Had he guessed what she had done? Morgan took a wary step backward, her foot landed square on the soap and she yelped as her feet flew out from underneath her.
Alasdair swore mightily and before Morgan could panic, she was snatched up and trapped against a very firm, very masculine chest. Her hands landed on his shoulders, because there was really nowhere else for them to go.
And a powerful arm locked around her waist.
Morgan refused to think about anything she could feel below that, but her nipples tightened instantly, nestled as they were in the thick tawny hair on Alasdair’s chest.
Her heart pounded so erratically that she was sure he would feel it. Warm water rained down upon their entwined limbs and trickled between them.
Now, what was she going to do? Morgan wriggled, but Alasdair’s grip only tightened, his broad hands spanning her back. He turned and decisively closed the shower curtain behind himself and Morgan had to face the fact that a very naked highlander was in her shower to stay.
For better or for worse. She felt herself blush in consternation.
But Morgan just couldn’t look up and meet those blue eyes. If she did, she’d be lost. If she did, she’d want Alasdair to stay and that could only lead to Big Trouble.
Somehow, she had to get rid of him.
“Well, good morning! Um, did you sleep well?” Morgan tried to sound as though there was really nothing unusual about having a large, sexy man join her in the shower. The water beaded on Alasdair’s muscled shoulders in a most intriguing way, and slid through the hair on his chest like a caress.
Morgan told herself that she was only having a good look for research. Who knew when she’d have to paint a man in the rain?
Alasdair snorted and Morgan’s cheeks burned hotter with the certainty that he had guessed what she was thinking. Alasdair braced his feet against the porcelain tub and drew Morgan up to her toes. The heat of his skin pressed against her and awakened that damn tingle in her belly.
Was he going to kiss her?
Morgan kept talking to try and avoid that eventuality. “Yes, well, it was too bad you fell asleep last night, but I’m sure you’re well rested now…”
Evidence of Alasdair’s well-rested state pressed against her thighs and Morgan had a very good idea of what compensation he considered to be due.
Clearly, men only joined women in the shower for one reason - and it wasn’t to ask when breakfast would be ready. What wasn’t clear was why Morgan was having a hard time finding the idea offensive.
“Aye, I slept well enough.” The highlander’s voice was low, a thread of humor lurking in his tone. Morgan glanced up at that and was snared by the intense blue of his eyes.
“Though you had naught to do with that, hmmm?” Alasdair arched a fair brow and his lips twisted in a smile so intimate that it nearly stopped Morgan’s heart.
In fact, the whole world stopped right then and there. Morgan stared, her mouth went dry, her heart started to hammer. She felt that languorous heat slide through her that she was quickly coming to associate with Alasdair and she couldn’t have summoned a single word to save her life.
Her toe slid experimentally over his foot, then continued up the muscled length of his calf, as though it had a mind of its own and liked what it found. Morgan had the sudden sense that she had no chance in this battle - after all, her body was already on Alasdair’s side.
He looked away then, examining the shower head, then smiling down at her once more, his eyes nearly indigo with intent. “’Tis a fine circumstance for what I have in mind,” he rumbled.
And Morgan had a very good idea what that was.
Before she could convince herself that she should bolt, Alasdair bent and kissed her ear in a most distracting fashion. What little was left of Morgan’s resistance eroded dangerously.
She had to keep him talking, at least until she could collect her thoughts! “Um, well, you know, I won’t be long, and then you can have the shower all to yourself…”
“I wish only to be where you are, my lady,” Alasdair breathed into her ear.
Morgan hated that she shivered at the sensation, then she caught her breath as the highlander nibbled on her earlobe. His hands fanned across her lower back, the way his fingers spanned her waist making her feel infinitely small and delicate.
He cradled her in his arms and ran a line of kisses along her jawline. One more time, Morgan had the intoxicating sense that she was treasured and she couldn’t turn away. Such tenderness was irresistible - as was the certainty that one word of protest from her would stop the whole interlude cold.
But Morgan was honest enough to admit that she didn’t really want him to stop. When Alasdair’s mouth locked over her own in gentle demand, Morgan actually heard herself sigh with satisfaction.
And every single argument she had went AWOL. Alasdair’s hand closed possessively over her breast, his thumb sliding across her taut nipple until Morgan arched against him. His hand eased lower, the other one cupping her buttock, then he ducked to flick his tongue across her nipple. Morgan gasped and clenched fistfuls of his hair as Alasdair suckled.
Morgan thought she would explode. A throbbing took up the beat between her thighs and her wandering toes slid over his knee.
Alasdair groaned and lifted her, holding her against the tiles so that her feet dangled freely. He lifted her errant foot, caressing her instep before placing that foot on his thigh. His kisses distracted and disoriented Morgan, and she could do no more than hang on to his broad shoulders and enjoy.
Which wasn’t so bad. Morgan writhed when Alasdair’s strong fingers slid over her thigh, across her hip, then through her pubic hair, but he was undeterred. His fingertip landed with gentle assurance on her throbbing clitoris and moved with a surety that stole her breath away.
And Morgan couldn’t find it anywhere within herself to fight this amorous assault. She had never had anyone touch her with such tender persistence, had never had any man awaken such longing within her. Alasdair’s thumb locked onto the nub of her desire and caressed her with slow persuasiveness.
Morgan kissed Alasdair with newfound abandon as her hands slid over his strength. To her amazement, he moaned into her kiss. When Morgan felt the heat of his erection press against her, her hips began to buck in intuitive demand.
His finger slipped inside her and Morgan caught her breath. Their gazes locked and Alasdair smiled slowly as he moved his thumb once more. Morgan’s heart thundered, the heat rose beneath her skin, and she couldn’t look away from the hypnotic sapphire of his gaze. The rocked together in instinctive rhythm, the water bore down upon them, and Morgan felt the crest of a wave rise deep within her.
She must have given some small sign, because Alasdair captured her lips in that very moment. He trapped her between the wall and his chest, his scent filling her lungs, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers inside her. Morgan writhed demandingly, pulling him closer, wanting more, wanting all he could give her.
Alasdair slanted his mouth across hers, his fingers danced with persistence. Morgan cried out as her orgasm exploded through her body with dizzying force.
And she sagged against Alasdair, trembling, in the wake of the torrent he had summoned.
*
It took several moments for Morgan to realize that things were not proceeding exactly as she had expected. Gradually, the haze retreated from her mind and she noticed that amorous intent had left the highlander’s touch.
When her pulse slowed, Morgan found herself standing on her own two feet with Alasdair busily soaping her down. Her breasts were all lathered up, as were her arms and belly. But it was obvious from the deft purpose in Alasdair’s touch that this wasn’t some game – he was simply washing her.
It wasn’t what Morgan had expected to happen next. She frowned and looked but his erection was just as enthusiastic as ever. Before she could ask what was going on, Alasdair pivoted her purposefully beneath the cascading water, and she sputtered for a moment beneath its flow.
“Rinse,” he commanded. “Then bend over that I might scrub your back.”
Morgan did as she was told, still trying to make sense of what was happening. His fingers were turning the tense muscles of her back to putty, but she knew she didn’t imagine that his mood had changed. Morgan sighed as Alasdair found the souvenir kink that an afternoon of sleeping in the Micra had left in her shoulder, but she forced herself to ask.
“What are you doing?”
“Bathing you, my lady.” Alasdair’s tone was amiable. “Was that not why you came to this chamber?”
Morgan couldn’t really argue
with that. “Well, yes.” His thumbs moved rhythmically against the knot, and Morgan closed her eyes with pleasure. She let herself enjoy his ministrations and savored the luxurious feeling of being pampered.
By a rough warrior. Morgan smiled at the contrast, then gasped in delight as Alasdair scratched her shoulders. She stretched like a cat, directed him left, right, and down, and knew she had never felt so good.
“Rinse,” he commanded again and Morgan straightened as bidden. When the highlander squatted down in front of her and started to lather up her legs, Morgan eyed him assessingly.
What was going on?
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked tentatively.
Alasdair’s grin was fleeting. “That would be my question,” he joked, then flicked a glance at her that was so intent, it stole her breath away. “Were you well pleased?”
Morgan flushed scarlet. “Well, yes.”
“Good.” Alasdair nodded and frowned slightly as he focused on the task at hand. He worked the soap between each toe, then rinsed her foot before placing it back on the porcelain. Then he lifted her other foot.
“Um, what about you?”
One fair brow arched. “I can wait well enough,” Alasdair murmured, and Morgan couldn’t help but wonder how long he intended to wait.
Was he just softening her up for a big sensual attack? Morgan wondered whether she was the only one feeling awkward – Alasdair certainly didn’t seem to have any doubts about how things should proceed.
His erection seemed to be mocking her, dancing between his thighs as he moved, as though daring her to ask about it being so obviously left out of the loop.
Then Alasdair pushed her under the shower’s assault and Morgan closed her eyes. She felt the weight of the water in her hair, then Alasdair’s strong fingers began to massage her scalp.
She was being spoiled. Morgan decided not to worry about what was to come, but just to enjoy. The hum between her thighs was already starting again as Alasdair’s hands worked through her hair.
Time Travel Romances Boxed Set Page 54