But the problem with her leading the dance, Winter realized, was that she didn’t exactly know all the steps. How did a woman go about seducing her husband when her entire sum of experience was one single night of salacious bliss?
Winter frowned up at the dark ceiling. Wearing her old flannel pajamas to bed probably hadn’t been her brightest idea, considering they made her look about as enticing as a bag lady. And she probably should have left her hair loose instead of braiding it like she always did. Matt seemed to like playing with her hair, and she could have subtly draped it over his naked chest.
He’d undressed in the dark once she’d climbed into bed, but there had been enough moonlight coming through the windows for Winter to watch him strip down to his pants. He’d started to take them off, too, but had stopped suddenly, then climbed into bed with them on.
Matt had changed from his ancient clothing sometime while she’d been upstairs with her mama and Megan, apparently thinking it wouldn’t be wise to sit down to dinner in his plaid. Dinner had been interesting, with her mama asking Matt questions about his company and her papa alternating between listening, glaring at Matt when he wasn’t looking, and trying to disguise his discomfort by smiling at Winter. Megan had been unusually quiet, but Winter had caught her eyeing Matt more than once, apparently trying to reconcile Matt Gregor and Cùram de Gairn as one and the same.
The dishes had barely been stacked in the dishwasher before Matt had come into the kitchen and told Winter it was time they went to the hotel. Her mama had hustled Megan out of the room, leaving Winter alone to inform Matt they were spending the night at Gù Brath—in her room, in her childhood bed, not three doors down from her papa.
Winter had then patiently explained to Matt that her sisters didn’t stay in the hotel when they came home with their husbands. She’d explained that he was part of her family now, whether he liked it or not. And then she’d grown impatient and told him she was staying in her own bed tonight, and he could sleep in the barn for all she cared if he wasn’t up to claiming his rightful place as her husband in her papa’s eyes.
Pride was a surprisingly effective tool when dealing with stubborn men, Winter had quickly discovered. Matt hadn’t cared to discover he was married to an equally stubborn woman, but he had gone to his suite, showered and gotten a change of clothes, and returned to her bedroom after everyone else had retired for the night.
And now he was lying beside her, pretending to be asleep.
Winter reached down and slowly slid her pajama bottoms off, then used her feet to cram them down between the sheets. Then she unbuttoned her pajama top, sat up, shrugged it off, and dropped it on the floor.
“Why are you tossing about?” Matt asked, turning just his head over his shoulder toward her.
“I’m hot. You’re like a blast furnace.”
He rolled onto his back, took one look at her, and quickly looked up at the ceiling. “Put your clothes back on,” he growled. “If you’re hot, throw off the covers.”
Still sitting up, completely naked, Winter pulled her braid over her shoulder, took off the elastic, and slowly ran her fingers through her hair to unbraid it.
“Now what are ye doing?” he hissed, his brogue growing pronounced. “Winter,” he whispered tightly, “get dressed.”
She lay back on the pillow, fanning her hair toward him, and folded her hands over her bare stomach with a sigh. “If I’d known sleeping naked against flannel sheets felt this wonderful, I’d have done this years ago.” She wiggled deeper into the sheets, accidentally letting her leg brush Matt’s thigh. “I understand if you can’t…ah, if you can’t be husbandly tonight,” she said to the ceiling. “Or if you don’t really want me, now that I married you. Good night, then.”
“Dammit, ye don’t understand,” he snapped in a whisper. “I want ye, just not here.”
She reached over and patted his arm. “I understand. Mama explained how men’s…ah, plumbing works to all us girls growing up.”
Heavens, she was going to fry in Hades, she knew, stifling a laugh when she heard a warning growl beside her. Winter ran her hand down Matt’s tautly muscled forearm and tried to lace her fingers through his. But finding only a fist, she simply patted his hand. “We’ll go to sleep then. Mama also explained how sometimes stress can be…how it can be debilitating.”
He was on her before she could gasp, his hands gripping her hair to hold her face only inches from his. “That is not the problem,” he softly ground out.
“I can feel it’s not the problem,” she breathed as Matt’s anything but debilitated anatomy poked her thigh through his pants. She reached up and ran her own fingers through his hair until she freed it from its tether. “I want to make love to my husband,” she whispered. “But I don’t know how.”
He closed his eyes on a groan and dropped his forehead to hers. “You’re going to drive me mad, lass.”
“That’s my plan, just as soon as you teach me how,” she whispered, tilting her head back until her lips brushed his. “I’m guessing we should start by taking off your pants?”
“Does your door have a lock?”
“N-no,” she said on a shiver when Matt moved his lips down her chin toward her throat. “W-why?” she breathed, digging her fingers into his shoulders.
He leaned away to look at her, and Winter could just make out the slash of his grin. “Do you really want your papa running in here when I make you scream?”
“I won’t scream. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”
“Just like last time?”
Winter frowned up at him. “I did not scream.”
“Aye, ye did,” he whispered, leaning down and kissing her nose. “Loud enough to wake the entire forest.”
Winter felt herself blush. “I—I screamed?”
He kissed her mortified cheeks. “With abandoned pleasure, wife.” He kissed her chin. “Several times. ’Twas a wonderful sound.”
“Screaming is good, then?” she asked on an indrawn breath when his lips found the pulse on her throat and lingered and suckled gently, causing every nerve in her body to tighten with desire.
She was just sliding her toes up his legs when he was suddenly gone, leaving only the cool air of the room to rush over her heated skin. She scowled, hearing what sounded like Matt hopping from one foot to the other as he moved away. Her bathroom light snapped on, and Winter pulled the blankets to her chin as she watched her husband—utterly, beautifully naked now—walk over to the hall door and shove a chair under the knob. He walked back to her, his form in silhouette but lit just enough for her to see there wasn’t one debilitated inch of skin anywhere on his body. Saints and curses, she needed to be careful what she asked for.
“You forgot to turn out the light,” she whispered as she stared at the beckoning hand he held out to her.
“I didn’t forget.” He wiggled his fingers. “Have you changed your mind, then?”
“No,” she whispered.
Apparently tired of waiting for her to take his hand, he wrestled the blanket from her fists, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her out of bed.
“Where are we going?” she squeaked, scrambling to catch up.
“You said you wanted to learn how to drive me mad, and I’ve promised to teach you anything you want to know,” he said, dragging her into the bright bathroom even as she tried to dig in her heels. He pulled her up in front of him, standing them both facing the wall-to-wall mirror over the sink.
Winter stared into her own wide eyes, her gaze moving to Matt’s broad, tanned shoulders behind her, then up to the taut planes of his face broken only by his tight smile. She sucked in her breath and looked down when his hands slid around her waist and slowly rose to cup her breasts.
“All ye have to do, wife, is whisper that ye want me,” he said gutturally, his own gaze watching his thumbs trace circles around her aroused nipples. “A woman’s desire is a man’s greatest weakness. All she has to do is say she wants him, and he’ll move mountains to please her.”
Winter couldn’t speak, couldn’t respond other than to stare in wonder as his hands continued to caress her, lifting the weight of her breasts, covering them with his sensuous heat, rolling her puckered nipples until Winter thought she’d melt with pleasure.
She tore her eyes away and looked up, going weak in the knees when she saw the raw fire of passion burning his own cheeks as he watched not what his hands were doing, but her face. Then, with his eyes locked on hers, he wrapped an arm under her breasts and turned her to face him, lifting her up until she was sitting on the counter.
“Touch me,” he whispered, settling his hips between her thighs. He took hold of her hands and lifted them to his chest, then reached down and took hold of her hips. “Just touch me.”
Winter was amazed, and rather intrigued, to feel his muscles quivering beneath her hands. But even more amazing was the discovery that watching her fingers run over his downy-furred chest made her own body tremble with an energy that seemed to gather deep in the pit of her stomach.
“Aye,” he whispered, his hands on her hips tightening. “Never underestimate the power of sight, lass, when coupled with touch. Ye want to bring a man to his knees, just let him see the desire in yer eyes.”
She leaned in and kissed his chest, just above one nipple, then let her lips trail down until she covered it completely and gently suckled.
He pulled her hips against the solid evidence of her effect on him, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her breasts against his chest with a groan as he tugged on her hair to lift her face for his kiss. His mouth stole her breath as the heat of his body assaulted her senses. She wiggled closer, feeling the tip of his arousal intimately pushing against the moist heat of her desire.
His arms tightened, lifting her off the counter just enough so she could wrap her legs around his waist as he carefully and so maddeningly lowered her over him. Winter felt herself stretching, molding around him, the sensation so intense she moaned in pleasure.
He quickly captured the sound with his mouth and his own responding growl. He turned then, pressing her shoulders against the opposite wall. He moved his hips upward, then back slightly, then upward again, his hands on her hips holding her secure for each erotic thrust. Winter gripped his hair, her elbows on his shoulders steadying her as sensation after sensation rocketed through her.
He tore his mouth free and buried his face in her neck. “Look in the mirror,” he growled. “Watch us.”
Winter opened her eyes and looked, only to gasp at the sight of her tiny white legs wrapped around his tanned body as his firm buttocks moved against her, the muscles of his back rippling with controlled strength.
She lost all sense of herself then, transported into a world of surreal sensations as she continued to watch their intimate dance. Charges of energy swirled around them as spectrums of vivid colors gathered in a tightening vortex that suddenly exploded into pure white light.
Winter closed her eyes on a scream that was quickly captured by her husband’s mouth as his own shout of pleasure resonated through her with the force of an earthquake. He suddenly stopped moving, the pulse of his pleasure exploding against her own clenching spasms.
She had to tear her mouth free to gulp for air, but before she caught her breath she felt herself moving and could only cling to Matt’s shoulders. She moaned at the feel of him still inside her, still hard, as his strides drove him even deeper. He stepped into the shower with her wrapped around him, spun the faucet, and quickly turned to protect her from the first burst of cold spray.
She couldn’t imagine where he got the strength to function, much less continue to hold her. But in the next second all manner of thought eluded Winter, as Matt pressed her against the shower’s back wall and began moving inside her again.
Their erotic dance was slightly less urgent this time, as he pulled nearly out and slowly eased deeply inside her again. She clung to his shoulders as he leaned away, and stared into his eyes as she felt the sensitive tips of her breasts move against the soft hairs on his chest. And then Matt reached down between them, and with his eyes locked firmly on hers, touched her most intimately.
Winter tried to keep looking at him, to watch his expressive golden eyes watching her, but her lids dropped with her moan of surrender as he skillfully worked his magic. She felt herself tightening around him again, felt the returning vortex contract with building energy—which suddenly released with another burst of sizzling white light.
Winter captured her own scream this time by pressing her mouth into Matt’s shoulder as pulse after pleasurable pulse wracked her body. She went limp as a noodle, not even caring if Matt had the strength to carry her full weight. Heck, if he did drop her, she’d just slither like melted butter down the shower drain.
“And that, wife,” he whispered raggedly against her mist-dampened hair, “is the quickest way to drive me mad.”
“You didn’t warn me that I’d be doing myself in at the same time,” she muttered into his shoulder. She didn’t know where she found the strength, but she leaned back to look at him, and even managed to smile. “That was decadent,” she said with a shake of her head. “In my wildest dreams, I never once thought about doing it in front of a mirror and actually watching. You’re a—”
He stepped back into the spray of the shower, forcing Winter to snap her mouth shut before she drowned. “No name-calling,” he said, slowly lowering her feet to the floor and holding her until she was steady. “Gather your hair and hold it up to stay dry.”
She did as he said, turning her back on the spray, only to yelp when she felt Matt’s soapy hands slide up her ribs. “Shhh,” he said, lathering her up—quite thoroughly—his fingers gliding over every inch of her body. Winter closed her eyes and fought down the blush heating her face, but then suddenly smiled, realizing that surely she was expected to return the favor.
Chapter Twenty-two
It didn’t happen very often, but every once in a while the universe somehow managed to surprise him. This time, however, Matt felt as if he’d been totally blind-sided.
Pendaär’s heir wasn’t anything like he’d expected when he’d made his plans to seduce Winter MacKeage. To begin with, she was more beautiful than he was prepared to deal with, and vivacious and vexing and vibrantly sexy. She was also more stubborn than he cared for, and far more intelligent than he needed her to be. She was willful and spoiled and self-confident, and simply too damned optimistic for his liking.
And then there was the fact that she had come up with her own way to help Kenzie, which Matt feared was headed on a collision course with his own carefully devised plans. She seemed far too confident that she could not only grant his brother’s wish, but somehow save mankind while she was at it. Oh yes, she was definitely more optimistic than Matt liked, and he was afraid that when she failed she would be devastated.
And for some reason, the thought of Winter being devastated was more than even his cold, dead heart could handle.
Matt kept his eyes closed to mere slits as he watched his once-again scheming wife come sneaking out of the bathroom while leaving the light on and the door cracked so she could see well enough to rummage through his clothes. It wasn’t quite four in the morning, a good two hours before sunrise, but Winter was fully dressed in outdoor attire, her hair neatly braided and carrying her boots in her hand. While she’d been quietly dressing in the bathroom, Matt had gotten up and thrown on the spare set of clothes he’d brought from the hotel, and was himself fully dressed under the covers.
He watched with curious patience, trying not to notice how cute her backside was when she bent over, as she finally had to set down her boots to find what she was looking for. Matt knew he’d guessed right when she straightened holding his fountain pen and her sketch pencil. She turned just enough for the light to shine on her prizes, and Matt stifled a smile as he watched her examine his pen. She finally held it up next to her pencil, seemingly comparing the two, and frowned as she suddenly gave them both a violent sh
ake. When nothing happened other than ink spurting all over her hand, she tucked the pencil in her jacket pocket, replaced his messy pen back in his own jacket, and straightened back up holding her boots. She tiptoed to the bedroom door, carefully pulled the chair free that he’d propped under the knob, and opened the door and peeked into the hall.
Matt had a pretty good idea where she was going, and why, and he had no intention of letting her go alone. He waited for several seconds, giving Winter time to get downstairs, then threw back the covers, grabbed his own boots and jacket, and stepped into the hall. He was just sneaking past the last door by the stairs when he stepped on a squeaky board and went utterly still.
The door opened and Greylen MacKeage appeared in the doorway, also fully dressed and his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve a good notion where she’s going,” Grey said in a soft growl. “And I’ll follow her to make sure she’s okay.”
“With all respect, MacKeage, she’s my responsibility now,” Matt said just as softly, “and I’ll tag along behind her without interfering.”
“Ye may have to interfere,” Grey said. “It won’t be a pretty scene when she explains who she married.”
“She survived yesterday well enough,” Matt returned softly. “In fact, I’m thinking she came away completely unscathed, which is more than I can say for the rest of us.”
Grey’s grin slashed white in the dimly lit hall. “That’s because she’s a MacKeage, and we do like our victories.”
“Was a MacKeage,” Matt said. “She’s a Gregor now.”
“And here I thought her Sutter genes were keeping her one step ahead of you men,” Grace said, moving up beside her husband and smiling at Matt. “Be patient with her, and learn to trust her,” she suggested. “She loves Daar and needs to talk to him. And he would cut off his arm before he’d harm her.”
Only With a Highlander Page 24