by Ann Gimpel
Kat laughed. It felt good to let mirth roll through her and mingle with desire. “What about you screaming my name, huh? It’s not the 1700s anymore. The definition of manly has undergone some serious revisions.”
His face split into a grin, and then he laughed along with her. When he got control of himself, he said, “Aye, and thank all the bloody saints for that, eh? ’Twasn’t much fun being a man in those days.”
“Funner than being a woman,” she countered. “No rights. Seen and not heard. Layers of stiff, uncomfortable clothing that only got washed every couple of months. Shall I go on?”
“Nay.” He teased a track up her back until he rubbed her neck beneath her tangled hair. “Third door on the left and all the way through to the bathroom.”
She hated to let go of him for even long enough to clean up. Maybe because she hesitated, he swept one arm beneath her knees and carried her down the hall and through the indicated door. It opened before them, no doubt prodded by a magical assist.
A large room set into a corner of the upper floor spread before her. Windows spanning two sides offered a warm welcome, or they would if the sun ever came out in northern Scotland. Decorated in earth tones with wall hangings depicting warriors fighting while magic flashed around them, the room felt alive, much as the house did. A bed piled with colorful duvets and pillows was tucked into a corner. The other side of the room held an enormous carved teak desk laden with computer equipment. Behind it sat shelves holding books and scrolls, many of which she assumed were very old.
“It took me a while,” she murmured, thinking about her own juncture where modern ran up against ancient.
“What did?” He hadn’t shown any sign of letting go of her as he crossed the room.
“To come to terms with medieval scrolls and the fastest computer I can afford coexisting in the same space. It still feels sacrilegious, somehow.”
“Know what you mean. We’re kindred spirits in that regard. Probably in a whole lot of other ones too.” He grinned engagingly and ducked through a door at the end of the room into an expansive bathroom. Acres of hand-painted, cream-colored tiles stretched across ledges and a sunken tub set into the center of the floor. He deposited her on her feet in front of a glassed-in shower enclosure. After sliding her jacket from her shoulders, he draped it over a hook.
She did the same with his coat, stretching onto her toes to drag it off his shoulders. She was too anxious to get to the buttons of his shirt to scoop the tweed coat off the floor, so she left it where it lay. His attention was on her silk blouse. He undid a couple of buttons before dragging his hand downward. The other half dozen buttons gave way, bouncing across the floor.
“I’ll buy you another,” he said, his voice rough with need.
“Doesn’t matter.”
She wanted him to sound that way, as if getting down to skin eclipsed everything. She was only partway done with his shirt when he batted her hands away and dragged it over his head, not bothering to undo the rest of it.
Kat’s eyes widened at the vista of copper-gold skin. Puckered nipples were surrounded by dark hair. She bent forward and licked one. He made the growling, gasping sound again, so she did the same thing to the other one. His shoulders were studies in lean, shapely muscle that wound down his arms. The tented-out trousers that rode low on his hips accentuated his flat stomach. She shrugged her shirt off her shoulders. Before she could reach around to undo her bra, he beat her to it. As soon as her breasts were free, he undid her pants, patting the zipper before he jerked it down.
She was having a hard time finding words, but that zipper had saved her from being raped, and she understood exactly why he’d patted it. Her pants pooled around her feet, and she remembered her boots.
The heat of his gaze bored into her, kindling need so intense her head spun. “Boots,” she mumbled. Arlen knelt before her, undoing each one and steadying her so he could pull them off.
“You’re spoiling me,” she managed through vocal cords clotted with lust.
“Ye deserve to be spoiled, lass.” The husky rasp that had punctuated his last words deepened. He unlaced his boots, toeing them off once he stood.
Kat reached for his belt. Once it was unhooked, she addressed the fastenings on his pants. They slid down his legs, revealing shorts that did nothing to conceal his erection. He was huge, beautiful, perfect. She’d known but laying eyes on him made it real. She reached for him, but he shook his head.
“Into the shower, wench.” He pushed his underwear down his legs before making a grab for the thong she’d forgotten about, maybe because it had melded to her. A tug and it joined the rest of their clothing scattered across the tile floor.
The shower was lined with the same beautiful, delicate painted tiles. Kat bet they were worth a fortune. She touched the electronic keypad, and water shot from nozzles above and beside her. Arlen slid in next to her, making adjustments so the spray pattern mostly fell from above.
She wove her arms around him as water beat down on them, but he grasped her wrists, unraveling her hold on him. “We’ve gotten this far. By god, we’re going to wash off all the 1700s muck.” He reached over her and pumped liquid soap that smelled heavenly. Roses and mint and cinnamon. Even better, once he’d rubbed his hands together, he slathered the creamy product across her breasts and belly and back, working it into her skin.
“In the interest of expediency,” she murmured, almost too hot to think, and took her own handfuls of soap. Touching him was exquisite. His skin came alive beneath her fingertips, and she couldn’t resist coating the length of his cock with bubbly suds. After giving her a look that could have melted stone, he turned around, and she worked soap down the length of his back, kneading the muscled globes of his high, tight ass. She’d always loved men’s behinds, and his was the finest she’d seen.
He changed the spray’s direction, so it blasted them from the sides, washing the sudsy residue away. “Finally”—he cupped one of her breasts, rolling the nipple—“no more waiting.”
Bending, he took her breast in his mouth, sucking hard. Sensation shot through her as he moved from breast to breast. She closed a hand around his erection, working him from base to tip and teasing the velvety head. He groaned and straightened, backing her into a corner. Warm ceramic tiles pressed against her back as he lifted her, balancing her thighs on his forearms.
Kat wrapped her thighs around his waist and her arms around his neck. She felt the blunt, huge head of him, pressed against her vault and writhed to draw him inside. True to his earlier words, he plumbed her slowly, ever so slowly, letting her stretch to accommodate his girth. Her clit was so swollen, so distended with lust, she jammed it against him as he sank into her. Before he even hit bottom, she dissolved around him in a flood of heat and contractions.
He crooned to her in Gaelic. Lusty words that had no counterpart in English. She lapped them up, rubbing her hard nipples against his chest. His arm muscles flexed beneath her thighs as he raised her until just the tip of him remained inside. She wanted to scream at him to move, goddammit, but he took his time lowering her back onto him as the shower poured down around them.
She gripped him tighter with her thighs and began a dance of her own. She couldn’t manage full thrusts, but she could do half ones. The bottom of each stroke tormented her clit until another climax circled, pushing her toward its crest. Sex, heat, and lust pummeled her from all sides. She’d never been so aroused. Never needed a man this much.
Arlen was moving faster now, his breath hot on her neck as he bit and licked her, moving from her lips to her cheeks to her neck and back again. She grappled with his shoulder blades, raking him with her nails as another climax rocketed through her. She didn’t realize she was screaming until her voice echoed back to her.
Deep inside her, his cock swelled, reaching places she’d never been touched before. He was still crooning in Gaelic, but his tone turned urgent. He was telling her to come once more.
Now.
With hi
m.
Maybe he’d leveraged magic, but his engorged cock pushed her over the crest once more as it juddered, painting her vault with white-hot semen. They clung to one another for a long time, gasping and panting as their bodies quieted.
Somewhere along the road, the water shut itself off. Or maybe Arlen did it. Her eyes were closed as she held onto him. He lifted her off his still-erect cock and shepherded her out of the shower, wrapping her in a thick, fragrant white towel. He draped another around himself and proceeded to dry her.
Happy. Sated. She didn’t protest as he fussed over her, combing out her wet hair. She might have dozed during the hair part because she didn’t remember him picking her up again or laying her down in his bed.
Her eyes felt heavy, but she forced them open. Thickly feathered duvets with high-thread-count covers plumped around her.
He kissed her forehead. “Sleep, mo croix, I’ll keep ye save from harm.”
“But what about you?” Concern smote her. He’d fought Hunters. Killed for her. She should be the one watching over him.
Something shifted in the room, perhaps a trick of the light, but when she looked at Arlen, he’d changed. Not so much as to not be recognizable, but he held an otherworldly aspect. Sharper planes in his face, longer hair, more golden skin. His dark eyes had silvery flecks floating in them.
She frowned, not sure what to ask.
He lay next to her and wrapped her in his arms. “All is well, lass. I am both men. The first wears a glamor to move about more easily in a time where magic has fallen out of favor. Yet, ’tis still me.”
“Magic. You’ll still teach me magic.”
His smile warmed her to her toes. “Wouldna miss it for the world, lassie mine.”
Lassie mine.
She liked the sound of that, but her mind and body were done cooperating. She might have told him she loved him before sleep staked a claim to her.
Chapter 12
Three Weeks Later
Arlen sat in his home library putting the finishing touches on his part of a joint research paper he and Kat had hatched up. A compare and contrast of four of the major clans, it would shed new light into heretofore murky aspects of how the clans bartered for power advantages. While it alluded to magical elements, he’d left that part purposely open to multiple interpretations.
He was so happy it scared him. Much like every dour Scot who’d walked before him, he didn’t trust happiness. Far simpler to content oneself with a lesser goal than to be disappointed.
He’d been wedded to duty, to being the strongest Druid he could and ensuring no harm came to his people. All those things were still in play, but loving Katerina imbued everything with a delight that saturated every cell in his body. They’d been together constantly since that first day, making love, having deep, intense conversations, making love some more, and snatching the occasional break for food and drink.
Christmas was long past, and they were ensconced in a brand-new year.
Come spring, they’d be married. Katerina was taking a sabbatical year from her university duties and at the end of that time, either she’d accept a faculty position at Stirling, or apply to one of the other schools in the U.K.
They’d discussed relocating to the continent—or moving to the Bay Area—but he needed to remain close to his Druid group. Sean, Morgan, and the others had stopped by to check up on them, but they’d exercised admirable restraint and not made pests of themselves. At one point, Sean had drawn him aside and asked pointblank if he was moving to the States. He hadn’t bothered to mask his relief when Arlen told him no.
Arlen understood perfectly. Sean had no desire to take over leadership for the group. He would if he had to, but it wasn’t his first choice. He was happiest with his head buried in columns of numbers in a quiet corner of his bank.
The research project spread across Arlen’s display was the first of half a dozen. Both he and Katerina hoped by the time they were done, they’d be viewed as such a robust academic asset, they could write their own ticket. They already had reputations as innovative researchers, so combining their knowledge and skillsets made sense.
The sound of Kat’s voice raised in exasperation reached him from downstairs. Who the hell was she arguing with? He hurried out of the library and pelted down two flights of stairs to investigate.
“For the second time, why not?” Kat spun circles in the air with the hand not holding her cellphone. After a brief pause, she continued. “Look, Mother. I understand why I didn’t get a full report on great-great grannie when I was nine, but I’m long since grown up. Why are you still refusing to even admit she’s a witch?”
Arlen covered the remaining distance to her. “Does your mum know Rhea dragged you back in time?”
Kat rolled her eyes and nodded. “She doesn’t believe me.”
He held his hand out for the phone. This woman would be his mother-in-law. No time like the present to introduce himself.
Kat handed the phone over. He clicked the speaker button and said, “Hello. Lovely to make your acquaintance.”
A long, breathy sigh was followed by, “I’m wishing it was equally ‘lovely’ to make yours. Something about you has brought the wrath of Hell down on my child. You have to send her back to California. Immediately.”
“Christ, Mother.” Kat wasn’t quite shouting, but almost. “This has nothing to do with Arlen. Like I told you, a Roskelly died. And I bet you know exactly which one it was. The others were counting on her to produce more witches. Now there’s only me. It’s why—”
“Guard your words, child. You sound like a madwoman.”
“Not to me, Mrs. Roskelly,” Arlen cut in.
“My last name is Curtis,” she said briskly.
Arlen quirked a brow Kat’s way, and she tossed her hands skyward. “Mom never liked being a Roskelly, so she changed her name.”
He smothered a snort before it could escape and bit back Shakespeare’s quote about a rose by any other name. “Fine. Mrs. Curtis, it is.” Arlen didn’t aim to be diverted by inconsequentials.
“Ms. Liliana Curtis.”
He considered asking Kat if her mother was always this cantankerous, but it didn’t make any difference. No matter what the answer, she was his wife-to-be’s kinswoman and deserving of latitude—if not respect.
He changed the subject. “Did Kat tell you we’re getting married? We’ve selected the Vernal Equinox as being most auspicious. The ceremony will be on the Isle of Skye in one of the old circles of standing stones. It would be wonderful if you could be there. I know it would mean the world to your daughter.”
A barrage of crackling static hissed through the phone. Kat’s mum hadn’t said a word, but her magic was probably wreaking havoc with the electronics.
Determined to get through to the woman, Arlen plowed on. “I’m hoping you’ll offer us your blessing.” He exchanged a look with Kat, at a loss for what to say next. He didn’t want to start out on a poor footing with his beloved’s mother.
“Am I correct the two of you have me on speaker phone?” Liliana asked after the silence had spanned several uncomfortably long moments.
“Yeah, Mom. That’s right.”
“Good. I want you to hear this too. You must return home. The sooner the better.” Liliana’s voice was higher than it had been and sounded strained.
“I heard you the first time you said that,” Kat replied. “What I can’t figure out is why. What’s so important about me being in California?”
“Not just in California.” Her mother paused for emphasis. “In California by yourself.” She stressed the by yourself part, leaving zero space for misinterpretation.
Still holding onto the phone, Arlen sank to the edge of a leather sofa and blew out a breath. “How is it ye doona like me? Ye’ve not had the chance to meet me.” His brogue had thickened, which told him how exasperated he was.
“Oh, child.” Liliana’s tone softened fractionally. “It’s not you. Or maybe it is but only in a peripheral
sense. Kat needs to be here to be safe. Why is that so difficult to understand?”
“Child, is it?” He’d be damned if he’d sit still while she patronized him. Nice flew out the window right alongside courteous. “Witches live long lives, Ms. Curtis, but I’ll stand ye a hundred quid note I’m far older than you.”
“I am not a wit—”
Arlen focused a powerful truth spell and switched to Gaelic since he was close to positive she’d understand. “Aye, ye are indeed a witch. Try to deny your blood. If ye do, ’twill grow quite uncomfortable.”
Kat squatted in front of him and tugged on his arm. “Don’t hurt her.”
“I won’t,” he mouthed.
A muffled snarl blasted through the phone. “Katerina.”
“Front and center, Mom.”
“I’ve devoted my life to keeping your great-great grandmother’s claws out of you. Didn’t you think it odd I never married? Between gran and me, we maintained a safe margin around you. And you’ve just blown it all to hell. Don’t you understand?” Her voice rose to a shriek. “She knows where you are now. She won’t rest until—”
“Stop right there.” Arlen infused authority into his words, the same power he used to corral unruly Druids. “I love your daughter. She will be my wife. Mother of our children. Do you think I would let aught happen to her?”
“Pfft. What could you possibly do?”
“Didn’t get around to telling her about you,” Katerina murmured.
“I heard that. Telling me what?” Liliana demanded.
Arlen unclenched his jaw. He wasn’t used to revealing what he was. Those who needed to know were well aware of his position—and his power. Yet, there was no reason to drape his rank in secrecy, either. “I am the arch Druid in all the British Isles, a post I’ve held since the early 1800s. Between me and my followers, our power is sufficient to keep your daughter from harm.”
A strangled intake of breath was followed by, “I’m so very sorry. Can ye ever forgive my impertinence,” in stilted Gaelic. After a brief pause, she added in English, “Daughter. You should have told me.”