Duchess of Mine (28 page)

Her gaze bounced down his body. “You could
probably get away with it.”

He meant to laugh, after all she must be
jesting. But the heat in her expression, the way her eyes flickered
darker and more intense, had him wanting to kiss her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Too bad.”

She glanced up, a question in her one arched
brow.

“Ye didn’t mean it, did ye?”

She swallowed and stared at his chest. Too
hot élan shot through every single one of his muscles, especially
his groin.

“I’m sorry too,” he said.

“What for?” Her dark eyes focused on his gaze
once more.

As much as he wanted to apologize for Helen’s
obviously making her uncomfortable with joking about a wedding, he
couldn’t, didn’t dare, tell her much more than that. He already
felt he was too translucent with his sentiments regarding her. Was
she at that second looking straight into his heart?

He stretched his neck a little, hoping to
gain the clarity needed to say what needed to be said, and nothing
more. “My ma. She’s a joker, eh? This mornin’, jestin’ about . . .”
He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t say one more damned word.
Too much a coward to continue.

Fleur’s golden skin sizzled into a light pink
on her cheeks. “You sure she didn’t mean it? She was just joking
around?”

He nodded.

But she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Aye,” he finally said, “she was
jesting.”

“Because she wouldn’t want me as her daughter
in-law.”

“Nay.” He spoke too loudly, and cleared his
voice again. “Nay. Never. She loves ye.”

Fleur’s gaze cut to his so fast, with such
impact, he felt it kick in his gut. “I—I love her.”

It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help but
feel jealous about Fleur’s sentiments toward his mother and not
him. He ground his teeth.

“I’m so glad she’s better.”

“Aye.” His voice was deeper and darker than
he meant it to be. “So I suppose ye’ll be goin’ soon, eh?”

“I don’t know.”

He grunted. Again, the sound was much more
hostile than anything he’d meant. Or was it? Lord, it wounded him
that she’d kissed him, just this morning she fondled him, and it
had meant nothing to her.

“I’m sorry—sorry about this morning.” Once
more, she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Well, that was proof, wasn’t it? He meant
nothing to her. Hell, he should be grateful, because what man
didn’t want a woman whom he could desire, but not want him to make
vows to her, to marry her, to protect her, to provide for her? He
was such a stupid man.

The words came out of his mouth before he
could stop them. “Because ye didn’t mean to touch me like that, eh?
Because it doesn’ mean anything to ye.”

If he thought her brown eyes had darkened
before, they were pure black storms now. “Doesn’t mean anything to
me?”

“Aye.”

“Doesn’t mean anything to me?”

“Aye.” He raised his voice again.

Carefully, she bent over and placed the
bundle of white knitting into a large canvas bag she’d stored in
the corner. But she straightened in a flash and bore him with her
angry gaze.

“You think me some kind of jezebel?”

Well, he hadn’t seen that question coming,
and he stood there mute, probably with his mouth agape too.

“You do, don’t you? You think me some kind of
slut who just fools around with men.”

“Nay.” His voice now, of all bloody times,
was too quiet.

Faster than he saw coming, she stood inches
from him, pointing a finger at his chin, but then retracting it
with a wince. “You might not believe me, but I never, and I mean
never
act like that. I’ve never wanted a man the way I want
you. I know I’m acting like a harlot, but I’ve never, ever done
that sort of thing with a man before. What we did this
morning—scratch that—what
I
did this morning I’ve never
done. I know I attacked you. I’m sorry for it, now I’m even more
sorry, knowing how you feel about me.”

The energy he’d felt earlier when she’d
stared at his chest was nothing to the new, raw impetus that
crashed into him as her words filtered through his mind. Again, he
believed her. He’d come to discover that like him, she was a horrid
liar. What she’d spoken was pure truth: she wanted him. And he’d
gone and made a muck of it.

He’d never been that skilled at communication
and decided to react instead. Besides, it wasn’t as though he could
tell his body to slow down. She was under his face, her hot breath
on him, so angry, so lovely.

He kissed her. Too hard. Stopping, he gauged
her reaction.

She was confused with furrowed brows, but she
didn’t prevent him from lowering his head again and softly
feathered against her lips. Once. Twice. Then the third time he
lingered, melting his lips into hers. She nibbled and licked her
way into his mouth, and he let her, parrying with her tongue as
they both moaned. He clutched at her waist, pulling her against
him, realizing that she’d already made him hard. Feeling his
erection pressed against her belly intensified his desire all the
more.

Suddenly, she pushed against his shoulders,
huffing on his face.

“No way, big guy. You can’t get off that
easy.”

He didn’t know what she meant but would do
anything to kiss her again.

“I—I’m feeling horrible now.”

“I don’t want ye to feel horrible.” He pulled
her closer, then, finally, he cupped one of her breasts.

Her thick dark lashes fluttered closed as she
moaned, her back arched into his hand.

“I want ye to feel good. Real good.”

She snapped her lids open and pushed his hand
away from her soft globe. “Not before you tell me how you
feel.”

He swallowed, feeling his passion pulse
through his veins, making it difficult to concentrate. But
something nagged at him to comfort Fleur. Reason slowly flowed into
his mind. She worried about how he felt.

“Do you think me a slut?” Her words were
whispered and breathy, with an edge of hurt, fragile tones.

“Not at all, Fleur.”

“Then why did you think what happened between
us didn’t matter to me?”

He sucked in a gasp of air, so glad he was
touching her waist, for she held him up without her awares. She was
supporting him, because the answer he would convey hurt so much his
legs were sure to give way.

“Ye—ye’re leaving. The fae will take ye away
from me, back to yer time, and I thought—Jesus, I don’t ken what I
thought. I—I was scared ye didn’t feel for me the same I feel for
ye.”

She more than likely reached up on her toes,
because her lips were again on his, pleading for him to open. Oh,
he did. Their tongues met and mingled, but just as suddenly she
stopped and was back at her own height.

“I keep forgetting to tell you that it wasn’t
the fae that brought me here.”

“Nay, ye told me. When we first met. Ye said
it wasn’t the fae, but ye didn’ ken what it was.”

“Well, now I know. It was the muses, Clio and
Erato. Have you heard of them?”

He nodded, then shook his head. “Ye’re
telling me that
Greek muses
have ye here.”

“Don’t sound so patronizing, and, yes, that’s
exactly what I’m saying. And the god, Coyote. They’re the ones who
put me here.”

Duncan blinked, not sure what to think about
any of it.

Fleur made a derisive noise. “It’s no better
than fairies transporting me here, is it?”

“I’m a Scot, lass.” He smiled at her and
pulled her against him again, letting her feel his hardness. “I
might not believe in much, but the fae...well, ‘twould be
unpatriotic not to believe in them.”

Quietly she giggled. “But you believe me?”
Her face turned serious in a heartbeat.

He kissed her softly, gently, then pulled
away. “I do. It just—” He cut himself off, scared of what he felt,
what he was about to say.

“It just . . .?”

He released a huge gush of air from his
lungs. “It makes me worry that ye’ll be taken from me when I want
ye here in my arms every second of every day.”

Once more she must have reached up on her
toes and planted him with a heady kiss. She grabbed one of his
hands, then lifted until it rested back on her breast. He moaned.
With his thumb, he traced her breast until he felt the peak of her
nipple through her layers of clothing. She clutched at him when he
rolled over it, bowing her body to his when he lightly pinched the
tight pebble.

Words could no longer be sought. Thoughts
could only be expressed through his actions, and all he wanted was
for her to stay, sated so thoroughly she would beg to stay. His
other hand found her smock’s lacings and began in a fury to untie
the white ribbons. Her hands slid down his shoulders, grabbing
around his brawny arms. She moaned as her wee fingers spread wide,
making him feel so potently male to her female. Her blouse finally
opened, revealing pale blue stays. Those ties, of course, were at
her back. But, heaven must be helping, he found she’d tied herself
loosely. Should he plunge ahead and scoop out her perfect
breast?

He could hardly think straight, especially
when her hands found his chest, and particularly skilled fingers
flicked his own nipple. Lunging his tongue in her mouth, he reached
down to her derrière, then lifted. She wrapped her legs around his
waist just as he’d hoped. Finding the one solid stonewall of the
house, he gently pressed her to it, hefting her a little more, so
his face was even with her still covered breasts. He kissed down to
her stays, when he heard Fleur’s breath accelerate. Glancing up
slightly, he saw her tilt her exquisite head back on her tiny neck.
Her lids fluttered closed again, and her hands channeled through
his hair, pulling him closer. Adjusting his hold, he balanced her
with one arm, while his free hand cupped her breast. She gave an
appreciative moan, and that was welcome enough for him. Reaching
over her stays, he extracted one of her breasts. The nipple
contracted hard as he gently lifted it up and over her stays. The
moment he caught sight of her budding berry, he fastened his lips
around it, suckling her.

Her moan and the way her hips slightly bucked
against him made him want to give her more pleasure. He lapped her
nipple. Then tenderly, he bit the swelling bloom. She ground
against him again, and he had to push her harder against the wall
to keep her there. He released her breast only to do the same to
her other. All the while he felt the heat from between her legs
intensify. Lord, he wanted to know if she was already slick. Was he
making her want him as much as he wanted her? His own erection was
so engorged he knew it wouldn’t take much to make him come.

“Kiss me.”

Duncan at first couldn’t decipher the
whispered words Fleur had said, he was so intoxicated with her
high, round breasts.

“Kiss me, Duncan.”

Well, that finally settled into his skull. He
pulled away from her nipple and looked up. She was staring down at
him, her lids hooded, her eyes glassy and lusciously dark. God, he
loved looking at her like this, her breasts perched above the
stays, her nipples beading, her face flushing with need.

“Please, Duncan, kiss me.”

Instantly, he pulled her down his body, then
planted his lips against hers. He obeyed her without thought, but
as she pushed her tongue in his mouth he became aware that his
plaid had somehow lifted and the only barrier between himself and
she was a slight covering of one of her skirts. It was almost as if
he truly touched her, he could feel her heat so thoroughly. He
ground against her, moving the barrier slightly. The head of his
penis was free and nestled against her love pearl.

“Oh, Jesus,” he grunted.

She rocked against him as she kept kissing
his lips.

He grabbed her hips with both hands and
ripped himself a few inches away from her.

“Jesus, woman.”

“What’s wrong?” she whispered and petted his
cheek.

Feeling his whiskers against her soft palm
was erotic enough, but add to that he’d been so close to heaven. He
swallowed, trying to gain some sort of clarity. “We almost—”

“Yes.”

“But we’re—”

“But . . .?”

“But we’re outside. This can’t be right.” He
huffed, wanting so badly to grind himself against her again. His
cock was hard enough he knew it was pointed right at her, at her
entrance. “We’re against a wall.”

She smiled and kissed along his ear, making
his back arch dangerously close to her again. “Yes.”

“We can’t—against a wall.”

She stopped and looked at him. “Why not?”

He snorted. “’Tis...Well, it’d be our first
time. Don’t ye want it...inside? On a bed? I should do this right.
I should—”

She kissed him then, interrupting his
thoughts. It was sweet and held such longing. She pulled away
enough to say, “I’ve lived my whole life with shoulds. I don’t want
to anymore.” One of her hands slid down his too sensitive body. In
its wake, she left a trail of hot coals that ached to become
inflamed.

He’d been the one to put a little distance
between their bodies. Granted, it wasn’t much, but a couple inches
meant he wasn’t buried inside her. However, her wicked dainty hand
found his erection, putting all his best-laid plans somewhere hazy
and out of reach. She descended his length.

“I want this,” she whispered. “I want this so
much.”

When she ascended his hardness he pinned her
to the wall, smashing his lips against hers. He had no way of
fighting against her, no way to tell her that he wanted something
more special for her—rose petals and silk, candlelight, and for him
to lick her sex until she screamed out his name. He wanted to make
her feel like a princess, to feel pampered and cared for.

Instead, he found himself beyond control as
her thumb smoothed over the head of his cock. She guided him to her
entrance, and he complied with only a slight annoying thought he
should stop, should give her more. Slippery already, she was ready
for him. But he just lingered in her opening, feeling he should do
something, should say how much he already loved her, how he never
wanted her to leave.