Highlander Untamed (27 page)

Isabel took her time winding through the dimly lit corridors. Though it was only late afternoon, the days were exceedingly short in the wintertime and dusk had already fallen.

She opened the door.

A taper flickered. Warm, steamy air entwined with a delicious masculine scent of spice enveloped her.

She knew he was there even before she looked. When she did, her heart dropped to her toes.

Rory had just stepped out of his bath. He wore a drying cloth slung low on his hips and—she swallowed—nothing else.

Her eyes gorged on the rugged masculinity of his powerful physique. He was magnificent. His broad naked chest, glistening with tiny droplets of water, tapered to a narrow waist above powerfully muscled legs. There was not one inch of him that was not cut and hard as rock. His body was a finely honed weapon of warfare, the numerous scars that crossed his chest evidence of his hard-earned prowess. The damp linen hugged his hips, dipping low above his groin, and outlined every ridge of his…Her eyes dropped farther, and her mouth went dry. Of his enormous arousal. The thick column strained against the thin cloth, leaving her no doubt of his desire.

Isabel flooded with heat. Awareness crackled in the sultry room like dry kindling in a hot fire. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she was sure he must hear. She lifted her eyes to his and nearly withered under the force of his penetrating stare. Never had she been the focus of such all-encompassing desire. She felt the hunger, the need. The whiplash of raw heat. His gaze possessed her. Like an animal caught in a trap, she was paralyzed by all that sexual potency fastened on her, claiming her. He looked as though he wanted to tear off her clothes and ravish her. It was a side of him—a wild, primitive, uncontrolled side—that she’d never seen. And for a moment, the intensity frightened her, even as it humbled her with its strength.

They stood perfectly still, staring at each other. His eyes glowed like sapphire coals. As he’d removed the leather thong that usually bound it back, his damp golden chestnut hair slumped forward across his face to his chin. The shadows that partially hid his face hardened his features into sharp angles—making him appear even more menacing than his large physique would suggest.

Isabel shivered with anticipation. Never had she been more certain of anything in her life. The intensity of his desire only emboldened her. She wanted to tame this man, to claim this warrior for her own.

All thoughts of a well-planned seduction fled. The time was now. Gathering the reins of her courage, she lifted her chin and took a small step toward him.

His body went rigid, every muscle taut with restraint. A tic in his jaw pulsed as she drew near. Slowly, she removed the plaid she wore for warmth and draped it over the chair.

“What are you doing?” he asked through clenched teeth, his voice strained.

“I came to dress for dinner. I didn’t realize you had called for a bath.”

“It’s too cold to swim in the loch.”

“Of course.”

“You should leave.”

She shook her head and took another step toward him. She was standing so close, she could hear the harsh unevenness of his breath. He was holding himself by a thread, and she knew it. Relished it. Savored it. And yearned to make it snap.

He stepped toward her, and she could see that his eyes were dark and heavy with desire. He reached down to cup her chin as he looked deep into her eyes. “Are you sure?” His voice was husky and full of promise, the soft brogue more pronounced. “My duty lies elsewhere. This will not change anything, Isabel. Even if I wish it differently.”

Isabel’s heart tugged. Did he wish differently? The glimmer of hope gave her all the encouragement she needed.

The polite small talk had drained every ounce of Rory’s reserves. He was running out of patience. Surely she could see how his pulse raced, how he struggled to breathe the sultry air between them, how he fought the urge to take her into his arms the very moment she entered the room.

The beauty that filled his eyes when she opened the door had nearly felled him—as if someone had unexpectedly punched him in the stomach. And then he picked up her scent. The beguiling perfume of lavender ensnared him, but it was the sensual promise in those damn violet eyes as she admired his body that made him realize he’d never stood a chance. There was an inevitability to this moment, probably from the first. Fate.

Rory waited, every muscle in his body clenched, for her response. He fought to contain the hunger pounding through his body. She must come to him knowingly and without pretense; nothing else would assuage his guilt. He would not take her virginity from her unless she understood. There was still the issue of a child, but Rory could prevent that. The questions kindled by her uncle’s letter would be left for another day.

His weeks of holding her in his arms like a bloody eunuch had come to an end. He would not fight this overpowering, mind-numbing attraction any longer.

Her hand touched his arm, and he flinched, shocked. The simple press of her fingers on his skin ignited an inferno that spread like wildfire through his body.

“I understand,” she said simply. “No promises.”

That was enough.

He swept her in his arms, crushing her in a fierce embrace. So thick was the tension that had built between them, she sighed audibly with relief. He knew she wanted him as he wanted her.

His fingers wove through her glorious hair, the thick tresses sliding like satin ribbons through his hands. Clenching a fistful of the smooth, glossy locks, he eased her head back, tilting her parted lips to his. Lowering his mouth, he drank. His thirst unquenchable. The honey-sweet taste of her lips was like the nectar of gods. With the first touch of her tongue, a deep groan of triumph at her surrender shuddered through his body.

He couldn’t contain his need. Never had he felt lust this powerful, this uncontrollable. This primal. All the passion, all the desire he’d restrained for so long, burst free in a savage storm. He wanted to possess her body and soul.

He felt like a caged wild beast, frantic for escape. Hunger drove his mouth over hers, rough and hard. Deeper and deeper, devouring her, consuming her, and claiming her for his own. Boldly she met the thrust of his tongue with her own. Her immediate response only increased the agony building in his loins, only incited the meager restraint he was just barely containing in deference to her innocence.

He knew he was out of control, rough and moving too fast, but she responded on every level. He wanted nothing more than to tear off her clothes, toss her on the bed, and bury himself deep inside her. He wanted to take her hard and fast, pounding and thrusting until she clenched around him, until he buried himself full hilt and came in a torrential explosion of relief. What had this woman done to him? Knowledge of how close to the edge he teetered gave him the strength to find control.

He would make sure her first time was perfect even if it killed him.

He released her mouth, his head sinking lower as he devoured her neck, tasting the unbelievable sweetness of her feverish skin. Impatient to taste more of her, he did not linger long but slid down past the base of her throat.

Her head fell back in complete abandon. He felt her shiver under the press of his mouth. He nuzzled the deep cleft between her breasts, breathing deeply of her lavender scent. He teased her mercilessly, sliding his tongue along the edge of her bodice, delving achingly close to the wrinkled edge of her nipple.

She moaned her frustration.

He slid his thumb under the lace, lifting the tight pink pearl to his tongue. He sucked in his breath at the knowledge that she was just as aroused as he was. Teasingly he blew, flicking his tongue across the taut peak, then nibbling her softly between his teeth. She arched her back, begging for more. And he complied. Sinking his lips around her and sucking, sucking until he heard her sharp intake of breath and knew she was close. Not yet.

“I want to see you naked,” he said.

Cheeks flushed with passion and embarrassment, she shyly nodded her acquiescence.

With the finesse of years of experience, he quickly removed her gown, stomacher, and bolster, unlaced her stays, slid down her hose, and in one smooth motion lifted her sark over her head.

His eyes widened with awe at the bountiful treasure before him. Blood surged to his already engorged staff. He was so hard, it hurt. Completely naked, she was even more beautiful than he’d imagined, slim and gently curved, her flawless ivory skin smooth and creamy. Her breasts were generously rounded, high, and firm, her stomach flat, her hips small, and her legs lean and gently muscled. She looked like a marble statue of Aphrodite. But this goddess was very much alive. Smiling devilishly, he watched as the pink blush spread over her body wherever his eyes lingered. There would be plenty of time later to memorize every part of her. To stroke that velvety skin with his hands and mouth.

Taking pity on her obvious embarrassment, he scooped her in his arms and lowered her gently on the bed. Mindful of her innocence, he bent over her, kissing her softly, touching her, quickly rousing her passion again.

Seeing her naked had sapped what was left of his patience. “I want you so badly”—his voice was ragged and uneven—“I don’t think I can wait.”

“Then don’t,” she gasped. It was all the invitation he needed.

His drying cloth disappeared. Her eyes fell, then widened.

Understanding her sudden hesitation, Rory lowered his body next to her and whispered, “Don’t worry, it will be all right.”

“But, how…”

Tightly,
he thought in answer to her unspoken words. Rory was barely able to resist a lust-filled shudder as he imagined her soft heat closed around him. “It will be all right, Isabel. The first time there’s pain, but it will lessen. Trust me.”

In answer, she lifted her face to his in guileless invitation. The erstwhile seductress had vanished, replaced by the innocent woman yearning for a fulfillment that only he could give her.

No enticement was necessary. He kissed her again, his mouth moving over hers possessively. He pulled her closer, and the shock of her bare skin pressed against his produced a sensation unlike any he’d ever felt. Hot and sensitive, their bodies merged like molten lava, skin to skin. His hands roamed her body, stoking the fire. Her breasts, her hips, her stomach, the long length of her legs, the delicate curve of the arch of her tiny foot…he wanted to touch every inch of her.

She writhed in sweet agony, leaning her hips toward his. He knew what she wanted. He gave it to her. With a soft chuckle of pure masculine pride, his mouth closed over one breast as his hand began its tormentingly slow crawl down her flat stomach. Too aroused for any more teasing, he slid his hand between her legs, finding her already damp with desire.

He increased the pressure on her breast with his mouth as his finger slid inside her, and he began the merciless stroking. He heard her startled gasp when he slid in another finger, stretching her gently. She clenched her thighs around his hand, and her hips began to move in a sensual rhythm.

He watched her head fall back against the pillow, eyes closed, lips parted, the soft, husky panting of her breath urging him on. He found the center of her pulse, and his knowing fingers brought her to the edge of a storming frenzy.

Sweat beaded on his brow. For each minute delayed, the pain of his desire was nearly unbearable. He wanted nothing more than to slide into her silken heat, but something held him back. It was important that she enjoy this as much as he was about to.

He began to trail kisses down her velvet stomach. Bracing her hips with his hands, before she guessed, he moved his mouth between her thighs and nuzzled her softly. Shocked, she bucked and murmured an embarrassed protest, but he held firm. She was deliciously wet, and he couldn’t wait to taste her passion.

Instantly mortified, Isabel could not believe his intimate kiss. But her resistance was futile—like the sun refusing the moon its entry into the evening sky. She couldn’t push him away, her body wouldn’t let her. The pressure built inside her with each wicked stroke of his tongue. She felt possessed by pleasure, mindless with need. She yearned to move her hips, to clench her thighs around his head and release the exquisite torture. He teased her until she quivered, until she unconsciously pressed against his mouth, wanting more.

“Tell me what you want, Isabel.”

She writhed as his tongue flicked out to tease her again.

“Tell me,” he ordered, his voice sinfully dark and wicked.

“I want—” Her voice broke. “Like last time.”

“You want me to make you come?”

His voice spread an erotic veil around her, freeing her inhibitions. Never could she imagine such intimacy. All modesty vanished in the face of the desperate cravings of her body. “Please,” she begged.

He chuckled and buried his face against her. He kissed her harder, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. “I love the way you taste, like warm honey.” His words drove her wild, but his tongue made her touch heaven. Sensation gripped her, and she felt the desperate climb as the tingling turned into a frantic pulse. Just when she thought she could not take any more, his mouth pressed against her most sensitive spot and sucked. She exploded, pulsing her release against his wicked mouth.