Scot of My Dreams (12 page)

“Bryce! She’ll hear you.” I checked to make sure the door behind me was closed all the way. Hopefully, Abigail was still engrossed in the eighteenth century.

He ignored my warning. “I told myself I imagined the spark between us. That I couldn’t possibly be so insanely crazy about a woman I just met.”

“But?” I stared up into his eyes, losing myself in the blue that was as deep as the Scottish sky on a sunny day.

He slid his thumb across my lower lip. “I give up,” he said. “I want whatever time we have left. Say
aye
, bonny lass. Tell me you feel it, too.”

I nodded, the words stuck in my throat. Relief rolled through me in a wave that made me giddy. “Of course I do. But where I come from, a lady waits to be asked. And you were very clear about the friend thing.”

He rubbed his jaw, his gaze wry. “You should have whacked me over the head. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been such an utter ass. I’ve wasted days when I could have had you in my bed.”

“Lucky for us, it’s not too late.” I refused to think about how hard it would be to eventually leave him.

Bryce kissed the side of my neck. “Tonight?” he whispered. He moved closer, pinning me to the wall, letting me feel his heavy erection.

I’d lost the ability to speak. I nodded jerkily. Damn it. I knew that Abigail would want to watch more than one
Outlander
episode. This was the first time in recorded history a woman had ever wanted Jamie Fraser to take a hike. In favor of a flesh and blood laird.

A faint noise from the sitting room yanked us back to reality. “I’m watching a show with your sister,” I said. “I don’t know when we’ll be done.”

“It’s that
Outlander
thing, isn’t it?” He seemed more resigned than disapproving.

I nodded. “She likes it.”

“I don’t really care,” he muttered. “All I want to know is how soon you can ditch her.”

“You’re the one who wanted us to be BFFs,” I pointed out.

“And you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I grinned. “Maybe. A little. Your speech about ignoring our feelings was so stuffy and proper and pompous. You can’t blame me for wanting you to suffer, at least a little.”

“I have,” he groaned. “More than you know. More than I should let you know. I swear I’ll make it up to you.” He kissed me long and hard, his lips warm and demanding. “Am I forgiven?”

I was practically a pile of melted wax at his feet. “You’ve taken me in and fed me. I’m not likely to say no.”

“I hurt your feelings that night. I saw it in your eyes. I’m sorry, Willow.”

Bryce was a man’s man. Commanding. Mature. Capable. At his physical peak. Yet unlike so many macho men, he had the grace to admit when he was wrong.

“You had your reasons,” I said. “From a strictly practical point of view, we probably shouldn’t do what we’re about to do.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But I don’t have it in me to walk away from you.”

“I’m glad.” Even as I whispered the words, I questioned my own motives. It was one thing to entertain a fantasy…to dream about a gorgeous kilted hero who would sweep me off my feet. But what happened when the dream ended, and I found myself standing at a boarding gate at Heathrow? What then?

I swallowed my misgivings. Fate had given me a second chance. Bryce was an extraordinary man. I’d be a fool to say no to this.

His body gave off enough heat to warm me from head to toe. He glanced at his watch. “It’s late,” he said.

“It’s nine thirty, Bryce. She’ll think something’s wrong if I go to bed now.”

“One hour,” he said, all hot-eyed and sulky and testosterone-fueled impatience.

I nodded, my throat tight. “Okay.”

“Your room?”

“Yes.”

“I have plenty of condoms.”

“Oh. Good.”
Plenty
? My knees went weak.

Abby’s voice intruded, thankfully from the other side of the door. “What are you two doing out there?”

“I’m coming,” I said.

Bryce showed no signs of being willing to let me move. “I’ll enjoy that,” he said soberly, his eyelids at half-mast, and his jaw tight.

“Enjoy what?”

“Watching you come.”

Oh
,
Lordy
. I put a hand against his chest and gently pushed. “Enough,” I croaked. “Let me go. I’m supposed to be watching the show
with
her.”

For several long seconds I wondered if we had passed the point of no return. Bryce was no longer the polished, highly educated laird. Tonight he was simply a man. A gorgeous, sexy, impossible-to-resist Scotsman. And he wanted me.

At last, he grunted and backed away. “An hour,” he reminded me. “No more.”

When I slipped back into the sitting room, Abby was thankfully oblivious. The onscreen action was at a critical point. Jamie was in the midst of a fight for his life. His grim expression made me shiver.

Even as I watched, the images from 1743 faded away, and all I could see were Bryce MacBrae’s bold features. The straight nose. The high forehead. The fierce intelligence in his blue eyes.

He spent a great deal of time outdoors. I had seen him chopping wood and riding a horse and lifting great sacks of feed. The estate was healthy and self-sustaining. I suspected it was unusual for the laird to take such a hands-on approach.

Perhaps Bryce enjoyed the work. Or maybe he’d been forced to lay off employees in the face of rising taxes and expenses.

The
Outlander
episode finally ended on a cliffhanger. I think Abby would have watched another, but I feigned fatigue. As I turned off the TV, she stood and stretched. “What did Bryce want?”

Me
. “Oh, nothing much. We were talking about when to go to Culloden.”

“I think I’ll skip that if you don’t mind, Willow. It’s a sad place on the best of days, and I’d rather not put myself through that.”

“I understand.” I didn’t tell her that Bryce and I actually wanted to go alone.

By the time I made it back to my own room, forty-seven minutes had elapsed since Bryce’s ultimatum. I freshened up in the bathroom and ran my fingers through my hair. For once, I wished it were long enough to fan out dramatically across the pillow.

Was I supposed to pose for him? Wait in the nude? Curl up in the lovely tufted armchair and read a book?

I was nervous. Too nervous. Appearing gauche in the presence of a man who was so superbly confident would be embarrassing. I wanted this to go well.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I closed my eyes and imagined myself in the midst of the wedding night scene from
Outlander
. Having sex for the first time with someone you didn’t know all that well was bound to be a little awkward. What Bryce and I had going for us was sizzling, undeniable chemistry.

Sexual compatibility eased all sorts of hurdles. Here I was, on the verge of an intimate relationship with a man whom I not only desired but admired. I knew Bryce—not completely, but well enough to feel perfectly safe with him.

He appeared at my door five minutes ahead of his stated deadline. I barely heard the quiet knock. Opening the door only wide enough for him to slip inside, I muttered a greeting. “I hope your sister is asleep,” I whispered as I eased the door shut and locked it.

Bryce looked me over from head to toe, though he’d seen me less than an hour before. “I’m going to have to buy Brodie a verra good treat.”

Confused, I cocked my head and frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, lass, usually he brings me dead rabbits or birds. You’re the first prize he’s tracked down that I ever wanted to keep.”

His humor relaxed me. Somewhat. Unfortunately, Bryce himself gave me heart palpitations. The man hadn’t bothered to wear anything but silk pajama pants, navy with a gold paisley print. They did little to disguise his more intimate parts.

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “You’re the first man who’s ever compared me to roadkill.”

“Hunting trophies,” he said with a smile. “There’s a difference.”

“Ah. Thanks for the clarification.” His broad, muscled chest was a thing of beauty. He had just the right amount of hair, not waxed-bare like a twenty-something model in a catalog but not Bigfoot either.

He looked like a man. A very masculine, mouth-watering man.

Bryce took my hands in his. “You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question.

I nodded. “Yes. I feel as if I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole. Do you know that expression?”

“Aye. I do. Is Scotland so verra different then? Do you not feel at home here?” He stroked my arms as he spoke, warming my skin.

How to answer that? “It’s different, yes. Where I live is a big city. It’s loud and busy and full of energy. I love it. It’s home. But here…” I waved a hand, at a loss for words.

“Ye’re bored? Too much rural life for a city mouse?”

“No, no. That’s not it at all. I adore everything about this place. The light. The mercurial weather. Your spooky castle.”

“Spooky?” He was mildly offended.

“We’ll get to that later. I’m trying to tell you how I feel.”

“So tell me.”

I lifted a shoulder. “One of the things my friends and I wanted to do when we came to Scotland was to immerse ourselves in a place. To learn a different rhythm of life. To stretch our boundaries.”

“And?”

“And I ended up with you. How is that possible?”

He put his hands at the back of my neck and used his thumbs to tip up my chin. “Scotland is magical. Dinna you know that, Willow? Even the very rocks themselves are alive.”

I shivered hard. Unlike Claire Randall in
Outlander
, I hadn’t been thrust through a rip in time via a stone circle, but the outcome was much the same. I was living a life that was not my own. Would I ever be able to get back to twenty-first-century Georgia? Did I even want to?

I leaned into him, sighing deeply when he pulled me close. “Make love to me, Bryce.”

“’Twould be my pleasure.”

He undressed me slowly, peeling my top up over my head and tossing it aside. I knew I was flat-chested, but when Bryce caressed my small breasts, the hunger and excitement on his face bolstered my confidence. My knees were wobbly when he finally got around to removing the last of my clothes.

Naked and awash in gooseflesh, I rallied my scattered thoughts and concentrated on hooking my thumbs in Bryce’s pajama bottoms and dragging them down his legs. On the way to his ankles, I got my first good look at his erection. It was hard to miss.

He’d been standing patiently as I did my part, but now he kicked free of the navy silk and scooped me up to take the three steps to my bed. I had already turned back the covers. The small lamp on the bedside table beamed too brightly. When Bryce deposited me on the mattress, I reached to extinguish the light.

“Leave it,” he said gruffly. “I want to see you.”

He came down beside me and reclined on one elbow. Idly, he played with my nipple. “That tickles,” I complained, the words weak and shaky.

“Sorry.” He leaned over and suckled my breast. Fire shot through my pelvis. I arched my back with a choked cry. “Bryce…” The single word trailed off into a moan.

I lost track of time. I had dreamed of handsome Scotsmen in the weeks before crossing the Atlantic. This was so much better. The sounds and scents and tactile pleasures were all too real. Bryce was insatiable. There wasn’t an inch of my body he didn’t explore, sometimes more than once.

I was breathless and painfully aroused when he finally reached for protection and moved between my legs.

“Open for me, beautiful Willow.” The honeyed words with the accent that was becoming as familiar to me as my own, demanded my compliance. I spread my thighs. Bryce touched me lightly, testing my readiness. I was mortifyingly slick with arousal.

With a steady push, he entered me, going deep. I wouldn’t have been surprised to the see a flash of lightning or hear the crash of thunder. If this was magic, I was a believer.

Panic grabbed me suddenly as I felt everything I knew about myself shift and change. Our joining was more than an impulsive sexual frolic. Bryce was staking a claim.

My ankles linked behind his back as he drove deeper. The bed shook, but the stone walls of the castle preserved our secrets. Dizzy and aching with pleasure, I imagined all the lairds and ladies who had coupled beneath this roof. I was suddenly part of something larger than me or my workaday life. In the midst of a dream, perhaps.

If I could have pinched myself, I would have. My fingers dug into Bryce’s shoulders. He was hot, his skin damp with perspiration. Though he was careful not to hurt me, he was a big man, big enough to make a tall woman feel both dominated and cherished. His body pressed mine into the mattress. I might have stopped him with a single word, but I was long past having second thoughts.

I felt my orgasm rise and swell. Bryce went rigid and groaned. Seconds later I cried out and fell into the abyss with my Scottish lover.

Bryce woke me up sometime after three and made love to me again. This round was less desperate, more erotic. He teased me and laughed huskily when I protested. “Your body is a wonder, Willow. Ye’re as supple as your namesake and as soft as the clouds outside my window. I may never leave this bed.”

Though I was charmed by the compliment, I had a practical streak a mile wide. “Morning always comes,” I reminded him, “no matter how much we want to hang onto the dream.” I don’t know if I was asking for reassurance from him or warning myself not to get too wrapped up in the fantasy.

“’Tis no dream,” he said, his body moving lazily against mine.

My muscles were lax with pleasure and warm with sleep. When Bryce lifted one of my legs onto his shoulder, I shuddered. Open and without defense, I was cajoled into trusting him completely.

He stroked inside me with exquisite languor. After a time, he withdrew and moved lower in the bed. I wasn’t prepared for the light touch of his tongue. He was diabolically inventive and disturbingly talented. I hit the peak so hard and fast I lost my breath. It didn’t help that my tormentor chuckled aloud with masculine smugness. Damn the man. Did he have to be good at
everything
?