Sizzle All Day (29 page)

"It is wonderful, is it not?" She held a small amber glass bottle in one and a cork in the other and she slowly poured a heavy liquid into a clay bowl. "Fragrant oil," she said. "I've warmed it. This is a drafty old room and I know how much you are bothered by the cold, so I thought I'd do whatever I could to help you to stay warm." She dipped her fingers into the bowl, then slowly, sensuously, rubbed the oil into her palm. "Take your shirt off, Jake, and let me warm you."

The last time he moved so fast, he'd been racing Cole Morgan for the last piece of his mother's pecan pie.

"Now lie on your stomach in front of the fire," she instructed.

"But then I can't see—"

"On your stomach, Texas." She reached out with an index finger coated in spicy-scented oil and trailed it down his chest from his collarbone to his navel.

Biting back a groan, he acquiesced. "Far be it from me to argue with an apparition."

He sank into the velvety texture of the rug, then reared back up again when he felt her straddle his hips. Her slight weight settled down on his buttocks and Jake tensed, his heart racing.

She laughed softly and the sound of it sent shivers streaking up his spine. "Relax, Jake. I won't hurt you, I promise."

Slick, warm hands settled on his shoulders, then worked their way down his back, kneading and massaging. She spoke of Scotland while she worked, the burr in her voice making music of unfamiliar Scots words like sykie and ripple-grass and bobbin-quaw. He breathed the scent of her, embraced the firm, yet gentle touch of her. He drifted into a warm sea of sensation where she was the siren, the Lorelei, lining him toward... something. Not danger. What could be dangerous about such exquisite pleasure?

At some point, her lips began tracing the path of her hands. His limbs went languid; his blood ran thick and lazy. His need was a steady, throbbing ache, but one he preferred prolonged, instead of rushed.

Then, she coaxed him to turn over and everything changed.

Jake watched her. She straddled him as if he were a steed, her hair a veil of sun-kissed silk flowing loose and luscious past her waist. She closed her eyes, her gaze turned inward as her hands slicked their way across his chest. A beguiling smile lingered on her lips, and the sound emerging from her throat was a hungry, yet feminine, groan.

Then her fingers found the flat round disc of his nipples. She circled them with her thumbs, then her head dropped forward and she teased him with her tongue Jake sucked in a quick, harsh breath.

His body no longer luxuriated in warmth. It burned. It shuddered. It ached.

He had to have her soon or die.

Then, witch that she was, she sat up once more. Crossing her arms, she grasped the hem of her gown and lifted it up and off. "Are you warm enough?"

"I'm warm," he choked out, reaching for her. "Plenty warm. I'm hot. I'm sizzling again." He shifted her, trying to switch their positions and take control of the moment. But Gillian wasn't having any of that. She resisted him, laughing, teasing, and tormenting him. Such sweet, delicious torment that he chose to let her have her way.

And have her way she did.

Gillian made love to Jake. A slow, drugging passion filled with mind-reeling kisses and lingering touches. She explored and indulged and aroused. She was sense-stealing sighs and slow, silky strokes that intoxicated Jake—made him dizzy and drunk with desire. His thoughts were sluggish, cold molasses slow. The rest of him was hot. Burning, blazing hot.

Finally, thank God, she took him. Inch by slow, aching inch. With a passion that for all its spice was sweet and somehow innocent, Gillian took him on a journey of desire and delight. She showed him a world he hadn't known existed, and in doing so, made him wish the trip could last forever.

But like all things, it ended. As they lay together before the fireplace, catching their breaths, her head pillowed on his chest, his hand stroking gently up and down her side, Jake sensed something momentous had just occurred. It scared the bejabbers out of him.

"What was this?" he asked, as tension tried to work its way back into his languishing muscles.

"It's the Maiden's Tower," she replied, obviously thinking he'd asked of their location, not what had transpired between them. Gillian drew small whirls in the hair growing on his chest. "Legend has it that in 1536 on the eve of her marriage to a neighboring laird, the Maid of Rowanclere invited the Captain of the Guard to this tower room for a romantic rendezvous that would change the course of history of this entire region of Scotland."

"Got caught, did they?"

"By the bride-to-be's father. There was a battle, and the no-longer-a-maiden Maid managed to lock herself into this room. Along with her lover who immediately became her husband, marriage by declaration accomplishing the deed. The troops were divided between the laird and his man, so a standoff ensued. It took two weeks to negotiate a settlement between the laird, the new groom, and the rejected one. But the newlyweds enjoyed their time alone so much that every year thereafter on the anniversary of their wedding, they retreated to this room for two uninterrupted weeks."

"Two weeks, huh?" Jake lifted his head off a blue velvet pillow and made a show of glancing around the room. "I could handle that. Though you'll have to let me rest some. Even a stud like me has a sinking spell now and then."

She hit him with a red and green brocade pillow trimmed in gold fringe.

The ensuing pillow fight set the mood for the next two weeks. Gillian and Jake didn't spend the entire time up in the Maiden's Tower. They spent their mornings going about the business of the castle and of the family. Afternoons, they played; exploring nearby ruins, fishing in the loch, riding through the glen. Gillian showed him nooks and crannies of the Highlands he'd never have seen on his own, and Jake thoroughly enjoyed the education and the adventure of spending his time with Gillian. And every night they retreated to the Maiden's Tower, where they loved the night away.

As the days passed, Jake began to realize the wings on his feet were enjoying their rest. He woke up in the mornings looking forward to the day and went to sleep each night with a smile on his face. He found himself dreading the arrival of news from England that his trust fund had been released.

Jake was happy. He was content. It confused the hell out of him.

He tried to take each day as it came, to put off worrying about anything until he could do something about it. He succeeded at the task fairly well. Except that in the very recesses of his mind he wondered why Gillian wasn't more upset about his impending departure. Did she plan to travel with him? If not, what were her plans once he left? Did that bastard Maclean figure into the picture at all? What was Gillian's outlook on faithfulness to an absent husband?

The questions plagued him, but he did his best to ignore them. Then Gillian took him on a picnic.

Chapter 13

Gillian took him to her favorite picnic spot where a stand of birks cuddled up next to a burn. It was a beautiful, sunshine-filled afternoon, though a bit cooler than in recent days. It amused her that her formerly thin-skinned Texan didn't seem to notice. It seemed that Jake Delaney had found a way other than southern sun to warm his blood. What was yet to be seen was whether or not the allure of an adventurous, ready-and-willing bride could overcome the lure of Tahitian beaches.

Gillian didn't want to trap him into staying; she simply planned to show him what he'd be giving up by leaving. She had great faith in the life and love she had to offer. Whether he realized it or not, Jake Delaney was a family man. His stories about his sister, his mother and late father proved it to her. Gillian honestly believed he could be happy here at Rowanclere.

And she didn't think she could be happy anywhere else.

"He'll be better off with me than to a South Sea siren's arms," she grumbled softly.

"What's that?" Jake rolled from his back onto his side.

"I thought you were sleeping."

"I was. Had to get my strength back. You wear me out, woman."

Gillian stretched languidly and flexed a bare foot. A sight, she had learned, her husband especially enjoyed. "Is that a complaint?"

"I don't know." He grabbed up her foot and nipped at her toes. "Wear me out some more and let me think about it."

When finally their passion was spent and they rose from the soft tartan blanket to gather their things, Gillian discovered a most unpleasant truth. At some point during their energetic love-making, all her clothing—shoes included—had been kicked into the burn where the water carried them away.

"Oh, no." As she stared in shock down into the bubbling burn, her husband broke into laughter. "Fine, carry on like a numpty, why don't you? See how funny you'll be feeling when you ride into Rowanclere wearing little more than a blanket."

"What blanket? My clothes aren't the ones that have gone missing." Yet, even as he said it he tossed her his shirt.

She attempted to convince him to let her wear his trousers, too, but Jake wouldn't hear of it. "I wear the pants in this family, Gillian Delaney, and don't you forget it."

She was giggling when the gunshot caught them completely by surprise. Chips of bark sprayed the air as it slammed into a tree off to the right of them, not too close, but certainly close enough. Before the sound of the shot died on the air, Jake threw her down behind a fallen log and surrounded her with his body. Shielding her. "Are you hit? Dammit, Gillian, say something!"

"I can't. I canna breathe. You are squashing me."

The pressure eased as he shifted the slightest bit. Gillian followed his lead as he waited, listening hard. Only forest sounds intruded. "Stay here. Don't move."

He was up and away before she could react, transformed into a gunfighter in the blink of an eye. Gillian was tempted to rise and follow him. Not because she feared being alone, but because she found this hard-edged, gunfighter side of Jake Delaney fascinating.

However, such action would be foolish at best. Odds were their assailant had been nothing more than a careless hunter. But what if she were wrong? What if a thief or murderer had taken refuge in these woods? Following Jake could make matters worse. So, she'd do as he demanded. This one time, anyway.

Time trickled by and her resolution became more difficult to keep. Where was he? What, if anything, had he found? Why hadn't he returned? What if he were hurt? She decided to give him to the count of five hundred, then she would try to find him.

"One, two, three," she whispered, peering through the trees. At four hundred twenty-eight, she heard his welcome drawl.

"A woman who does what she is told is a rare gift."

"Where have you been?" she asked as he grabbed her hand and helped her to her feet. "What happened? Did you find him? Who was it? Why did—"

"Quiet, woman! You are wearing out my ears. You know, it's flaws like a runaway mouth that keep you from being a perfect wife."

She wanted to hit him. When he didn't tell her what he'd found, she doubled up her fist and did just that, punching him in the stomach.

"Hey!"

"Jake Delaney, tell me—"

"I couldn't find anything. Or, to be more precise, I found too much. Despite the appearance of isolation, these woods are well traveled."

"Hunters," Gillian said.

"Yes." After a moment's pause, he added grimly, "Maybe something more."

"What did you find?"

He dragged a palm up and down the line of his jaw. She could tell by his expression that he debated telling her, so she pressed. "I did as you asked and didn't follow you despite how much I wanted to do exactly that."

He blew out a sigh. "I think someone watched us, Gillian. Someone spied on us while we... picnicked."

Someone watched them making love? Gillian shut her eyes and winced. She really wished she hadn't asked.

* * *

Jake brooded all the way back to Rowanclere. He fumed at the knowledge that they had been spied upon. He seethed at the idea that a bullet came anywhere near to Gillian. He chafed to get his wife delivered safely to the castle so he could return to the picnic spot for a more thorough investigation.

Initially, he'd made but a cursory search for the culprit, unwilling to leave Gillian alone a moment longer than was necessary. Now he wanted to scour the woods for clues to the shooter's identity. Jake had faith in his abilities. He'd tracked cattle rustlers through the Badlands of far West Texas and banditos beyond the Rio Grande. He could certainly trail a gun-toting voyeur from a patch of birch trees beside a Scottish stream.

His first priority, however, was making sure his wife was safe.

Which was why he was both relieved and alarmed when, while sneaking into Rowanclere through back way, due to their state of undress, they stumbled upon a couple involved in a heated and decidedly carnal embrace up against the gray stone wall of the stable-block.

"Oh man," Jake groaned when he spied them. "I don't want to see this. I really, really don't want to see this."

"Go away," growled Cole Morgan, not bothering to lift his head from Jake's sister's neck.