Susana and the Scot (14 page)

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

Satisfaction snaked through her. Tomorrow it would all be settled. Tomorrow she would trounce him. Tomorrow he would be so humiliated, he would turn tail and leave.

Why that thought sent a sharp pain lancing her chest, she didn't want to explore.

*   *   *

Andrew didn't sleep well that night. For one thing, his pallet was extremely lumpy. Aside from that, he was tormented by memories of Mairi and haunting dreams where she came to him and kissed him. Only somehow, it wasn't Mairi in the dream, it was Susana.

He woke long before dawn and lay on his pallet staring up at the ceiling, battling a fierce arousal. It was aggravating and cloying and incited visions of a rounded bottom cupped in a saddle, of snapping emerald eyes and a glorious tumble of red curls. And urges …

With a sigh, he threw back his covers, dressed, gathered his weapon, and then headed out into the morning.

The loch wasn't far and a frigid swim was just what he needed.

If nothing else, it would cool his ardor for a woman who tasted far too luscious to forget. A woman who wanted nothing to do with him at all. A woman who thought him a buffoon.

He stared at the loch, wreathed in morning mist. Gloomy and shadowed, it matched his mood. Without a thought, he tugged off his tunic and kicked off his boots and breeks and waded in.

The cold caress of the waters made his breath lock, but he didn't stop. He forged deeper, reveling in the prickling chill as it consumed his calves, his thighs, and his belly. And then, filling his lungs, he submerged. The water closed over his head in a frosty fist. He needed this. This pain. This distraction.

He launched himself into a crawl, slicing through the waters to the far side of the loch with bold sure strokes. He forced his thoughts away from the woman who had haunted him for six years, away from the woman who tormented him now, and tried to focus on his mission, but he ended up strategizing ways to get Susana alone.

He knew he was a fool but he also knew he had to try.

While he was looking forward to their duel—beating her, to be specific—he did wonder if trouncing her was the best tactic. He knew he couldn't deliberately lose the duel. For one thing, he respected her far too much to offer her less than his best. If she won, she should win of her own accord. Aside from that, he couldn't afford to lose. He could not fail Alexander. But perhaps he should go easy on her.

It occurred to him that he'd missed a brilliant opportunity by not introducing another wager, a far more personal one. How delicious would it be to win not only the control of the defenses, but a kiss as well?

He turned and began the long swim back to the bank. His muscles were tiring and his chest hurt. But it felt good. It felt good to clear his head as well, and reach solid conclusions on how he should proceed with her. But when he reached the bank, they didn't seem solid at all. Especially when he stepped out of the water and tossed back his hair and wiped the water from his face … and saw
her
.

A woman with dancing green eyes and hair like a waterfall of fire stood on the shore in a heather-green kirtle that clung to her curves.

So beautiful. So exquisite.

It took a moment for him to realize she wasn't a dream. That she was really there, the woman who'd occupied his thoughts and dreams all night.

It struck him again just how much she resembled Mairi—no wonder the two had tangled together in his dreams. Unlike Mairi, Susana stood tall and bold, her eyes blazing at him, raking him and not shying away from parts south. Parts that, with his perusal of her, rose.

Hope flickered that she'd gotten over her annoyance with him. That she'd followed him here in a blatant attempt to kiss him again. Ah, but then his hopes were dashed when she yanked her gaze from his groin with a sniff and lifted something … something that chilled Andrew to the bone.

A bow, nocked with an arrow. And it was pointed at him.

To be precise, it was pointed at his crotch.

Aye. She was likely still annoyed.

“What are you doing in my loch?” Her voice rang through the clearing, a strident melody. It sent a shiver through him. Although, to be honest, that could have been a drizzle of fear. She did have an arrow pointed at his most treasured possession, after all. And he knew, from experience, she wouldn't hesitate to shoot.

He forced his heart to calm. Attempted to cool his ardor. But failed. She was so stunning, standing there in the shafts of pink sunlight, and threatening stance or not, he wanted her. He couldn't deny it. The evidence was there, between his legs. “I see you found a new bow.”

Perhaps his tone was too cocky for the circumstances. She prickled like a hedgehog. “I said, what are you doing here?”

“Swimming?” he quipped. He tipped his head to the side and offered her his trademark grin. It was charming and boyish and always made women soften and smile back.

Not this woman. A red tide rose on her cheeks. Her nostrils flared.

Andrew swallowed heavily.

Holy hell, she was magnificent.

But she was clearly still furious with him. And possibly deranged. It occurred to him that he should probably get dressed. Not that his breeks could protect him from another arrow, should she deign to shoot at him again, but it would certainly make him
feel
safer.

She tracked him as he splashed out of the water and, keeping one eye on the warrior princess, tugged on his clothes. It took some doing, because his skin was still wet, and his breeks clung to places they shouldn't, but it made him feel less vulnerable.

He'd never met a woman who made him feel vulnerable before. He was certain he didn't like it.

He noticed that she watched his every move with avid attention. And while he appreciated the gleam in her eye as she studied the outline of his cock in his damp breeks, her hold on that bow was concerning. When he was clothed she spoke again, barking, “Well? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I dinna fancy washing up in the horse trough.” He braved the bow and stepped closer. Lord, she was lovely in the hint of dawn. The urge to pull her into his arms and kiss those pouty lips racked him.

When her gaze once more flicked down to his groin, and stalled there, and her tongue peeped out, heat sluiced through him. He glanced around the clearing. They were utterly alone. No Hamish to interrupt. No villagers to wander upon them. No one to see.

It was the perfect scene for seduction.

Or murder.

He hoped she wouldn't murder him, but even if she did gore him with one of her sharp arrows, it would probably be worth the agony to kiss her again. He stepped closer and closer still.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

Her frown firmed. “No.”

“Ach. Neither did I. I couldna stop thinking about you.”

Her brow rumpled, then lowered a tad. “Me?”

“Your kiss.”

He advanced on her and her eyes flared. She took a step back and he followed, followed until he backed her into a tree. Her lips parted with surprise when she hit the bark, found herself caged between the trunk and his body.

Or perhaps it wasn't surprise. Perhaps it was invitation.

Given a choice between the two, he chose the latter.

“Susana.” He cupped her cheek, stroked the soft skin with a thumb. Nudged her plump lower lip. “Tell me you dinna think about it. Dream about it—”

“I dinna!” she huffed, but the rise of pink on her cheeks, the flutter of her throat, gave her away.

“Tell me you doona wonder…”

She swallowed. “Wonder what?”

“What it would be like. Between us.”

She made a little
eep
as his head descended and then, when their lips touched, she moaned. The sound incited him, enraged him. Or perhaps it was her scent, her taste, the soft scintillating velvet cave of her mouth. Or all of it, combined and twined.

“Ah, God.” He groaned and leaned against her, pinning her between his aching body and the tree. The pressure on his cock was maddening. As the kiss deepened, she rubbed against him. Which maddened him more.

As he kissed her, he caressed her shoulder, her arm, slowly making his way toward those captivating breasts. His palm itched to test their weight.

But he teased her. Teased himself. He continued his exploration down her flank to her waist, and then further, to her bottom.

Ah, lord. What a sublime bottom. He squeezed and she shivered.

Though her mouth was alluring beyond bearing, he yearned for more. He tipped his head and kissed his way over her jawline to nuzzle her neck, just below her ear. Her scent engulfed him and his head spun.

She issued a guttural groan and laced her fingers in his hair, holding him there.

He tried to hold back his smile, but couldn't.

Aye, she might fight him at every turn, but she wanted this. She wanted him.

Unable to resist any longer, he seized her breast and squeezed gently. Her nipple gored his palm and he shuddered. Ah, yes. A body didn't lie. It couldn't.

He raised his head and stared at her. Her lids were heavy, her mouth damp. Her features were etched with a hungry expression.

Ach, he wanted more. Desperately. But he also wanted to hear her admit she did, too.

“So have you?” he murmured, thumbing her nipple. She flinched and made a sound at the back of her throat.

“H-Have I what?”

“Wondered.” A pinch.

Her jaw went slack. Her eyes glistened.

She was so close. So close to admitting it. A thrill ripped through him as she opened her mouth to speak. To speak the words he longed to hear. That she wanted him. She wanted this. And then … he would take her. Here. Now. On the forest floor.

“We—We shouldna be doing this.”

The denial howled through him, even though her tone was tremulous and tentative, even though it sounded as though she was asking for his agreement.

Frustration rose. “Nae. Probably not.” He nested in her neck again, and nipped.

Her response to this wasn't tremulous or tentative in the least. She buried her nails in his shoulder and raked him.

Andrew wasn't a green lad. Though it had been a long long time for him, he'd had women before. He fancied that he understood their psyches. And he knew how to read a woman's response. She wanted this, but couldn't admit it. Something within her held her back.

Though he ached for her to admit it, that need could wait.

For now, he had her in his arms, warm and willing and ready. Determination lanced him.

Holding her gaze, he fisted her skirts, working his way to the hem. Thank God she'd worn skirts and not those damn breeks. A savage howl of delight and excitement and agonizing lust washed through him as his fingers grazed her thighs. She flinched.

“Tell me to stop.” A challenge. If she told him to stop, he would. But he didn't think she would.

Her lips parted. Not a word escaped.

He set his palm to her skin, reveling in its warmth. He eased it up, closer and closer to home. “Tell me to stop.”

Again, no response, none other than a flicker of her lashes.

He stilled as he found the crux of her thighs, downy soft and sweet … and wet. Lust blazed through him at this proof of her arousal. Aye, lips could lie, but a body never did. He stroked her gently, just a tease.

She sucked in a breath through her teeth.

“Tell me.”

She pressed her lips together.

Need churned in his gut. Not just a blinding need to bury himself in her willing body, not just the need to lose himself in her. But need to make her passion, her hunger, meet and match his.

He wanted her weeping for him.

He wanted her to beg.

Slowly he circled her nub, that bundle of nerves, now swollen and tender. She clutched at him as a shiver took her. Her eyes fluttered closed. A whisper escaped. It might have been his name.

Nae. Nae. Nae. He wanted more.

“Tell me,” he hissed as he stroked faster and faster still, dancing around her tiny head, scraping her sanity.

He longed to lay her down in the dewy green grass, to cover her, to complete her, to give her what she was panting for, but he would not. Could not. This was a challenge, not a race. He wanted to win, but he wanted to win it all, not just the moment.

“Tell me.”

He set the heel of his palm directly over her pearl and pressed down in a circular motion, at the same time, toying with the mouth of her sheath. She trembled, moaned.

She was so wet, so ready, it made his eyes cross. He set his head on her shoulder and forced himself to breathe as he worked her. Steeled his spine. Ah, he wanted her. So badly. But it was far too early for that.

He eased a finger inside her and shuddered as her tiny muscles quivered and quaked and sucked at it. He couldn't resist nudging deeper and deeper still. Then he ripped his finger out—she wailed—and he shoved in two.

“Tell me.”

“I canna!” she cried, and she came. Released. Surrendered, there in his arms.

It was agonizing, watching her come, and enthralling, too. As her body closed on him, squeezed and clenched with maddening frenzy, he could only imagine how delightful it would feel if it were his cock buried deep. But though his body ached, though his mind screamed and his cock throbbed, he didn't do the thing they both craved. He didn't rip down his breeks and spread her thighs and plant himself in her, there against the tree.

Surely she would have let him.

But he did not.

Perverse though it might be, he wanted more from her than a quick tup. He needed more.
Craved
something far more profound.

And though this might be his only chance to claim her, it was worth the gamble to wait.

He hoped to God it was worth the gamble to wait.

He held her as she recovered, shaking and moaning and refusing to meet his eyes.

That was all right. He couldn't meet her eyes, either. Though he was hard and throbbing and definitely unfulfilled, this had been one of the most rewarding encounters of his life.