Susana and the Scot (28 page)

“Stop teasing me.”

“It's only fair.”

She frowned at him. “I doona tease you.”

“You tease me every moment of every day. With each glance and every smile.”

“I most certainly do not.”

“You do, Susana. You do.”

To her dismay, he sat up. She was about to complain, but before she could make her mouth form the words, he said, “I want you naked.”

She swallowed. “N-Naked?”

“I've never seen you naked, Susana.”

The thought thrilled her, even as it frightened her. She had no idea why it frightened her. She trusted him. She wanted him.

Ah. That was likely the source of the fear. How
much
she wanted him.

“You first.”

Without pause, he whipped off his tunic. His body was sheer perfection, carved from stone and perfectly formed from the bulging biceps of his arms to the hard planes of his abdomen. His muscles rippled in the dim glow of the lamp. As she stared at him, saliva pooling in her mouth, aching to explore, he grinned. His expression was one of confidence, not arrogance, which she appreciated. Though he had every right to be arrogant. He was, in a word, beautiful.

“The breeks, too.”

His gaze warmed as he slowly unfastened the placket and let his breeks fall.

Her heart pattered in her chest.

Och. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!

She'd seen his cock. Touched it, tasted it, been filled by it. But she'd never seen it like this.

A magnificent man stood proudly before her. Naked. Aroused.

His face was perfection, handsome, adorable. His hair flowed over his shoulders in a silver shimmer. And those shoulders, broad and thick and strong. His chest, slabs of muscle covered by tanned skin. His belly flat and hard. His legs as thick as tree trunks and between them, his cock … Heavy and full, it rose from its nest, though the weight of it tipped it to the side. Even as she stared, it stirred.

His grin was dimpled, naughty. “Susana…” A warning tone. “Your turn.”

Quivering, she slid off the bed and stood before him. She worked the buttons of her kirtle and let it fall until she stood in nothing but her thin chemise. He watched with avid attention as she fumbled for the hem and lifted it.

He hissed a breath as she bared her hips, her stomach, and her abdomen. His tongue peeped out as she lifted it higher, to show her breasts.

They were just breasts, and just hers, but his reaction when she exposed herself was delicious.

He swallowed. His fingers twitched. He made a little noise, something wistful and aching. His cock rose to full attention, a slow slick slide along his belly, a glistening pearl at the tip.

Ah. He liked her breasts. It was gratifying.

She whipped off the chemise, because she'd become impatient with that reveal. When he stepped toward her, palms cupped, as though he would test their weight, she held up a finger. “Ah, ah, ah.”

He stopped. Blinked. Opened his mouth, to protest, perhaps.

Her smile was fiendish. “Not just yet,” she purred. And then she cupped herself.

They were just breasts and just hers, but it was astounding how sensual they felt in her hands as she stroked them, rubbed them, played with them … for him.

His features went taut, though his mouth went slack, which was, she found, an amusing combination. “Och,” she murmured. “So soft.” She nudged a nipple, circled it, reveling in the wave of sensation her own touch sent through her body, straight to the nub at her core.

“Susana.” A whisper. A hiss. A plea.

“Oh, Andrew. This feels so good.”

“Susana.”

His muscles were locked. His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. He trembled as she stroked her body before him. When her hand eased down, over her stomach, to the nest between her legs, he made a strangled sound.

“Ohh,” she purred as she stroked herself. Her crease was creamy, sensitive, the button hidden within the folds, hard and hungry. And aye, she would have much preferred having him touch her, but holding him captive like this was far more scintillating.

Also, he was a tease. When he touched her, she writhed in frustration. When she touched herself, she found, there was no wandering road to passion. It was direct, and intense, and immediate.

Her breath caught as she found a rhythm, a pressure, a rotation that pleased her. Desire rose like a bonfire within her. She moved faster, harder, with far more desperation than she'd ever felt. Her body tightened from the outside in.

He stared, lips damp, eyes glittering, hands clenched in furious fists.

When she broke, he caught her. When the ecstasy washed over her like a raging tide and her knees locked and her body succumbed, he caught her and laid her gently on the bed.

But that was his last moment of gentility.

Once she was on her back, he thrust her legs apart with his knees and wrenched her arms above her head, holding on to her wrists with one hand. He hovered over her, leaning on one side as, with his free hand, he fisted his cock and guided it home. “Susana,” he growled, “you drive me wild with need.” And he thrust in.

The glory, which had not yet abated, flared again, this time winging her to higher heights, to a pinnacle of bliss she'd never experienced. It stole her breath. Her heart pounded madly. Her mind spun, her body sang.

He filled her with his beautiful cock, shoving in like an enraged beast, stretching her, invigorating her, stoking her fire with each maddened thrust.

As he moved over her and in her, he scraped her sanity. The annoying rub of his fat head against a bundle of nerves at her core drove her wild. The hairs of his chest abraded her nipples with each lunge. Each time he seated himself, their groins met and ground together in an agonizingly brief kiss.

It didn't take long for her to succumb again. Her orgasm was a beautiful flower, unfolding within her, nudged incessantly by his movements. But he, though maddened as he was, lasted much longer.

He lifted her legs and held her up and pounded into her at a new angle, which sent drizzles of pleasure showering through her. As he worked her, slamming into her with hard thrusts, he stared at her breasts, bounding with each lunge. Unable to resist, he leaned down and seized them, licking, lapping, stroking—even pinching—as his hips continued to move.

The sensations drove her mad and though it was beyond belief, beyond sanity, she felt her body tighten again. She was close. So close. She clutched at him, raking her fingers over his back, yanking on his hair, howling her need as her crisis neared.

To her astonishment, he yanked out just as she was about to crest.

He ignored her warble of protest—it was all she could manage at the moment—and flipped her over onto her belly. Confusion ripped through her and she glanced at him over her shoulder. His expression—hard, hot, intent, and savage—eviscerated her.

God, he was a remarkable man.

He took hold of her hips with hard fingers and levered her onto her knees and then, with no warning, took her from behind, plowing into her with a mind-bending plunge. The intensity of his incursion unhinged her. She lost all control and spun into some ethereal realm where bodies and souls were wreathed in heavenly light and song and absolute rapture.

Her release seemed to inspire him. Though he continued moving, she could feel his tension mount. His groans and grunts twined with her moans. The slap of flesh against flesh rocketed around the room as he pummeled her. His cock swelled, his intensity peaked. And then he went stiff, around her and in her.

A great surge of heat filled her. And another. And another. His cry was one of triumph but also, one of submission. He thrust again, and again, but each more gentle than the last until his movements were nothing more than the gentle rocking of his hips as he released his hold on heaven.

He eased from her and collapsed by her side, pulling her along with him, cupping her with his body. He murmured something, something garbled that might have been her name, though it was difficult to tell through the pants of his breath. He took her breast, claiming it as his own, and pulled her closer.

Susana nestled back, loving the feel of his body around hers, the lingering ripples of delight, the knowledge she had power over this powerful man. She felt so safe in his arms. So protected and adored. It was the most rapturous feeling she'd ever known.

She probably should not have closed her eyes, because once she did, she drifted off to sleep.

*   *   *

Andrew held Susana through the night, barely sleeping a wink. He couldn't bear to miss a moment. She felt splendid in his arms, soft and sweet and fragrant. He loved the way she curled around him and nuzzled him and stroked his skin in her sleep. He loved the feel of her bare body melded to his.

Aye, his passion rose again as he stroked her, exploring the curves and valleys of her body in the shadows of night, but he didn't wake her. There was time for passion later. At the moment, this closeness, this intimacy, was far too sweet. Too raw. Too precious to shatter.

He was still awake when dawn began to lighten the sky, lying on his back with Susana's soft weight on his chest, reveling in her warmth, the huff of her breath, her delicate snores. Each one made him smile. Made his heart swell with some indefinable emotion. Tenderness for her, love perhaps, made his chest ache.

As the sunlight stretched into the room, her body was lit in a soft pink glow. He couldn't resist tracking the lines of her form again, studying her curves as they were revealed to him. He scudded a palm over her shoulder, down her arm, and to the enticing lift of her hip.

God, she was exquisite.

His hand froze as he spotted something on her thigh.

He eased her from his chest and onto the pillow. She settled there with a sleepy snuffle but didn't wake. He leaned closer to study it.

It was a birthmark, almost a heart, with a wedge missing.

His breath caught. His gut rippled. He'd seen this birthmark before.

With a trembling finger he traced it, the mark he'd never forgotten, the mark he couldn't thrust from his dreams. Mairi had had such a mark.

It hit him hard and fast then. Why Susana reminded him of the young girl he'd once seduced, once loved and lost all those years ago. Why his heart pounded when he touched her. Why his soul sang when they kissed.

Susana
was
Mairi.

The realization stunned him. For six years he'd been tormented by the knowledge that Mairi had died—because of him. Or at least that was what Kirstie Gunn had told him. But here was proof that she had not died.

He stared at Susana as the rising sun revealed her features. In her sleep, with all her usual tension banished, she looked younger, like the carefree girl he had so adored. One who had captured his heart with a kiss.

How could he not have seen it? How could he not have known?

Barely able to breathe, he eased back down beside her and lifted her into his arms again, staring at her in awe and trepidation. He pulled her closer, reveled in the fact that she nestled in. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her. She was a warm weight on his chest, one he'd yearned for, for far too long.

Mairi.

She was his Mairi. Here in his arms once again.

He wanted to weep, but could not.

It ate at him that, for some reason, she'd hidden her identity from him. For some reason, she hadn't wanted him to know who she was.

But he now did. Now everything had changed.

Though he risked ruining all, he knew he had to confront her with his discovery. He needed to know … why.

She stirred and he stilled. She glanced up at him, her eyes alight. Her lips tweaked.

He couldn't help kissing them. “Good morning,” he said.

“Mmm.” She tucked her head against his shoulder once more. “Is it morning? Already?”

He kissed her brow. “It is.”
Mairi. Mairi.

“I shouldna have stayed.”

“I'm verra glad you did.” He stroked her, running his palm over the velvety skin of her back. “Last night was wonderful.”

“Mmm.” Her fingers trickled over his chest, riffling through his hair, rousing his passion. He caught her hand and threaded his fingers in hers. Aye, he'd woken wanting her—it was rare when he wasn't roused by her presence—but they had little time before they would have to rise for the day and he didn't know when he would have such a moment alone with her again. As much as he would have loved to take her again, in the light of day, as much as he didn't want to spoil this fragile intimacy, his curiosity consumed him.

They needed to talk.

Trouble was, he wasn't sure how to broach the subject. He decided on a roundabout approach.

“Susana?”

“Aye?”

“I was wondering…”

“Aye?”

“About your husband.”

She stiffened in his arms. He caressed her neck, her shoulders, her arms, until she relaxed. “What about him?”

“Did you love him?”

Her glance was shadowed, hidden beneath her lashes. “Of course I loved him.”

His stomach plummeted. Had he expected another answer?

“He was a verra good man.”

“I'm sorry you … lost him.” He knew the pain of losing a loved one to death. It was devastating. World ending. Soul crushing.

She peeped up at him, frowned, and traced the lines on his face. He tried to release the tension in his features, but could not. The memory of that day, the day he'd learned his love had left the world, haunted him. “Have
you
ever been in love?” she asked.

Ah, yes. The opening he needed. He hoped this revelation didn't shatter their tender connection, but he couldn't go on, pretending he didn't know who she was. Still, he couldn't meet her intense gaze. He set his chin on her hair, drew in her scent. “Once.”

She stiffened again, and again, he soothed her.

“I met her long ago, when I was a boy. At first look, I knew I had to have her. At first kiss, I knew I loved her.”