The Parchment Scroll (15 page)

Hugh kissed her throat and tipped his hips forward, pausing to give her a moment to adjust to him. “Tight. Lass, yer goin’ ta kill me.” His voice was strained and their eyes locked.

Her heart skipped. “It’s been a while for me,” she blurted. Heat burned her neck.

Why did you say that, idiot?

His dark gaze intensified and Hugh squeezed her against his chest. “Mine.” He growled the word into her mouth and plunged even deeper.

Jules whimpered and returned his kiss, wrapping her legs around his waist as he started to thrust in earnest. He was rough, took her harder each time he propelled forward, and she loved every moment of it.

It was Hugh unbridled, no control, and
she
had done this to him.

She moved with him, under him, raking her nails down his shoulders, which only seemed to encourage him.

He groaned, going faster, but he kept kissing her, and Jules couldn’t stop touching him. His back, his ass, kneading and squeezing as he drove in and out of her.

They were covered in sweat and panting but she didn’t care.

Never wanted it to end.

Her body tightened and she crushed her eyes shut. Jules’ inner thighs quivered. She threw her head back into his pillow and screamed his name as orgasm crashed over her. Her vision wavered and her head spun. It was hard and fast, and stole her breath as pleasure shot over her body.

Hugh grunted and stilled, but he tugged against Jules’ hold. She was dazed as her hands and arms loosened and he straightened above her, pulling out of her body.

Confusion washed over her, clearing her head a bit, as she watched Hugh lean back, palm his erection and close his eyes.

He pumped once. His release shot out, over his hands and onto her stomach.

Jules watched, half insulted, half relieved. Realization hit her that they’d just had sex without a condom, and her birth control pills were in the far future—and it’d been almost a week since she’d had one.

She should
thank
Hugh for not coming inside her.

So why did it prick a bit?

Are my feelings hurt?

Their gazes collided. He said nothing as he left the bed. He came back with a scrap of linen, silent as he wiped her down. Hugh cleaned himself as well, then he returned to her, wrapping Jules in his arms and kissing her into oblivion, scattering whatever she might’ve said to him.

Languorous heat spread over her already boneless body, and she couldn’t believe she had any more energy to feel
anything
, but she already wanted him again.

“Juliette.” His voice was thick and quickened her heart all over. “Jus’ like I knew ye’d be.”

Jules met his eyes, feeling vulnerable, despite what they’d just done. “Hugh?” His name fell from her lips as a shaky whisper, and she cursed herself.

If Hugh noticed, she didn’t read it in his eyes. Her lover caressed her cheek, his dark eyes boring into her. Jules couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to.

“Perfect, lass. Yer perfect.”

Now she could read his expression. His face, his eyes, shouted the same word Hugh had growled earlier.

Mine.

For some reason, Jules couldn’t find her voice to disagree.

She rolled over and bumped warm flesh. Jules blinked to clear her vision and shoved her thick hair from her eyes. Sex and sleep had made her natural waves a tangled mess. She winced as she tugged her fingers through it. If she couldn’t find a hairbrush when they got up, the morning was going to be a bitch.

He was lying on his side, the MacDonald plaid low, only covering half of his ass. One powerful thigh was exposed, but the good parts were covered.

Jules stared.

He was...beautiful. Looked almost harmless as he slept, too. The dull ache between her legs told her otherwise, but Hugh hadn’t hurt her.

On the contrary, he’d made her feel good.
Too good
. Better than any other man she’d been with.

Despite his roughness.

Her eyes trailed his stubble and she remembered how the prickle on her neck and breasts had turned her on. His powerful chest rubbing hers as they’d moved together. She’d shattered in his arms. Twice.

Hugh had pulled out both times without a word. She hadn’t gotten the balls to ask him why, but her mind wandered back to her conversation with his aunt about his wife. Brenna had died in childbirth. If Hugh still loved her, perhaps he didn’t want to risk a child with someone else, ever. She ignored the little niggling voice that the method wasn’t one hundred percent. And the other voice that
hated
he might still feelings for a dead woman.

Jules was nuts to let either sentiment hurt her feelings, anyway. She had no birth control. Pulling out was a favor to her, really. She was going home. Pregnancy was the last kind of souvenir she needed.

Although it
was
kinda hot watching him come. His head thrown back, dark hair kissing his shoulders. His cheeks flushed red and eyes closed. Whole body shaking.

She shuddered as memories made her body tingle. Her sex throbbed. She wanted him again.

Fully entrenched in Stockholm Syndrome now.

Just call me Patty. Then again, did
she
screw her captor? I’m worse.

How could she want this man, this unmannered barbarian, to
touch
her?

“Damn, look at him. How could I not?” She wanted to drag her hands over his muscles, trace his eight-pack and even suck his erection into her mouth.

She should be worried about finding Bree. However, since her nephew was home safe, she couldn’t think of anything but the man whose bed she was in.

Hugh hadn’t really let her explore his body. It seemed to be a mix of impatience and desire, but what if he didn’t want her to touch him?

Foreplay didn’t seem to be his gig. Not that it’d bothered Jules in the least. The man was
hot.
And had been fantastic at making
her
feel hot too.

Sleeping against him certainly wasn’t a chore, either. He hadn’t really held her, but Jules had woken with his arm strewn across her body as if he owned her. Totally Hugh, but somehow she didn’t mind. That should piss her off. It didn’t.

Jules shook her head and called herself every name in the book.

The anger she’d felt when she’d been shouting at him in the courtyard was nowhere to be found. She couldn’t muster it at all.

Why?

Jules sighed. She hadn’t even had time to process what had happened with Lachlan. She wanted to help find Bree—Bridei, whatever—bring her to justice for snatching her nephew.

Hugh had snatched
her
and taken off.

What was next?

Was Duncan going to hunt down the Irish chick?

She needed to question Hugh as if he was a twenty-first century witness. Jules was a cop, after all, no matter what century she happened to be in. She could help.
Wanted
to help.

Would her barbarian help?

He had men and resources just like her brother-in-law, and Hugh had
seen
the woman. Maybe he’d seen where she’d gone.

Jules studied his face as he slept. He had no love of anything MacLeod, yet he’d returned Lachlan to Dunvegan unharmed.

Hugh’s a good man.

It wasn’t difficult to swallow that idea.

She reached out, wanting to caress his stubble, but paused before making contact with his strong jaw line.

His eyes flew open. “Juliette.”

Jules jumped and yanked her hand back. “Sorry.”

He shook his head and sat up. “I didna mean ta startle ye. Is somethin’ wrong?” His voice was thick with sleep and he looked around the room. Like he was about to pounce on whatever had disturbed her.

“No. I…just woke up.”

His big shoulders relaxed into the bed and his chest heaved as if he’d released a breath. “Juliette.” Her name on his lips made her shiver.

She didn’t fight him when Hugh reached for her, tugging her to him. Jules swallowed a whimper when his bare chest came into contact with her breasts. He felt so
good
against her it scrambled her brains.

“I need ta hold ye.”

Jules froze. Her stomach quivered. Of course he didn’t
ask
but it didn’t bother her like it should. She wanted him to hold her.

He said need, not want.

Their gazes locked in the dim room.

Her gut told her Hugh didn’t hold his lovers. Perhaps they didn’t even normally share his bed all night. Yet this was the second time she was here with him.

“I’d like that,” she whispered.

His smile stilled her heart and she ordered herself not to read into it—or anything else concerning Hugh MacDonald.

She nestled close to his side, fighting tremors—and unwanted emotion—when she rested her cheek on his hard pec. Sliding her arm across his abs made her want to hold her breath, but she didn’t feel awkward, she felt…overwhelmed. Wanted her body against his. To touch every inch of bare skin she could.

Hugh groaned, but she didn’t look up at him. She couldn’t. He muttered something in Gaelic she didn’t have the guts to ask what it meant, then sighed, as if he was content.

Jules’ eyes closed of their own accord when he started rubbing her back. It was too good and made her want him even more with every caress of his calloused hands. Long, soothing strokes that aroused, yet lulled. She melted into him.

“Lass, yer soft. Ye feel…perfect.” The pause made her pulse skip.

She lifted her head and propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. “You’re not so bad, yourself.”

He chuckled and it roused her from her stupid sentiments as she felt it rumble beneath her. “I thought I was. I believe ye said ye’d rather have…wha’ did ye call it? Night terrors than be wit’ me?”

Jules laughed. She couldn’t help it. Composure washed over and she gripped it with both hands. She felt better, not so scattered. She couldn’t get swept away in this man, no matter what he’d made her feel physically.

No. Not can’t. I
won’t
. It’s just sex. I can deal with that.

“Yeah, well, turns out I lied.”

Hugh grinned and cupped her cheek with one huge hand. “I canna’ complain abou’ tha’ untruth.” The warmth of his palm sank into her, just like it had when he’d rubbed her back.

Jules tried to ignore it, and smiled back at him. “I did enjoy being with you. Am enjoying it, even.”

He said nothing, but his thumb moved back and forth over her cheekbone and she trembled.

Why was it he could barely touch her and her insides were like a pinball machine for him? She lit up like he’d hit the grand prize. Jules throbbed for him. Her breasts were heavy on his chest and her nipples tingled.

She fought the cloud of lust. “Thank you for bringing my nephew home. I didn’t get a chance to mention it before.”

Hugh smirked, probably because she’d not said the
why.

Kidnapping will delay ya every time. Oh, so will hot sex.
Jules rolled her eyes at her inner monologue and focused on what her lover was saying.

“Bairns are ta be protected.”

She nodded. “Well, thanks anyway. I mean it. My sister wouldn’t have survived losing him.”

He averted his gaze. Heaviness settled over them and it only took a half a second for it to occur to Jules what’d come out of her mouth.

Hugh had had to survive the loss of
his
child. And his wife.

Jesus. Foot-in-mouth anyone?

“Uh, sorry.” She made her mouth form the words.

He finally looked at her again, but his hand had fallen away from her face. “I doona’ regret bringin’ the bairn home. No mother should have ta lose her child.”

She didn’t know what to say. Definitely wouldn’t mention it was the same for a father. Last time he’d talked about his past, he’d run from her. Jules didn’t want that—especially now. When she was in his arms. “Maybe you and Duncan could be friends now.”

Hugh scowled.

Jules bit her bottom lip to keep a laugh in. She’d only been half-serious. But at least the subject change had worked. “We have to find Bree.”

“Ye know of the Irish lass?”

“Yes. She’s the reason I’m here.”

He arched an eyebrow and tucked a hand behind his head, elbow bent. With the other one, he tugged Jules closer and settled his large palm at her waist. “Aye?”

She tried not to get swept back into his heat, his touch. Nodding, she launched into Claire’s arrival in Scotland, disappearance, then stumbling naked into Jules’ arms on the beach when she’d come to look for her.

Hugh was silent as she explained the newspaper article and Bree finding her. Then learning the truth about her Irish
friend
when she’d been at Dunvegan. She told him about Alana and Xander being Fae, silently apologizing to her sister and the MacLeods—just in case it was a secret. It was Jules’ turn to quirk an eyebrow when he didn’t look all that surprised.

“I didna know abou’ the warrior, but ‘tis been rumored tha laird’s wife is Fae since her arrival almost three years ago. People thought his lad was a bastard, yet she claimed him. Questions always arise when ‘tis abou’ heirs.”

“Well, keep it to yourself, okay? I don’t know if I was allowed to tell anyone.”

He shrugged but Jules didn’t think he’d run off to blab to his clan there were Fae alive and well on Skye. Most of them probably didn’t believe in magic anyway—she could hope.

“Why would the lass take Duncan MacLeod’s bairn?”

“They think she blames Duncan for the death of her pirate lover, evidently.”

“Did he kill him?”

“No. The Fae did.” Jules told him about Claire and Duncan’s adventure to the Realm of the Fae to rescue Alex and Alana. He seemed to take everything in stride—including the funky-colored-tree part of the story. “We have to find her, Hugh. She’s dangerous.”

“The bairn has been returned.”

“Right, but what if she tries again? Or does something else? Alana and Xander didn’t sense her magic until after she was gone with Lachlan. She came
inside
my sister’s home to take her child. Despite all the soldiers and a huge guarded gate.”