The Pleasure Master (21 page)

She frowned up at him. “That's a little too deep for me at this time of the day.”

He looked away, studying the coastline with its gentle waves washing onto the shore. He could enjoy the gentleness because he knew the force of the waves' anger when a winter storm blew in from the sea.

“I enjoy a woman's body more after a battle, one in which I've faced death. 'Tis the closeness of death, the chance that all might be ended by one sword thrust, that heightens the senses, makes every feeling more intense.” He felt her withdrawal even though she didn't step away from him.

“That's a pretty dark view of life.”

He met her gaze once more. “Think of the man ye left in New York, the one who couldna bring ye pleasure, the one who made ye feel less than a woman.”

Her eyes opened wide, then grew veiled. “I
never
felt less than a woman. Where'd you get that idea?” Her voice was angry, defensive.

He softened his voice. “Do you think ye're the only woman to feel so? Even if ye
have
come from a future time, ye must know that feelings dinna change.”

“Maybe not, but you've got your feelings all wrong this time, Ross. I'm perfectly secure in who I am.” Her eyes dared him to disagree.

“Is that why ye wished for a subservient man? A woman who knows she is strong doesna need a
weak man to tell her so.” He smiled, a smile he knew promised things she didn't think she wanted. “Ye'll see that 'tis not a weak man ye need, but one who matches yer own strength and can bring ye the pleasure yer husband couldna.”

This time, she was the one who looked away. Stopping for a moment, she set Peter down so Malin could find his usual resting place, then she continued walking. “You sure do have a one-track mind.”

“Can ye say ye ne'er think of it, lass? The pain yer husband brought ye will make our joining all the more wondrous.”

“There won't be a ‘joining' between us.” She stopped when she reached her sack, then knelt down to take out the food.

“Do ye think of it?” He smiled at her bent head, the smooth strands of gold tempting him to slide his fingers over it.

She didn't look up. “I think of lots of things.”

“Do ye think of it?” Irritation crept into his voice. Would the woman nibble around the edges of the truth forever?

She sighed. Her answer, when it came, was so soft he almost missed it. “Yes, I think of it.”

“'Tis enough for now.” His answer was as soft as hers.

He allowed the silence to stretch between them, allowed her to think about what she'd admitted . . . then he took off his plaid.

“What're you doing?” Her voice was startled, shrill.

She could see very well what he was doing. “I canna wash blood awa' wi' my clothing on. Did ye expect me to rush into the sea, then sit beside ye dripping water?”

He slipped off his footwear, then his shirt.

She held his gaze, but her cheeks grew rosy. “Why don't you just go to the edge of the water and splash some . . . ?” Her eyes narrowed. “Hey, where's the blood? I see a spot on your arm, and there's one on your leg. Hardly enough to warrant a full strip.”

He grinned. “Aye, but 'tis a fine excuse to swim in the sea on a sunny summer day.”

She shivered. “How can you do it? It might be sunny, but it's not warm enough to go in the water. It'll be like ice.”

“Highlanders are used to the cold. It doesna bother us.” He turned his back to her and strode toward the water. Even as the waves lapped at his ankles, then thighs, he could feel her gaze skimming his back, lingering on his buttocks.

He plunged into the waves to rid himself of her gaze before he turned around and took her on the rock where she was laying out their meal. The decision he'd made as they walked away from the Mackays felt right. Kathy of Hair was special. He couldn't deny that. And he would pleasure her in a place that was special. He didn't know where this place was, but he would know it when the time was right.

God's teeth, but the water was cold. He didn't linger over his washing. When he walked from the
water, she was watching him. Her gaze raked the length of him, from shoulder to feet, pausing at his groin. He hardened in acknowledgment of her interest.

He made no attempt to hide himself. Let her see what she did to him. He reached her and she looked up at him. At his face this time.

“Umm, you must
really
enjoy the cold water.”

“Mayhap ye would like to sample it yerself.” Giving her no warning, he shook his head, spraying her with the water streaming from his hair.

She screeched and grabbed his leg. Caught off balance, he tumbled on top of her. Together, they rolled across the patch of grass until a large rock stopped them.

“Look what you've done. I'm soaking wet.” She sat up, laughing.

Grinning, he propped himself up on one elbow. “Ye canna ride home wi' wet clothes. 'Tis unhealthy for one not used to it. Ye must take them off and spread them to dry in the sun.”

“Right. So we'll both sit in our birthday suits eating our picnic lunch. Different, Ross. Really different.”

His mental picture did nothing to ease his arousal, which had suffered little from his roll. “'Tis a fine idea, but if ye dinna think so, ye may wrap yerself in my plaid.”

He rose, then put on his shirt. He was still a little damp and it stuck to his body. He squeezed as much water as he could from his hair. 'Twould have to do.

When he finished, he turned to find that Kathy had slipped behind a rock. When she emerged, he saw she'd enfolded herself in his plaid from the knees up. Clutching the plaid's edges with one hand, she laid her clothes out on the grass with the other.

“Ye look bonny in my plaid.”

“Yes, but how do I . . . ? Wait, I've got it.” She reached for his belt and used it to keep the plaid closed. “There. I can use both hands to eat now.”

Peter's lights flashed. “That's what separates us from the animals, our ability to accessorize.”

“Well, look who's back in working order.” Her relieved expression belied her laughing words. The toy's long silence had worried her.

She returned her attention to Ian, flicking her gaze over his shirt. Her smile widened. “You look pretty okay yourself. Let's eat.”

He felt himself relaxing in the unusually warm sun, allowing his thoughts to wander. And because he had no plans for seduction in this place, he thought of the land Kathy called home.

If he were not Pleasure Master, he would not mind traveling to her country. He would enjoy meeting Coco and seeing all the marvels Kathy spoke of. Most of all, he would enjoy blackening the eyes of her ex-husband. The thought gave him satisfaction.

“Your hair's all tangled. Let me see if I can comb it out a little before it dries.” She knelt behind him and smoothed her hand over his hair. “I threw my comb into the bag with our food. What can I say,
I've been away from work too long. My fingers are getting itchy.”

He tensed in anticipation of his hair being yanked from his head as she tried to run the comb through the tangled strands. But she was gentle, as she rarely was with her words. She smoothed the tangles from his hair a little at a time, and he found his eyes drifting shut as he relaxed beneath her sure strokes.

He couldn't remember being so at ease with a woman before, couldn't remember a woman caring about making him feel good. He brought pleasure to women, but they felt no need to think of his satisfaction in return. Because he enjoyed women, he had given little thought to this before. The sex act brought his release, and it was enough. At least he'd thought it was enough. He wasn't sure now.

“There, all done.”

He blinked away the pleasant lethargy.

“You know something, Ross?”

She bent close, and he knew the smell of warm wool, the sea, and the clean scent that was hers alone would always carry a happy memory.

“I might be wrong, but I think we just experienced a spontaneous moment of fun and joy.” Her voice turned suspicious. “You weren't doing any manipulating, were you?”

Ian grinned. “I dinna know how to manipulate spontaneous moments, whate'er those might be.” He glanced at the sky. “Methinks ye should dress so we can start back. I would reach home before dark.”

Rising, she grabbed her clothes and disappeared behind the rock. Staring out at the sea, Ian had the feeling that something important had happened this day, something beyond the attack by the cursed Mackays.

He smiled. A moment of fun and joy? 'Twould seem so.

From the corner of his eye, Ian caught the flash of Peter's lights.

“Women weaken legs.”

Ian nodded. “And other things as well.”

Kick her if she ever climbed on a horse again. Everything that could hurt, did. And between Malin's growls and Peter's yammering, she thought she'd scream. “We're close to the cave, Ian. Let me off here, and I'll walk the rest of the way.”

She didn't have to see his face to know he was smiling. “Methinks my seduction would go for naught tonight.” He pulled the horse to a stop, then dismounted and helped her down. Only his arms kept her upright.

Finally able to stand alone, she tottered a few steps toward the cave.

“I'll care for the horse before joining ye. Dinna go into the cave wi'out me. I dinna think the Mackays will have the heart to make more trouble this day, but 'tis always wise to be careful.”

Kathy was too tired to do more than grunt at him. She didn't care if a thousand Mackays were waiting, she was going to lie down. Not only did her leg muscles ache, but her bottom promised her she'd never sit again. And the insides of her thighs felt like they were rubbed raw.

Mumbling curses on all horses with bony rumps, she was almost at the cave entrance before she saw the woman.

Kathy blinked as the woman rose and swayed toward her.

“I would speak with the Pleasure Master. Has he finished with you yet?”

Kathy narrowed her gaze. She didn't like the way the woman said “you.” Raking the woman's expensive-looking gown with her best eat-dirt stare, Kathy transferred her attention to the woman's hair. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Piling all that red hair on top of her snooty head couldn't hide the gray or its none-too-clean condition.

Kathy put on her sweetest smile. “Why, honey, he's so finished with me I can hardly walk.”

The woman looked puzzled, but obviously felt that questioning Kathy was beneath her. “I am Lady Carlisle, a widow.” Her expression hinted she took a certain amount of pride in her widowed state. “My husband left me enough wealth so I may amuse myself where I wish. Even London whispers of the Pleasure Master's prowess. I would try his body to see whether he is as good as others say.”

Kathy frowned. She
really
didn't like this
woman's attitude. The witch was relegating Ian to boy-toy status, a body to be sampled and judged on performance. Since Ian would probably send this woman packing anyway, Kathy decided to save him the trouble.

“I know how it is when you need a body, sugar, but I'm afraid you're plumb outta luck tonight. Ian just got back from a house call. He makes house calls, you know.” She opened her eyes wide. “Had to visit a woman who hadn't had a man for fifty years. The poor dear was so weak with want she couldn't drag her tired tush out of her cottage.” Kathy shook her head sorrowfully. “He was too much for her. Her old heart just gave out. Too much ecstasy.” She brightened. “But she died happy. Ian
always
leaves women happy.”

The woman backed up a step. “Your speech is strange, and I do not understand much of what you babble.”

Neither do I.
“I don't know about your chances of trying Ian's body tonight. He has twelve women booked ahead of you. Let me see, at one woman every half hour that should take him . . .” She paused to let the woman do the math in her head. “Nope, he won't be able to squeeze you in.”

“But—”

“Hmm. Maybe tomorrow night.” Kathy tried to look apologetic. “Oops, I forgot. He has a tour bus booked for tomorrow night. He has to stop agreeing to these cheap tourist packages.”

“He will pleasure a
bus?
” The woman looked horrified. “What exactly
is
a bus?”

A familiar clatter and flashing of amber lights warned Kathy they weren't alone.

“What we've got here is failure to communicate.”

The woman took one look at Peter, screamed, then ran for the trees. A few seconds later Kathy heard the sound of hooves pounding away from the cave.

Kathy looked down at Peter. “Gee, she sounded upset. Guess she's not used to waiting in line.”

Kathy heard running footsteps a moment before Ian broke into view with his sword drawn. Puzzled, he stopped and glanced around. “I heard a woman's scream.”

“That would be me.” She smiled weakly. “I saw a big roach.”

“A roach?”

“It had red hair.”

“What is a roach?” He looked suspicious.

“Very ugly insect. Really hard to get rid of.” Hey, if you were going to lie, may as well tell a whopper.

He still looked suspicious, but evidently decided to ask nothing more. “I will enter the cave first.” Keeping his sword drawn, he cautiously walked down the tunnel.

Kathy followed him. She couldn't imagine living in a place where you had to enter your own home with a drawn weapon. But what if she never went home? She shuddered. Staying here
wasn't
an option. She'd find a way to get back to New York.

Why even now, Janelle Thomas was probably announcing that
no one
touched her hair except Kathy Bartlett. On a less positive note, her slimy ex
was probably rubbing his hands in glee if he'd found out she was missing. After all, he'd have her money to spend if she didn't show up in court.