To Catch a Highlander (19 page)

Beware the man who's quick to give ye jewels and gold. There's always a hook in such sweet bait!

Old Woman Nora from
Loch Lomond
to her three wee granddaughters one cold evening

He saw a light flare in her eyes, though she tried to hide it behind the tilt of her sherry glass. After taking a sip, she said in a careless voice, "Certainly. That will be a pleasant way to spend the evening."

He took the cards out of their small ivory box on the table. "What shall we wager on this evening?"

She smiled flirtatiously. "I still haven't won back my mother's jewels."

"I shall place them on the table, again."

Her excitement was palpable. "Excellent. Then I suppose the next question is… what would you have of me?"

There was the faintest quiver to her voice. Good. She
should
be uneasy.

He ran his gaze over her insolently. That was the problem with Sophia's plan: it put her at a distinct disadvantage until the moment she won all—a moment that would never arrive. But she didn't know that, and there was power in knowledge.

"Let me think about our wager for a moment. Shall we be seated?" He gestured to the table.

"Of course." She brought the decanter and her glass to the table and sat down, her silk gown rustling as she moved. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, the thick lashes casting shadows over them.

Dougal sat as well, imagining kissing the sherry that lingered on her lips. The time would come soon. "Do you wish to shuffle the cards?"

She nodded, quickly picking up the cards. The firelight caressed her pink cheek, warming her skin until he wished he could touch her.

She shuffled the cards, her fingers flying over their worn surface, then set them on the table. "Well? What is the wear?"

Dougal captured her hand, and her lips parted, her breath quickening as he turned it over. Her hand was well shaped and patrician, with graceful fingers, but calluses marred her palms, roughening the skin.

She curled her fingers closed. "Shall I name the wager myself?" she asked with asperity.

He stroked his thumb over her wrist, where her skin was as smooth as it should be. It was a shame life had forced her to perform her own chores. Did she ordinarily do all of the cooking and cleaning? He'd gathered that Mary and Angus were on loan from the squire's house until Sophia managed to fleece Dougal from his rightful winnings. After that… would she go back to her life as it had been before?

A pang of regret flickered through him, and he released her hand. "I believe I do know what I wish to wager."

She tucked her hand away, her cheeks suspiciously bright. "Do your worst, MacLean."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out both the bag of jewelry and the deed to the house.

Sophia's gaze was glued to the large, folded paper. "You brought the deed."

"I didn't wish to leave it in my room."

Her cheeks flushed. "No one here would steal it from you, if that is what you were thinking."

"Of course not. I am merely cautious by habit," Dougal rested his fingers on the deed. "Hm. Where should we begin?"

"With the deed to the house." Her voice was breathless.

"I believe…" He allowed his hand to hover over the deed, before moving on to pick up the bag of jewelry.

Disappointment flashed over her face.

He smiled. "Shall we begin with these? Perhaps the earrings."

"I'm interested in it all," she replied shortly. "At one time."

"Not so fast, my dear." Dougal pulled the earrings from the bag and tossed them to the center of the table. Tangled together, the sparkling jewels slid on the slick surface until they rested in front of Sophia.

"Well?" Dougal asked. "What will you stake against them?"

She pursed her lips. After several long moments, she said, "I will wager my hairpins.
All
of them."

Remembering how her unbound hair had caressed her curves and clung to her breasts, flowing down almost to her waist, his groin tightened. "Your hairpins, then. But on our next hand, I shall want something more."

She smiled faintly. "Let's see who wins this hand, shall we?"

They played their first hand in relative silence, Dougal watching her every move. She won the first hand and, to his reluctant amusement, immediately exchanged the small pearl earrings she wore for the diamond set. The gems were beautiful, but her eyes were more so, and he decided he wanted to see her completely naked, wearing nothing but the diamond set.

Determined to win the next hand, he tossed a bracelet onto the table. Once again, she offered her hairpins, and Dougal, though wishing for more, accepted. She had the loveliest hair.

She lost the next hand, which was no surprise. She could hardly expect to entice him to toss the deed to MacFarlane House onto the table by seeming too easy to beat or by beating him outright. No, she was far too intelligent for that. But so was he.

He had been to enough gaming hells to know how things would progress. His devious Sophia would allow him to win most of the hands tonight, to build his confidence in his own skill and to promote a healthy underestimation of hers. She needed a good shock, something to rattle her confidence.

When she lost the hand and started unpinning her glorious hair, tossing the pins onto the table with impudent nonchalance, Dougal said, "Perhaps we should spice up our next wager."

A wary look entered her blue eyes. "How?"

"By wagering your mother's necklace against… your clothing."

She froze, her arms over her head, her eyes wide. "My clothing?"

"Yes. Your gown—against your mother's necklace." His body was already hard at the thought of her standing before him in nothing but her chemise and stockings.

Sophia lowered her arms with a teasing smile. "I doubt it will fit you."

A surprised laugh broke from him. "That
would
be a sight. But to be crystal clear, if I win this hand, you will disrobe for me."

Sophia's mind raced, as did her pulse. Beneath the gown, she was wearing stockings and a chemise, so it wasn't as if she would be completely undressed.

And the benefit in losing this wager—and she fully intended to lose it—would be the opportunity to tease Dougal even more. To torment him with the possibility of what might happen, make him desire her until his thoughts were muddled and his head swimming.

Much as hers were right now. Blast it, she should have eaten something before drinking the sherry! She caught Dougal's gaze, and her cheeks heated at the intensity of his look.

"Well?" he asked.

Sophia picked up the cards and shuffled them with an expert twist of her wrists, her fingers flying, in an attempt to calm herself.

She had to be careful; this restless excitement was all too addicting. She'd never felt more alive. The air seemed crisper, the cards felt even silkier, the scent of the sherry floated sensuously about them. But even more, she was aware of Dougal's intense gaze. Of the strong line of his jaw. Of the way his dark blond hair fell over his brow, shadowing those intriguing eyes until they appeared smoke green.

Finally, she replaced the cards on the table. "I accept. The necklace for the removal of my gown."

She could almost feel the heat that flared in his eyes. "Deal the cards."

They played with quiet intensity, no sound but the flick of the cards against the table. Finally, Sophia was down to her last play. She hesitated, agonizingly aware of the man who sat across the table from her, his burning gaze rarely leaving her face.

There was an almost physical pull from him, as if he were silently willing her to give in to the wild thoughts now filing her mind. Her spirit seemed to have awoken from a long sleep. Her soul reveled in the danger of this moment, in the very impropriety, and leapt willingly into it. Her blood burned with the challenge of maneuvering him into giving her what she most wanted, most desired.

She felt a crazed desire to laugh.
This
was why her mother had stayed away from Red's games. Not because she hadn't liked them but because she'd
loved
them.

Sophia took one last look at her cards, made her selection, and placed them on the table.

Dougal looked at them, so hard with desire that he could barely focus. She had a paltry pair of jacks. He inhaled deeply, then placed his cards beside hers. "I win."

She regarded him from beneath her lashes, the look seductive and promising. Damn, she was a heady wench. Under other circumstances, there was no telling what this might have led to, for he couldn't imagine ever tiring of her.

Unfortunately, fate had dealt them a short hand, and they were doomed to a brief, but brilliant relationship. He would have to be satisfied with that.

Dougal took another drink of sherry, the liquid burning his throat. It was traditionally a sweetish drink for gently bred women, but this brew was amazingly potent. He placed the glass back on the table and said softly, "How do you wish to do this, my love?"

She slowly stood. "I cannot believe I agreed to such a foolish wager."

"You thought you'd win."

"I always think I'll win," she said wryly.

He nodded blindly, mesmerized by the way the silk gown clung to all that was soon to be revealed. He stared at the curve of her breasts, full and round, imagining how they'd fill his hands. He could easily span her petite waist, and the curve of her hips seemed made just for his hands, as were the intriguing shadows beyond.

She slowly pushed aside her hair, the golden strands clinging to her neck and shoulders. He didn't blame them; he'd be loath to part from such glorious skin himself.

As she met his gaze, he was caught by the seductive light in her eyes. By Zeus, she was
enjoying
this. Savoring it, even!

As if to confirm his astounded thoughts, a smile touched her lips as she readied for the ties at one shoulder. Her diamond earrings glinted as she turned her head to the side.

She slowly tugged on the ties, making them fall sensually over her shoulders.

His body ached with desire, and he grasped the arms of his chair to keep from reaching across the table and yanking her forward. Bloody hell, but he was enraptured, caught as if by a fairy queen from some legend of old.

She slowly slid her gown down one shoulder, smiling seductively, her blue eyes so bright they seemed almost silver.

He reached out, but she stepped away. "No," she said, her voice husky. "You didn't say anything about touching."

Damn it to hell
! Why hadn't he done so? Dougal ground his teeth but forced himself to lean back in his chair. "Very well. I will not touch you."

Sophia saw the strain as he attempted to hold in his desire. Heat flooded her, her breasts tingling in a most unusual way. He wanted her badly; she could see it in every line of his body. She shivered with a mixture of her own desire and the heady realization of her power.

She loosened the ties on the other side and let the gown fall. It slid down her body, a sensuous flow of silk and lace that landed in a blue and cream pool at her feet.

Dougal's breathing grew harsher; his eyes shimmered with something raw and brutal.

Her white chemise was simple and serviceable, with a drawstring neckline adorned with tiny rosettes and a single flounce about the bottom. Though it fell past her calves and the fabric was substantial, she felt exposed and naughty and wildly excited.

She peeped under her lashes at Dougal, who gazed at her with raw desire and clear masculine appreciation. His gaze roamed over her, lingering here and there, his mouth pressed in a hard, hungry line.

Though her first impulse was to cover herself, she lifted her chin boldly instead.

Dougal thought he would go mad. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. She stood before him, only one layer of thin fabric between him and paradise. And oh, how she looked like paradise—a mischievous angel with a body made to be tasted and teased, a mouth made for loving and laving, her golden hair caressing all of the places
he
wanted to caress. He ached for her as he'd never ached for any woman.

She nervously stroked a long lock of her golden hair, threading it through her fingers over and over, making his groin ache. If only she would do that to him. He envisioned her pale fingers stroking his skin, her fingers wrapping about his shaft as she… He closed his eyes against the temptation simply to
take
her, make her his.

But closing his eyes just made things worse, for his imagination took her luscious image and began to do all sorts of delicious things to it. He groaned, realizing that he could fight the storms more easily than fighting his desire for her.

"Dougal?" Her smoky voice wrapped around him.

Dougal gripped the arms of his chair. If he let go he might reach for her, and if he touched her, he didn't know if he could maintain his control. The thought chilled him to the bone. He could not trust himself another moment.

He forced his eyes open and was engulfed anew by her. He loosened his jaw enough to speak. "Go."