To Catch a Highlander (28 page)

Men are like rocks. There are times they cannot move 'le
ss
ye give 'em a wee nudge
.

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

Sophia couldn't breathe at the sight of Dougal standing naked before the fire, the firelight licking hungrily at the shadowed muscles of his stomach and thighs, tracing the powerful bulges of his arms down to his well-formed hands. Their previous encounter had happened in the near dark, with occasional flashes of lightning, so it had been more about touch and taste than sight. Nothing had prepared her for Dougal's bared masculinity and his obvious arousal, which literally grew as she looked at him.

The sight stole all ability to think, all ability to breathe, all ability to do anything but stare.

She should have blushed and fled, but she couldn't. Her heart thudded harder, her fingers curling with the need to touch those hard muscles and feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips.
God, he is magnificent
! Every tawny, muscled inch.

Dougal planted his feet wide, as if daring her not to stare at him. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice hot enough to start a fire of its own. "What are you doing in my room, Miss Sophia? Was this what you had in mind when you tricked my sister into inviting you here?" His eyes narrowed to slits. "Did you come to tempt me into making a fool of myself again?"

She licked her dry lips and said huskily, "I came to speak with you. We'll be with the other guests this evening and may not have time for private speech."

"And you could not wait until morning?"

"I will be leaving first thing in the morning."

His eyes glinted. "What is so damn important that you cannot wait?"

Her gaze dropped to his maleness, her mouth watering, yearning to touch his skin and see if it was as warm as it looked. To trace the lines of his muscles with the tips of her fingers. To melt into his arms and feel his lips over hers and—

He gave a muttered curse and suddenly strode toward her.

Sophia's eyes widened as he stopped in front of her, and she could see the irritation in his green gaze. "What do you want from me?
What
?"

She lifted her hand, then realized the paper wasn't in it. Blast, she must have dropped it. She looked around and saw it by her foot, so she bent to pick it up—pausing halfway when she realized she was at eye level with Dougal's very obviously aroused male member.

It was but an inch from her, the shaft smooth and hard and thick. This was what had given her such pleasure. Her entire body tightened at the thought, and she burned to reach out and touch it. Her hand lifted, and—

He caught her shoulder, his fingers tightening. "Sophia," he rasped.

Suddenly, she knew what he wanted. Knew it with all of her heart. The idea was indescribably naughty, which made her want to do it all the more.

She leaned forward, and slowly, ever so slowly, she kissed the end of his shaft.

Dougal took a shuddering breath as she pulled back and retrieved the paper from the floor.

She held out the paper, unable to meet his gaze. What was it about this man that made her forget propriety?

There was a long silence, then Dougal snatched the paper from her. It crackled as he opened it.

"The deed?" He thrust it back at her. "I don't want it."

She met his eyes. "Neither do I."

His brows snapped together. "Why not? Wasn't this the reason you threw yourself at me—"

"I didn't mean for
that
to happen—any more than you did."

"I don't believe you."

"Then why am I here, giving you the deed?" she asked simply.

"Guilt?" His eyes had darkened until they were almost black.

"No," she said softly. "I feel many things, but guilt isn't one of them."

His gaze dropped from her face to the deed. For a long moment, he stood like that, his head bowed, the firelight playing over his dark gold hair, the paper crumpled in his hand.

Then he lifted his head. "We're like tinder before a flame. I don't know what this attraction is that flares between us." He shook his head ruefully. "I've never experienced anything like it."

Sophia's chest tightened, and she forced herself to look into his eyes so that she wouldn't be distracted by anything else. "I don't know what it is, either, but it's a little frightening."

He frowned. "That night, in the library—did I hurt you?"

There was such concern in his voice that she swiftly shook her head. "No. Of course not. It felt quite… good, actually."

"You told me you were not an innocent." His eyes were damning. "Why did you tell me that?"

Her cheeks burned. "Because I knew that if I told you the truth, you would leave. And I wanted you."

He searched her face, and finally, he nodded, his stern look replaced by a faint smile. "Fair enough. I understand desire if nothing else."

"Yes, you do," she said in a fervent voice.

He laughed softly, his eyes softening to a deep green. "You sound astonished."

"It was wonderful," she said simply. "Dougal, I am sorry for trying to trick you about the house. It was my mother's fondest dream that Red and I live there. He was on his way to
Edinburgh
to sell the last of her jewels to pay for a new roof, when he lost the house to you." She made a hopeless gesture. "He meant to help, but… it didn't work."

"Did it ever occur to you to explain that to me?"

She blinked at him. "Would you have given up your claim?"

His smile was dark and beautiful and made her yearn for him yet again. "You won't ever know, will you?"

Sophia shook her head and made the mistake of dropping her gaze. She found herself looking at his muscled shoulders and chest and at the trail of black hair that led down, narrowing intriguingly as it ended—She slapped a hand over her eyes, her body burning.

She heard a soft chuckle, and his warm hand closed over her wrist, her entire arm tingling at the touch. He pulled her hand from her eyes, his expression sobering as he met her gaze. "You are an intriguing mixture of innocence and sensuality. I never know what to expect from you."

"I never do, either," she muttered, pulling her hand free. She wanted him so badly and exulted in that feeling. But she also knew the cost of throwing herself into the flames. Every time they were together, it was becoming more and more difficult to distinguish between lust and love.

Love
? The thought jolted her. Where had that come from? How could she possibly be in love with Dougal MacLean?

"We must rid ourselves of this desire." He handed her back the deed.

She took it without thinking. "How?"

He swooped her into his arms and turned, her gown sweeping over his arm. Sophia clutched at him, linking her arms about his neck, the deed falling to the floor once again. "What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly.

"What I should have done the second you walked into this room." His voice was almost a growl, though a faint smile curved his hard mouth.

He set her on her feet beside the tub. "Undress."

She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

His green eyes gleamed. "You can't take a bath in your clothes."

"A bath? But dinner—"

"Can bloody well wait. Neither of us is a slave to society's rules, are we?" A challenge lit his eyes.

Something within her flared in response. She'd always enjoyed the freedom of her unconventional upbringing, the freedom that had allowed her to plan to live in her own house without a husband, the freedom that had led her to initiate a high-stakes game of chance with the man who stood naked before her.

He gave her a wicked, follow-me grin before he stepped over the edge of the tub, slid into the lapping water, and held out his hand. "Shall I help you in?"

She longed to join him, the feeling almost painful.

But if she lost control and allowed him closer physically, could she continue to fight off the emotional ties that seemed to strengthen every time they were together?

She knew that once she was in the warm water, with Dougal's powerful arms about her, there would be no control, no thinking, just a crushing wave of
being
. She shivered deliciously.

The water sloshed as Dougal rose, naked and gleaming, and lifted Sophia, gown and all.

"Dougal!"

He held her over the water. "Well? Will you join me now?"

"Do I have any choice?"

"No." He sat down, settling her in his bared lap.

Her gown floated about her, the silver netting of her overskirt draped over the edge of the tub as her underskirts floated about them. Warm water soaked through her clothes and lapped at her breasts, making her nipples peak.

His arms tightened about her, and he pulled her back until her head rested against his shoulder. "There," he said, his voice warm against her ear. "Finally, you are where you should be."

For now
. That was the way of men like Dougal; they were all yours… until tomorrow. That was all she'd get. But perhaps that would be enough. She was just realizing the truth about her own character, acknowledging the desire for excitement that had been dormant so long. Perhaps when tomorrow came, this was all she'd want, too.

Dougal tilted up her chin and smiled into her eyes. "Shall I scrub your back, my love?"

"Through my gown?" Sophia lifted an arm. Her gown was soaked and clung to her, streams of water running into the tub. A quiver of laughter tickled her. "Dougal, you are ridiculous! How am I to get back to my room dressed like this?"

He grinned at her, his teeth flashing whitely in the dim light from the fire. "You'll leave a trail of water."

"Which the servants will report to your sister."

"Fiona won't care."

Sophia lifted her brows. "You can't believe that."

"So long as I'm happy, she'll be happy for me."

She turned and regarded him for a long moment. He was devastatingly handsome, his eyes dark and mysterious. His mouth seemed carved from granite, drawn with such a definite line, his square chin a testament to his strength. His shoulders rose from the water, heavily corded with muscles. She could feel the hardness of him all around her, in his arms, his stomach, his legs, his—

Her eyes widened, and she scrambled to stand up, but Dougal was too quick. His arms tightened about her the second she tried to push out of the water. "Dougal, let—"

He kissed her. Not roughly as before but passionately, his mouth warm, his lips deliciously firm. The kiss burned through her, shattering her thoughts, rendering her incapable of thinking or feeling anything but him.

This
was what she'd longed for, missed, and needed. She struggled to untie her gown, growling when the wet ribbon knotted.

Dougal reached beneath her gown and pulled the tie free. He turned her so that she straddled him. Sophia shivered as his fingers found her core beneath the clinging material.

Ever so gently, he drew his fingers over her. Again and again, his fingers barely touched her, tracing a light path, sending exquisitely delicious tremors through her. She moaned, and her head fell back.

His arm tightened, though he didn't cease his ministrations. She stirred restlessly, and he increased the pressure of his fingers, driving her wild with need. Every touch made her long for more; every tremor made her yearn for release.

His breath was harsh, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he slid his hands to her hips and pulled her over him, his manhood pressing against her. Sophia gasped with pleasure as he entered her.

Then she was rocking back and forth, her gown a floating blue puddle, her hands tight on his shoulders. He thrust upward, holding her waist as he took her over and over.

The feeling built, and she moaned his name, faintly aware of the water sloshing onto the floor as her body rose and fell in and out of the warm water, her nipples abrading against her wet gown in the most delicious way.

A low growl of excitement grew inside her, rising with every thrust, every move. When Dougal's lips fastened over her peaked nipple, she arched back as waves of exultation washed over her, pleasure unlike any she'd ever felt thundering through her.

She gasped his name, then hung on tightly as she slowly regained her breath.

He pulled her close as she recovered, his manhood still hard within her. Then he stood, taking her with him as if she weighed no more than a feather. He stepped from the tub, her soaked gown and hair streaming water onto the wet rug, and set her before the fireplace, where the warm flames stilled her shivers.

Sophia looked up at Dougal and almost lost her breath. Gone was the lighthearted philanderer; in his place was a man bent on seduction. Had she any sense, she would leave.

But having tasted Dougal's kisses, she knew that no house, no matter how beautiful or how dear, would ever fill her heart. She wanted this. She wanted him.