A Highland Werewolf Wedding (16 page)

“Aye, he knows. He hears and sees everything.” Cearnach shut the bed curtains on her
side, then went around the bed and climbed in and pulled his curtains closed. As soon
as he was under the covers, he reached over, not waiting for an invitation, and pulled
her into his arms. She was his to protect from her flesh-and-blood kin
and
his ghostly cousin. He wouldn’t let her worry about any more visitations in the night.

She was cold, chill bumps traveling over her soft skin, and she was still trembling.
He couldn’t warm her up quickly the way his body was urging him to do, but he enjoyed
feeling her pressed against him, seeking his heat and protection.

She didn’t say anything for several minutes, and he thought she might have fallen
asleep, but then she said, “He won’t try to make me think you’re attempting to take
advantage of me in the middle of the night and cause friction between us, will he?”

He thought about that, wondering if Flynn would feel he was protecting Cearnach from
the she-wolf. He could see him doing something to cause trouble between them if he
thought he was being noble in defending Cearnach.

“I don’t know, Elaine. I’ve never brought a woman to the castle before. I’m not sure
what’s going through his mind.”

She snuggled closer to Cearnach, her head resting on his bare chest, her arm linked
around his waist, stirring a fresh need in him to have her. “He won’t come between
us,” she said with firm resolve.

Flynn was causing more trouble than Cearnach could deal with—keeping his hands wrapped
around the lass in a gentlemanly way, fighting back the urge to stroke her skin, to
lift that filmy piece of gauze cloaking her body, and join her in the ultimate bliss.
Mate with her for life.

“Good night, lass. Pleasant dreams.”
Damn
you, Flynn, for bothering the lass.

On the other hand, Cearnach was glad to have Elaine in his arms tonight, the first
of many, he hoped.

It wasn’t until early the next morning when Cearnach woke to find Elaine’s borrowed
gown bunched at the waist, his hand resting on her bare ass, her leg thrown over his
legs and the most painful arousal he’d ever experienced to realize Flynn had not troubled
them for the remainder of the night.

Cearnach quickly moved his hand off her derriere before she caught him. He smiled
when she moaned in protest. At least it sounded that way to him.

He needed to disentangle himself from her bare limbs, and they should join his kin
for breakfast before too much speculation about him and Elaine began to surface. Even
if his kin didn’t share much of what they thought might be going on between Elaine
and him, he didn’t want to fan the flames of conjecture any further.

Yet, she was sleeping so soundly that he hated to disturb her. Especially after what
she’d been through the night before.

Continuing to sleep with the she-wolf could cause more difficulties than either of
them could handle—until he could convince her that it was time to mate, and that had
to happen before she began to make plans to leave Scotland.

Elaine woke slowly in Cearnach’s protective and warm embrace, and realized several
things at once. She’d actually slept the rest of the night undisturbed. She was relieved
that she’d had no more issues with the
ghost
. But now she was in an untenable position, her gown gathered around her navel, Cearnach’s
hand resting on her buttock, and her naked leg locking him in place as if she was
a pirate and had captured him, and he was her prisoner.
More-than-willing prisoner.

She wanted to keep the fantasy alive. Except she’d exchange the pirate’s cabin bed
for this one in the castle, which was much more her style. Rocking on rough seas was
not, considering how sick she got when traveling by ship.

He still wore the pair of black boxers, but that didn’t hide the fact he was fully
aroused and that she was pressing against that rock-hard erection. She was imagining
him entering her, making love to her, mating with her like two wolves would for life.
Did he still want to do that with her?

She’d felt his hand slip from her ass, and she’d let out a slight moan in protest,
not intending to, trying to pretend she was asleep. It hadn’t worked.

Maybe he was still asleep. She missed having his hand on her skin, feeling sexy and
dangerous and ready for more.

She tried to move her leg off him without disturbing him, but as soon as she lifted
her leg, he groaned in a half dissatisfied, half husky way. She glanced up at him.
He was smiling down at her smugly, his face covered with a shadow of stubble.

“Ahh, lass,” he drawled with his sexy Scottish burr, “seems I chased Flynn away for
you last night.”

He ran his hand over her arm, the silky fabric sliding up and down, his touch gentle
and loving.

She quickly moved away from him, yanking down the gown so that the hem was around
her ankles again. “You… weren’t in on this with your ghostly cousin, were you?”

Cearnach laughed, the sound rich and husky. He reached over, tugging playfully on
a length of her hair. She breathed in deeply and smelled his delightful masculine
scent. Now her own light scent mixed with his. She never imagined she’d spend the
night in a male wolf’s bed when he wasn’t her mate.

She sighed. “Bathroom?”

“In there,” he said, motioning toward her side of the curtained bed.

She sat up and pulled aside the black velvet curtains and for the first time really
saw his chamber. One wall was covered with swords and dirks and shields—some old and
battle-scarred, some shiny and new. His chamber made her think of an Old World armory
that would have been the prized possession of a museum on Scottish weaponry. She thought
he should have a suit of mail to make the room complete.

Large, bulky dark oak dressers and armoires filled the room. On top of one, a brass
framed picture of Cearnach caught her full attention. He was crouched among a dozen
Irish wolfhounds—some lying at his feet, two looking up at him with adoration, some
standing beside him, four sitting in a semicircle around him with eyes focused on
the camera, and three pups climbing on his lap. He gave the impression that he was
the alpha leader of a pack of wolfhounds, his elusive smile and the twinkle in his
eyes as he looked into the camera making it appear as though he was observing her.
Who wouldn’t love a man who loved animals?

Her gaze shifted to the remaining walls, which were covered with sketches of intricately
carved Celtic knot designs for the wooden handles of daggers.

“My hobby,” he said, watching her as she turned to look at him. He motioned to the
sketches. “I design them and sell them to shops looking for hand-carved individual
creations.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said, marveling at the detail on the handles of the weapons.
“You did all of these?”

“Aye. Our smithy makes the blades. I work the handles.”

“They’re truly artwork.”

“Thanks, Elaine.” He cast her a small smile. “Not all lasses would appreciate my collection.”

She gave his bared upper body an appreciative look. “I do.”

His smile widened and he leaned across the bed to grasp her arm in response to her
comment. She quickly hopped down from the high bed and hurried into his bathroom.

“Coward,” he teased in a husky, sexy voice.

“I’m not a coward,” she said from the bathroom, finding it as luxurious as the other
that she’d used when she shifted and dressed in the borrowed clothes. This one was
all in black and white streaked marble, the counters and the floor in solid black
stone, and the shower in white. She ran her hand over the cool, sleek marble.

She peered out of the bathroom at him as he now sat on her edge of the bed, smiling
at her in the most wicked way, his chest and legs bared, his erection outlined as
it stood at attention underneath the satiny fabric of the boxers.

She said, “I’m trying to protect your reputation.”

“My reputation,” he said, his voice taking on an even huskier tone.

“Oh, aye,” she said, attempting to copy his delightful brogue.

“It’s already in tatters.” He smiled at her.

She chuckled. “Which has nothing to do with me, and I want to keep it that way.”

He cocked one brow. “It has
all
to do with you.”

“It has all to do with your cousin
Flynn
.” She glanced around at the bathroom and realized she didn’t have any clothes with
her here. She would need to either get them out of the guest bedroom and return here,
or shower over there.

Flynn wouldn’t bother her now that it was daylight, she assumed. If he had meant to
get her and Cearnach together, he’d already done so.

She left the bathroom.

Cearnach stood in front of the bed, stretching his muscles, his brows raised as he
watched her, probably wondering what she was up to. She tore her gaze away from his
muscled chest and arms, perused the bulge in his boxers with interest, and curbed
a smile. He was just too sexy for a morning wake-up vision in the flesh.

She waved to the guest room across the hall. “I’ll use the one in the guest chamber
since my clothes are there.”

“Ah,” he said, giving her rumpled appearance a long, fascinated look. “I’ll escort
you down to breakfast as soon as you’re ready to go.”

At least no one was about when she left his room and rushed across the hall to her
chamber.

She closed the bedroom door, then hurried into the bathroom to take a shower. The
guest room was well equipped with travel-sized soaps and shampoos, packaged guest
toothbrushes, and mini tubes of toothpaste, perfect for a guest whose kin had stolen
her suitcases. After brushing her teeth, she pulled off the gown and tucked it over
the gold bath towels on the towel rack, then entered the glassed-in shower stall.

She was in the middle of soaping her hair with the sweetest-smelling lavender shampoo,
the hot water sluicing down her body making her nearly moan with pleasure, when she
felt a hand brush across a nipple.

She screamed, opening her eyes at the same time, and realized too late that the soap
was running into them. She saw no one in the second of reprieve she had before her
eyes filled with tears mixing with shampoo.

Rubbing frantically to get the burning shampoo out of her eyes, she heard the door
to her chamber open.

“I’m all right,” she called out to whoever it was, suspecting it was Cearnach since
his room was so close and he was so protective.

Footfalls moved across her chamber, headed for the bathroom anyway. She still couldn’t
see, her eyes tearing up as she continued to try and wash the soap out of them.

“Elaine,” Cearnach said, standing outside the glass door of the shower stall.

She shook her head, barely able to see him through her stinging eyes. He was wearing
a towel, soap in his hair and a scowl on his face. She shoved the door to the stall
open. “Come in.”

“What happened this time?” Cearnach asked, sounding annoyed with what he suspected
was his cousin’s unsettling her, but then he caught sight of her naked body covered
only in a light coating of soapy water. He dropped his towel on the countertop, then
stepped into the shower and closed the door.

“I don’t think he wants me here. Not the way he keeps hassling me.”

Cearnach moved in behind her and began to wash the shampoo out of her hair, gently,
lovingly as if they were already mated. He didn’t say anything as she continued to
try and wipe the soap out of her eyes. They felt better, but they still stung and
tears reappeared as they tried to wash away the sting.

Yet something about his protectiveness, his wanting her—his pheromones were so hot
she could smell them over the scent of the shampoo, the water, him—the way he was
declaring his interest, yet not pushing until she agreed, and his tenderness touched
a need so deep that she couldn’t deny she also wanted him in a desperate way.

“What did he do?” Cearnach sounded angry, although he was attempting to couch that
anger.

His voice broke the magical spell he’d cast over her.

She hesitated to tell him, afraid he’d be so furious that he’d want to exorcise the
ghost, and she didn’t want that. She supposed, as far as spirits went, Cearnach and
his kin were family and Flynn deserved some happiness. Not that she wanted him touching
her.

“Elaine?” Cearnach wasn’t saying her name as a question but more as a command. “Tell
me. What did Flynn do to you?”

“He touched my breast.” She was thinking that Flynn had to be a breast man. Or… had
been. Well, still was.

She heard Cearnach gnash his teeth. He didn’t touch her, beyond rinsing out her hair,
and she finished washing, then cast a look over her shoulder to see him watching her,
rinsing out his own hair, looking primal, but not with regard to her, she didn’t think.
More that he was ready to kick a Highland ghost’s butt.

“Thanks, Cearnach. Sorry,” she said. Then she frowned. “No one heard me, did they?
I mean, they were probably miles away in the kitchen.” She hoped.

“I met Ian in the hall and told him I had this under control.”

While Cearnach had been naked, wearing only a sheen of soapy water, shampoo in his
hair, and a towel around his waist? Not that she’d want Ian to come to her rescue
in the state she’d been in.

She groaned and left Cearnach to finish washing by himself, grabbed a towel from a
rack, and wrapped herself in it. There was no going back. One little near car collision
had changed her life. No—the first time she’d met Cearnach, she’d felt the intrigue,
the desire, the need. He had been like a dark wolf angel when she first met him, although
she was not sure of his intentions. Yet deep down she had known he was the kind of
man she needed in her life.

Looking like a man with a mission, his brown eyes nearly as black as coal, Cearnach
exited the shower stall, water dripping all over his skin. He retrieved his towel
off the counter and wrapped it around his waist, his gaze fixed on hers. “I believe
we have rather a situation here.”

“Situation,” Elaine said, leaning back against the counter, holding her towel closed,
and observing the intense look on Cearnach’s face.

“Aye.” He was studying her, watching her expression closely, which meant he was coming
to some sort of conclusion that he was worried she wouldn’t like, she thought. “I
believe Flynn wants me to stick close to you. For whatever reason.”

“Ha!” she said. “I’ve never heard of anything so crazy in my life. Your dead cousin
is trying to matchmake from the grave?”

Cearnach smiled a little at her words and shrugged. “Maybe. I can’t think of anything
else. When he’s bothered the other lasses and they bring it to Ian’s attention, Ian
threatens to exorcise him. It always works. Flynn lies low for days, weeks, months
even. Sometimes he goes somewhere else to dally with the lasses. He’s never continued
to pester the same woman right after we’ve taken him to task for it. Certainly not
twice in a night, and then bright and early the next morning. Not like this.”

“What if he’s doing so because he wants you to leave me alone since I’m kin to your
enemy? Maybe he’s really concerned for you and wants to chase me off.”

“Then what he’s pulling is having the opposite effect.” Cearnach drew close to Elaine,
his hands cupping her face, his eyes taking on a heated look. “He’s smart enough to
know it. Sleeping with you in bed, sharing a shower but not being able to touch you
like I’d like, none of these things are conducive to my leaving you alone. You do
realize when I’m with you, he doesn’t bother you?”

“I wonder…” She looked up at Cearnach, her eyes still bleary with tears from the darned
soap.

“Aye?”

“Would he have bothered me if I had used your bathroom while I showered?”

“It’s hard to say. If he hadn’t unsettled you in there, it could have been that he
was off haunting someone else for a time, and so we wouldn’t know the truth of the
matter.”

She observed Cearnach, willing him to tell her the truth. “Do you honestly believe
if I had stayed in your bathroom, he wouldn’t have touched me?”

Cearnach shook his head. “I don’t know, lass. I suspect he might have pulled the same
thing, attempting to push me into going to you.”

She touched Cearnach’s chest with her fingertips, looking at the way his nipples were
already hard little pebbles. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you… really did put
him up to it.”

He chuckled. “Conspiring with a ghost to catch a lady’s attention? Like I’d need encouragement
when it comes to you.”

Yet, the ghost
had
pushed them together, if she was going to allow that’s what had plagued her in bed
and in the shower. Not that either she or Cearnach had much control over the way their
pheromones jump-started every time they drew close to each other. That was the problem
with being a wolf-shifter. They could smell the interest from another wolf, and if
they felt the same way, that special intriguing scent kicked their own into high gear.