* * * * *
H
e wouldn’t exactly say they raced back to the tower, but they definitely didn’t waste any time. He had his hands on her the moment the tower door shut behind them.
“Wait, wait,” she said, breathless and laughing as she smacked at his hands. “We’re going to do this properly.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“
You have proper rules for bath slaves, do you?”
“Well, now that you mention
it
…
”
She pushed him toward the stairs as she dragged his coat off his arms. “I’m thinking naked bath slave has a really nice ring to it.”
He was halfway up the stairs, and paused to look down at her, mouth curving into a lethal grin. “I think I can handle that
.
”
She let her gaze drift slowly over him. “We’ll see who handles what.”
He started shucking his clothes right then and there.
She laughed. “My, you are impressionable.”
“
Just following your command, oh mistress of the bath,” he said, a decidedly wicked note in his voice.
She climbed the stairs until she stood a riser or two below him and motioned for him to turn around. “Stop,” she said, when his back was to her.
The next thing he felt was her hands skimming over his calves and up the outer flanks of his thighs. His body hardened and twitched as her hands slipped so close, but moved upward, over his stomach to his chest, as she stepped up behind him. “Just making sure you’re up for the job,” she whispered behind his neck.
“I only have one question,” he asked, enjoying her brand of torture quite a bit.
“Ask it.”
He dared to dart a quick glance over his shoulder. “Do you get to play bath slave next time? Because you’re giving me some really interesting ideas here.”
Her pupils shot wide and her lips parted at the mere suggestion of it, and it was all he could do not to haul her upstairs to bed right then and the hell with the damn bath. But he was definitely winning the next bet
“I don’t know,” she said at last but there was a rough undernote to her voice now. “I suppose you’ll find out if you win the next bet.”
Then she shocked him by smacking him right on the ass. And damn if that didn’t make him twitch even harder.
“Upstairs.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with an amused smile. Oh, there was going to be another bet, and soon. Or maybe he’d just talk her into it. Either way, his turn was going to be a hell of a lot of fun.
He went right to the bathroom and turned on the taps, then when the water was adjusted and steam began to rise, he put in the plug and reached across for the bath salts sitting on the wicker side stool. The fragrance was spicy rather than floral, which he thought suited her perfectly.
He rose to find her standing behind him, still fully dressed. Without being asked, he approached her, and slowly, perhaps even a bit deferentially, he began to undress her. He’d never been much for bedroom games— sex was difficult enough a maneuver in a hammock—so this was a new thing for him. And perhaps all the more fascinating because of it.
He drew her sweater off, then began unbuttoning the blouse she wore beneath it. After each button was released, he parted the fabric wider, and placed one kiss on the newly bared patch of skin. Her swift intake of breath told him he was on the right path. When she started to reach for her waistband, he caught her hands and put them down by her sides. “Allow me,” he offered, his voice having gone deeper as well.
She kept her hands by her sides, but said nothing.
He walked around behind her, and skimmed the blouse down her arms slowly, letting the soft cotton drift along her skin before finally letting it drop to the floor. He kept his lips close to the nape of her neck, inhaling the scent of her mixed with the steamy fragrance of the bath. Fingering the thin straps of her bra, he dropped a kiss to a spot between her neck and the curve of each shoulder, as he slowly tugged the straps over her shoulders to let them dangle there.
Stepping closer, his body almost, but not quite, brushing up against her bare back, he skimmed his fingertips across her collarbone.
She sighed and her body swayed a little. He glanced up to see her eyes had drifted shut. His fingertips dipped down to trace the edge of her bra, then with as much patience as he could find, he slowly, so slowly, peeled the soft fabric back. She gasped as he let it scrape ever so lightly across her nipples, before freeing her breasts fully to his view. She sighed in disappointment when his hands left her, but gave no order otherwise.
He flicked open the hooks and her bra fell to the floor. Standing close once again, he sunk his teeth into one earlobe, making her gasp again, then moan softly w
hen he took it into his mouth. “
Tell me what you’d like me to do next,” he whispered.
She shook her head slowly from side to side.
So he reached around her waist, careful to barely brush her skin with his, and freed the button on her pants. Again she swayed slightly, letting her back rest against his chest with a long sigh as he lowered the zipper, then pushed them down over her hips, taking her panties with them.
He slid his body down along hers, steadying her hips with hands when she swayed again. Now it was his palms skimming along her thighs, down to her calves. “Step
free,” he told her, holding her as she stepped out of her pants. He shoved them out of the way, then, still kneeling, gently turned her to face him. Slowly, so slowly he thought it might kill him, he skimmed his hands up the front of her body, dipping between her thighs, but not touching her where he knew she’d be wet and aching for it. He stood as his palms rode upward, barely testing the slight weight of her breasts, whispering over her nipples, making her jerk and moan, as he straightened completely and pushed his fingers through her hair and dropped one achingly tender kiss on her unsuspecting mouth.
She groaned deep in her throat, but just as she opened to him, he stepped back and scooped her into his arms. Her eyes flashed open in surprise and she quickly threw her arms around his neck for support.
“What are you—”
“Shh,” he soothed. “Let me take care of you.” His cock was so rigid by now it was painful, but he was enjoying every minute of attending to her. It was worth a little discomfort. He carefully lowered her into the steaming, silky water, making her groan as her body unfolded and stretched out the length of the tub.
“Lay back,” he told her, dropping a folded towel over the higher curved end, then reaching for a washcloth from the pile on the wicker stand. “Close your eyes.”
He turned off the taps, then knelt next to the tub, wanting to squeeze his eyes shut, too, against the absolutely stunning picture she presented. He wanted nothing more than to slide in that warm water with her, lift her over him, so he could sink into her until he filled her so fully, so lightly—
He had to shut that track down, and momentarily closed his eyes to find some thread of control. Then he dipped the cloth in the water and began at her ankles, slowly, gen
tl
y working his way up her legs. She was
writhing ever so slightly by the time he reached the top of her thighs, and he drew the towel slowly between them, making them both groan when she arched.
Before either of them could lose control, he slid the towel upward, trailing one corner around her breasts, then letting it barely drift across her nipples. Her groan was so deep, it was more growl than moan. She arched her head back, thrusting forward, seeking out the feel of the towel across her nipples again. Once, twice, he gave her what she wanted. Then he dropped the towel and ran his fingers over them instead, rolling them gently, making her hips jerk, the water slosh. Her hands came up to grip the sides of the tub as he rescued the cloth and once again drew it down to the vee of her thighs, only this time he let it lay more heavily, drew it across her more slowly, until her knuckles whitened and her legs trembled from the restraint it took for her not to take hold of the rag and finish herself off.
“
Tell me if you want something more,” he told her. “Perhaps you’d prefer this.” He dropped the towel and slid his finger between her slick, heated folds. “Or this.” And he entered her, sending her immediately over the edge. She bucked, water edged over the tub, cascading over his thighs and his rigid, dancing cock. And her eyes opened then and she looked directly into his, her climax still ripping over her.
And his control snapped.
He slid his arms beneath her, pulling her from the tub in a cascade of water, still shuddering and moaning, so soft and pliant, wet and slippery. Heedless of the mess he was making, he carried her to the bed and her back had barely come into contact with the sheets when he was on top of her, and in her with one long growling thrust.
She arched instantly, clutching at his shoulders and back, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he
drove into her, again and again. And his own climax was upon him before he could master any semblance of control over it, so he buried himself to the hilt and let it take him over, shouting through the deep, shuddering spasms that rocked him, and her, right to the edge of the bed.
He managed to catch her before they both slid to the floor, and rolled so she was sprawled across him, wet and damp, the sheets clinging to them both.
They were both breathing so hard, it took long minutes before either of them could lift their heads, much less for speech. Maura’s hand finally slid up and over his still-thundering heart.
“Remind me,” she rasped, “to win every bet from now on.”
He laughed hoarsely. “Shouldn’t be too hard since I plan on throwing every single one.”
He finally found the strength to pull her up next to him, and rolled so they faced each other. He pushed the wet tangle of hair from her face and looked into those eyes he’d already come to cherish. Again he was assailed with the sense, so much stronger now that they’d admitted their feelings to one another, that he’d looked into these eyes for eons. “You said, earlier, that I’ve had you for centuries. What did you mean?”
She looked a bit surprised by the question, but smiled and settled herself a bit more comfortably in his arms. “How much do you know of the history of Rogues Hollow?”
Now he was surprised. “
I
know the three men who founded it left Scotland to escape the hangman’s noose for their crimes.”
“
That much is true,” she said. “Your ancestor, Teague Morgan, was quite the scoundrel, as were his cohorts Iain Sinclair and Dougal Ramsay. He and Dougal’s sister.
Lillith, were lovers. In fact, when he left, she was pregnant with his child.”
Tag’s eyebrows lifted. “Did he know?”
She nodded. “Oh yes. It’s said the two were fated, that it was quite the love match. Unfortunately they were from opposite sides of warring clans. And more unfortunate still, Teague lost Ballantrae to Dougal and Lillith’s brother.”
“In battle?”
She smiled. “In a game of cards.”
“
What?”
“His father and brother had been killed fighting a battle alongside the MacKays, taking Ballantrae from the Sinclairs. The Ramsay chief then won it from Teague before the blood had dried on the fields, and promptly made it a dowry for his sister, Lillith, who he quickly betrothed to Calum Sinclair as a way to bind their clans together against further attacks from the MacKays and Morgans.”
“So why didn’t she leave with Teague?”
“An ocean crossing was no place for a pregnant woman. But Teague was facing the noose, as were her brother Dougal and Calum’s younger brother Iain.”
“
What of Calum? And Lillith’s brother? They were clan chiefs, they couldn’t protect their own flesh and blood from the hangman?”
“I don’t think they wanted to. They didn’t trust Teague and it was well known the three were quite in cahoots, despite the battles raging amongst their clans. Lillith herself urged them to flee. She swore she’d follow when she was able, and bring Teague’s child to him.”
“Did she?”
Maura shook her head. “Calum got wind of the plan and kept her on a very short leash. Basically by keeping her pregnant with his own bairns.”
Tag’s eyes widened then as another realization struck him. “The Bible, the one in the cherrywood box.”
“Yes, that was hers. The son she bore to Teague didn’t survive his fifth year, according to the notes written in the Bible. So it went to her daughter, a daughter she had with Calum. The story goes that she passed it down to Carys, in the hopes that one day she’d carry it to Teague herself, or his own offspring, had he any.”
“Only Carys never made it to America.”
“No,” Maura said. “But it stayed in Sinclair hands, handed down in a tangled chain, from daughter to son, son to brother, sister to sister, generation to generation.” She met his gaze as she wove her fingers through his and held them to his heart. “Until it ended up with me.”
“Three centuries,” he said quietly and reached up to stroke her cheek. “A history forever entwined. Forever apart.”
“Until now.” Her smile was filled with contentment, her eyes glassy with emotion. “We finally brought them back together.”