Claire Delacroix (22 page)

“Well, we have the most exciting news,” Justine declared.

Morgan, having learned to be wary of Justine when she looked so delighted with herself, didn’t encourage her sister. She could fell Alasdair watching her, and she knew that sexy smile still toyed with his lips.

And she remembered all too easily just how good those lips felt on her own. Morgan fidgeted in her chair, wanting something she didn’t dare to name.

And hating Alasdair’s eagerness to go home to be with his wife.

Irritation coursed through Morgan. It wasn’t her fault that she was thinking of the highlander in a sexy way.

After all, he had kissed her.

And what kind of man did that make him? How dare Alasdair kiss her the way he did and smile at her the way he did when he had a wife?

Maybe he wasn’t that different from Matt, after all. Anger pulled Morgan’s lips into a thin line, and she sat stiffly as she simmered.

Men. They were all the same. Take away the great legs and the charming accent and the timely promises that they never meant to keep and they were all the same. Every man was only interested in sex.

She should have known better by now.

“Yes, we certainly do,” Blake agreed.

When no one asked for details, Justine still provided them. “We’re going to stay in this marvelous old inn! It has the most wonderful view of the lake and the hills and the castle...”

“And the rooms are reasonable enough,” Blake added.

“And they serve a wonderful breakfast. The hostess is so nice, she even showed us the rooms and they’re divine.” Justine sat back with resolve. “We’ve booked two nights.”

Two nights stuck here. And all Morgan wanted was to toss Alasdair back at his wife ASAP.

“But I though we were going straight to Lewis,” she protested.

Justine’s gaze bored into Morgan’s, and she pronounced each word with precision. “But it’s so
romantic
here. How could we resist?”

Indecision warred within Morgan. Justine had finally caught on to the Baby-Making Plan. At least that was going right.

But the price was a bit higher than Morgan had anticipated. She glanced sidelong at Alasdair and found him looking a bit confused.

“You granted me your word that we went directly to Lewis,” he said quietly.

But Blake obviously didn’t hear the danger lurking in the other man’s tone. “Well, what’s another day? We have to stay somewhere tonight anyhow,” he said, ever the heart and soul of practicality. “It’s too late to drive further, and I’d kind of appreciate a day of not driving.”

Morgan blinked. A day of not driving? Someone had stolen away her brother-in-law and replaced him with a living, breathing replica.

Maybe it had been the fairies.

Then Blake gave Justine one of those sizzling smiles that they shared all too seldom, to Morgan’s way of thinking, and she knew she just couldn’t disagree.

By the looks of it, this would be her only chance to hold a bouncing baby on her knee.

Somehow, she’d have to survive.

Alasdair leaned forward to protest, but Morgan sent a lethal glance across the table. It not only silenced him but seemed to stun him.

“I think it’s a great idea,” she said firmly, before Alasdair could voice an opinion. “I can hardly wait.”

Alasdair sat back, his expression wary.

At least he hadn’t argued with her. All the same, Morgan was a bit surprised that this change of plans hadn’t brought on another volcanic eruption, as it had the last time.

He hadn’t even called Blake a liar, which was most unlike Alasdair. Morgan sneaked a peek through her lashes and found the highlander looking thoughtful. What was he up to now?

Nothing good, that was for sure. Morgan had an uneasy sense that the ground was going to shift under her feet.

Shields up; phasers on stun.

But the anticipated shot came from friendly territory.

“Great!” Blake dropped a key on the table. It had a plastic tag labeled “Room 7.” “Well, if you don’t mind, we’d kind of like to spend the evening on our own. There’s a little restaurant on the other side of the hall, if you tell them you want dinner.”

One
key?

Morgan waited, but no other key joined it on the table.

In fact, Blake and Justine got to their feet, linked arms, and smiled, looking like a united – and hurried – front. “Have a good one, then.”

“But where’s the other key?” Morgan asked. She snatched up the key and waved it at the departing pair, as if they had missed this critical detail.

Justine wouldn’t have.

She couldn’t have.

But when that Mona Lisa smile slid across Justine’s lips, Morgan knew she’d been had.

She wouldn’t share a room with Alasdair! She just wouldn’t.

“Oh, they only had two rooms left. One for us and one for you. Didn’t I mention it?” Justine waved off Morgan’s sputtering and practically hauled Blake toward the door. “Oh, well, I knew you wouldn’t mind.” She stretched and pressed a kiss to Blake’s cheek, whispering something in his ear that made him inhale sharply.

“We’ve got to go! We’ve really got to go.” Blake almost tripped over his words in his haste. “Hey, Morgan, I’ll bring up your bag when I get ours.”

“You can’t do this!” Morgan cried and bounced to her feet. “I won’t let you get away with this!”

But they were gone.

And most of the other patrons in the bar were getting a really good look at Morgan shaking that key.

She spun around, sat down on the edge of her chair, and fixed Alasdair with a stern eye. “We have to go and sort this out,” she said in a firm tone. “There has to be another room. After all, we can’t share a room.”

To Morgan’s dismay, a seductive smile curved Alasdair’s lips. “Can we not, my lady?”

An almost forgotten heat spread languorously over Morgan’s flesh, leaving her tingling and weak-kneed in its wake. Damn him! How could she be so susceptible to his charm?

He was
married
!

Of course, that hadn’t stopped Matt.

How could Alasdair imagine that Morgan would willingly be little Miss Here-and-Now, knowing full well that he had a family waiting for him in the past? It was disgusting.

Morgan could just about spit.

Justine was going to regret this one, that much was for sure.

“No, we cannot share a room,” she insisted. “And we aren’t going to.” Morgan marched out of the bar, determined to set matters to rights, one way or the other.

* * *

’Twas not very flattering, the way Morgaine responded to what Alasdair saw as an admirable opportunity. Mercifully, she had absolutely no luck in weaseling another key out of the proprietors.

Alasdair wondered whether there truly were no other accommodations available or the advisors had bribed the staff overly well.

Either way, he had nary a complaint. Someone looked fondly upon him and his quest, ’twas clear, for he could not have arranged matters more to his satisfaction.

Perhaps he should indulge in prayer more frequently than was his wont. Those few Ave Marias in the Micra seemed to have had marked results.

At any rate, Alasdair had two entire nights to seduce Morgaine. And he knew the merit of his amorous talents well enough to smell success in the wind.

Her hand had trembled within his, after all.

’Twould be a slow and thorough loving. The very prospect heated his blood to a boil. He would taste every increment of her delectable flesh, nuzzle and caress her, memorize the location of every mole and freckle that graced her skin. Alasdair would make Morgaine moan aloud, make her cry out in her release, grant her untold praise for the enticing form she had taken. He would pleasure her as never she had been pleasured before.

And Alasdair would do it again and again, until they both were languid and exhausted.

Then they would do it again.

His pulse began to pound in his ears. His palms were damp and ’twas not because the stairs were overly steep. Morgaine’s hips swung beguilingly right before his very eyes, and he decided he would remove the tights with his teeth.

Slowly

Aye, they would need to be dragged from Room 7 two days hence.

But the sorceress, clearly unaware of the delights in store for her, looked fit to spit sparks as she marched up the stairs to the second floor.

Alasdair, in contrast, found himself whistling in anticipation.

Morgaine whirled on the landing and glared at him. “Would you stop that? You really haven’t been a lot of help here. You could have insisted that they find another room.”

“And what need have I of another room,” Alasdair murmured, letting his amorous intent shine in his eyes, “when ’tis Room 7 where you will be?”

Morgaine wagged a stern finger at him, obviously taking advantage of being able to look him in the eye, since he was still three stairs below her. “Don’t even go there, mister. Save your bedroom eyes and romantic talk for someone more likely to fall for it.”

Before Alasdair could answer that, she stormed down the narrow hall, peering at one door after another in the dim light. To regain some control over his raging desire, Alasdair glanced around the corridor and was not particularly taken with the dozens of flowers painted on the walls.

A fearsome amount of work ’twould be – and for what? Without a good torch in the sconce – merely some flickering wee glow – a man could barely see them anyway.

Feminine frippery. It could be naught else.

Finally, Morgaine fitted her key into the last door on the right and shoved the door open with one toe. She stepped over the threshold and gasped.

Alasdair knew the moment of the hunt was upon him. He lunged after the sorceress, only to catch the closing door with his nose.

“No! You can’t come in!” Morgaine desperately tried to push the door closed, a hopeless task against a man so much stronger than she.

Had he not known better, Alasdair might have thought her afeartie.

But of what?

Surely not of him?

That thought was far from reassuring.

Had she merely guessed his plan and wanted to halt his conquest? Alasdair could not be certain – but he had no interest in leaving a woman afraid of him. Alasdair wedged his boot into the opening and let her valiantly struggle to close the door.

He folded his arms across his chest and waited with consummate patience for her to realize the futility of this battle.

’Twas not long before the lady saw his toe. She muttered an eloquent curse and glared at him through the narrow opening. That flicker of trepidation danced in the depths of her eyes. “You can’t come in. I won’t let you.”

“Aye?” Alasdair kept his tone amiable. “Then when am I to sleep this night?”

The sorceress looked dismayed – a good sign, to Alasdair’s mind. She was concerned about his welfare, which could only mean that she was not immune to his charms. “Um, you’ll have to sleep in the Micra.”

Alasdair snorted. “There is not room for a dog to sleep in that chariot.”

Morgaine glanced wildly over her shoulder. “In the pub, then. Can’t you sleep in the tavern?”

If he had not realized it was so critical to share her bed, Alasdair might have been tempted to agree, if only to ease the concern in her wide-eyed gaze. She had an unholy allure herself, that much was certain.

Alasdair gave her a doubly stern glance. “Those feckless days of my youth are long past, my lady.”

“Well, you can’t sleep here!” Her voice rose again, and Alasdair knew he had to reassure the lady somehow.

“It does not look such a foul establishment.” Alasdair tried to peek around the door without success, then let his voice drop to a confidential rumble. “You cannot have found the lice so quick as that, my lady. Or is it a mouse that has sent the wind up you?”

“There is no mouse! And no lice – at least I don’t think so.”

“Then what has made you so fey?” Alasdair leaned against the door frame and spoke in a whisper. “What is it I could do to set matters to rights?”

“Nothing! I don’t want anything from you!” Her words were breathless now, her eyes so wide and dark that they seemed to be bottomless pools. “Just go away.”

She stared at him, and Alasdair could see the flutter of her pulse beneath the fine skin of her throat. She was so delicately wrought, both fragile and resilient. ’Twas no lie that he had never met the like of her.

And never would he again.

Before he could stop himself, Alasdair slipped one hand through the opening and gently touched that dancing pulse. It fluttered beneath his hand like a butterfly.

Had he ever felt anything so soft as the lady’s skin? His own hand looked heavy and rough in contrast to the smooth silk of her flesh. The lady caught her breath but she did not move away, merely stared at him through the crack.

Alasdair wanted her as he had never wanted a woman before, yet the sight of her trepidation stopped him cold.

“Do you truly want me gone, my lady?” he asked softly.

She closed her eyes, as though she hated the truth, and shook her head ever so minutely. A single tear stole from beneath the dark abundance of her lashes and made its way down her cheek.

Alasdair was humbled by the sight.

“Surely you cannot be afraid of me?” He heard his own voice catch.

Morgaine swallowed and her throat moved beneath his fingertips. “No, not of you exactly,” she admitted in an uneven whisper. A relief stunning in its power coursed through Alasdair.

“Then what troubles you?”

She stepped away from his touch, letting the door open with a defeated sigh. Morgaine indicated the bed with one sweep of her hand, as though she did not trust herself to speak.

The bed looked fine enough to Alasdair, wide enough for coupling, long enough for sleeping and plump with coverlets besides. ’Twas framed by a pair of fine windows that he guessed would let the morning sun fall upon the mattress.

Indeed, he could scarce have hoped for better.

But clearly the lady found the bed fearsome.

Could it be that there was more to her tale of disliking drink than she had told him?

“I would never hurt you, my lady,” Alasdair asserted, his words filled with conviction although they were no louder than a whisper.