Authors: The Last Highlander
Morgan carted the tray to the door, making no end of noise setting it down, opening the door, and dropping it in the corridor with a clattering
thunk
.
Alasdair snored away, lost in the land of sleeping pills.
And Morgan, well satisfied with herself, turned out the lights and went to bed. The trick would never work again, but she didn’t need it to. First thing in the morning, Morgan would trot down to Room 11 and convinced Justine that they had to continue immediately to Lewis.
Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. They had to get out of here before she did something she’d regret.
* * *
The sun eased golden through the window, and Alasdair awakened. He looked around the room for the rat that had evidently slept in his mouth.
But he was in the sorceress’s chambers – and the sorceress herself slumbered peacefully not half a dozen steps away. His first impulse was to slide into her bed beside her, but he forced himself to think matters through.
His tongue was thick and furry, the lingering taste most foul, and his thinking as foggy as the valley on a November morning. A dull thud pounded behind his eyes, but he had no recollection of an evening merry enough to have earned him such a state of being. Alasdair had fallen asleep after his meal, ’twas clear, and the lady had neither joined him nor invited him to her bed.
Perhaps Alasdair was not so close to victory as he had believed.
Too late he recalled the sharp tang of the ale she had brought him and then he understood. ’Twas clear enough – the lady Morgaine had concealed a noxious potion in the guise of good ale. She had tricked him again!
And he had been fool enough to drink of it – even knowing what he did of her feelings toward drink.
Alasdair nearly slapped his pounding forehead in disgust. How could he have been so slow-witted? So angry had he been by her trickery that he had fallen for another prank.
Well, ’twould not happen again. ’Twas clear enough that she only slept because she believed him safely enthralled, so Alasdair resumed his slumbering pose.
And he waited, watching her through his lashes.
’Twas not long before the sorceress stirred. To Alasdair’s mingled delight and dismay, she turned immediately to him, her brow drawn in a worried frown.
Her chemise gaped at the bodice, revealing the creamy perfection of her breasts to his view. But naught would reveal his wakefulness more clearly than a rise in the linens. Alasdair gritted his teeth and thought of his gran’s morning libations again.
And of cold, cold winter winds.
Morgaine rolled gracefully out of bed, raking one hand through the darkness of her curls. She came to his side, and Alasdair closed his eyes more tightly, feigning sleep as well as he was able, inundated as he was by her perfume of roses.
Did he breathe too fast? Too slow? Did his eyelids flicker as she watched? How could he truly expect to fool a powerful sorceress, especially one who could read his very thoughts?
An eternity later, Morgaine straightened and yawned. Alasdair treated himself to a glimpse through his lashes of her stretch and it nearly undid his carefully composed state.
But mercifully, she turned away in that moment. She hauled her gown over her head, the perfection of her buttocks making his mouth go dry. Indeed, he forgot to pretend anything, so enchanted was he by the sight, and ’twas his own good fortune that Morgaine clearly had other matters on her mind.
For within the blink of an eye, she had dressed and was opening the door to the corridor. With a single backward glance – one Alasdair fortunately had anticipated – she slipped out into the silent establishment.
Alasdair waited only to hear her footsteps fade before he rolled out of bed. His prey gleamed in the lock of the bathroom door. He captured that cursed key in one smooth move, padded across the room, and flung it out the window. It flashed in the pale morning light, then disappeared, never to be seen again.
Well satisfied with what he had wrought, Alasdair resumed his sleeping pose and waited to see what the sorceress would do next.
He did not have long to wait.
* * *
Morgan refused to think about how early it was when she came to a stop outside the door to Room 11.
Surely Justine wouldn’t mind? This was important, after all.
But Morgan had a funny feeling her sister wouldn’t see things that way. The DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging jauntily from the door knob made her hesitate.
Still, her point of view counted. This was Morgan’s vacation, too. Despite Justine’s obvious matchmaking, Morgan didn’t want to spend her holiday locked into a romantic bed-and-breakfast in the highlands of Scotland with a wildly attractive man bent on seducing her.
That didn’t sound quite right, but Morgan knew it was true anyway. She raised one hand to knock on the door.
And froze as the squeak of a mattress carried clearly through the door.
It squeaked again.
And again.
The rocking rhythm was pretty unmistakable.
Morgan chewed her lip, her fist an inch away from the door. Did she want to get out of here badly enough to interrupt a Moment of Potential Procreation?
She grimaced and backed against the far wall, thinking furiously. What was the rush? After all, Alasdair was still out cold.
Blake and Justine couldn’t “do it” forever. Morgan was sure Blake had other items on his agenda for the day.
Maybe this would be a good chance to zip back to the room and have a shower.
Morgan hadn’t washed her hair the night before and it needed it. On a sunny morning like this, being without a blow dryer wasn’t necessarily a precursor to pneumonia.
Plus she’d be all ready to go when Justine agreed.
The bucking tempo of the mattress squeaks increased and a slight moan escaped under the door. Morgan had the sudden, quite definite sense that this was not exactly where she wanted to be.
A shower. Alasdair would sleep right through it, and she’d be back here in half an hour. At least Morgan knew that Justine and Blake were already awake.
There was nothing more to worry about, she told herself as she returned to her room. The closer she got to Room 7, the faster her own pulse raced. But her sleeping potion had worked on Alasdair, Morgan knew it.
And besides, she could lock the bathroom door.
* * *
At least, she could have locked the bathroom door if the key had been anywhere in sight.
But it wasn’t.
Morgan looked high and low, careful not to make any noise that might disturb her sleeping companion. No luck. The key had disappeared.
What had she done with it? Morgan propped her hands on her hips and glared around the room, willing the errant key to reveal itself.
But the fact was, she couldn’t remember where she had put it. She thought she’d left it in the door, but that couldn’t be the case. She had been so intent on checking on Alasdair and making sure she hadn’t killed him that it was entirely possible she’d absently set it down somewhere else. The rhythmic sound of his deep breathing distracted her even now. Morgan stared at Alasdair and tapped her toe, halfway feeling that this was his fault.
With increasing irritation, Morgan checked the desk, the end table, the floor under the bed, even the closet. She had a rummage through the dirty dishes still waiting outside the door, but the key was gone.
It was old news that Morgan would lose her head if it wasn’t screwed on. Frustration rolled through her but there was nothing she could do about it.
The damn key was probably somewhere “safe”. Morgan would find it in her luggage the next time she planned a trip, or something equally stupid. It happened to her all the time.
But what about her shower?
Morgan eyed Alasdair with uncertainty, feeling as if her scalp was itching. Her hair wasn’t that dirty, but now that she’d thought of having a shower, she wanted one. Badly. Did she dare to take a chance?
As though he had heard her very thoughts, Alasdair nuzzled his pillow, then rolled to face the wall and started to snore softly.
Well, that decided that. Morgan smiled. Alasdair wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon, that was for sure. She had really knocked him out cold. With luck, he might even sleep most of the day, and she could work, too.
Maybe this hotel hadn’t been such a bad idea, after all. Morgan picked up her toiletry bag and bustled purposefully toward the shower, merrily thinking up baby names to suggest to Justine.
It was, at best, a poorly calculated risk.
* * *
Alasdair rolled over in time to see the sorceress stroll into the bathing chamber. She pushed the door closed with one toe and when he heard her clothing hit the floor, he smiled to himself.
As soon as the water began to run, he was on his feet.
Alasdair cast aside his towel and stealthily made his way across the room, eying the half-closed door all the way. He flattened himself against the adjacent wall and edged toward the narrow opening.
What would Morgaine le Fee do to a man who surprised her in her bath?
Alasdair refused to think about it. He had to win her approval, he had to gain her affections, and some hard thinking had given him an idea of precisely how to manage the deed. The lady was wary of men, that much was certain, and ’twas clear she had been poorly used in the past.
But Alasdair had a plan. He took a deep breath, tried to slow the pounding of his heart, then peeked around the corner.
A buttock flashed creamy as the sorceress stepped into her bath. That cascade of dark hair bounced behind her and Alasdair caught a glimpse of her face.
Had she seen him?
Alasdair snapped back against the wall and held his breath. His heart thundered with the certainty that he had been discovered. His fists clenched and he half-expected Morgaine to explode out of the chamber to smite him.
But instead she began to sing quietly.
’Twas clear she had little confidence in her voice, for she sang softly, but Alasdair strained his ears and was delighted to recognize the tune he had sung just the night before.
He needed no more incentive to round the corner on silent feet.
A curtain was drawn round the tub, the water was running merrily and steam rose toward the ceiling. Alasdair could faintly discern the enchantress’s silhouette behind the curtain and his mouth went dry. He would have but one chance.
He had best put his all into this.
* * *
To say Morgan was shocked when someone eased the shower curtain open would be the understatement of the century.
The curtain moved, Morgan squealed, she dropped the soap at the sudden draft of cooler air. Her mouth gaped when she found a naked Alasdair eyeing her with steely determination.
What was he doing awake?
Had he guessed what she had done? Morgan took a wary step backward, her foot landed square on the soap and she yelped as her feet flew out from underneath her.
Alasdair swore mightily and before Morgan could panic, she was snatched up and trapped against a very firm, very masculine chest. Her hands landed on his shoulders, because there was really nowhere else for them to go.
And a powerful arm locked around her waist.
Morgan refused to think about anything she could feel below that, but her nipples tightened instantly, nestled as they were in the thick tawny hair on Alasdair’s chest. Her heart pounded so erratically that she was sure he would feel it. Warm water rained down upon their entwined limbs and trickled between them.
Now, what was she going to do? Morgan wriggled, but Alasdair’s grip only tightened, his broad hands spanning her back. He turned and decisively closed the shower curtain behind himself and Morgan had to face the fact that a very naked highlander was in her shower to stay.
For better or for worse. She felt herself blush in consternation.
But Morgan just couldn’t look up and meet those blue eyes. If she did, she’d be lost. If she did, she’d want Alasdair to stay and that could only lead to Big Trouble.
Somehow, she had to get rid of him.
“Well, good morning! Um, did you sleep well?” Morgan tried to sound as though there was really nothing unusual about having a large, sexy man join her in the shower. The water beaded on Alasdair’s muscled shoulders in a most intriguing way, and slid through the hair on his chest like a caress.
Morgan told herself that she was only having a good look for research. Who knew when she’d have to paint a man in the rain?
Alasdair snorted and Morgan’s cheeks burned hotter with the certainty that he had guessed what she was thinking. Alasdair braced his feet against the porcelain tub and drew Morgan up to her toes. The heat of his skin pressed against her and awakened that damn tingle in her belly.
Was he going to kiss her?
Morgan kept talking to try and avoid that eventuality. “Yes, well, it was too bad you fell asleep last night, but I’m sure you’re well rested now...”
Evidence of Alasdair’s well-rested state pressed against her thighs and Morgan had a very good idea of what compensation he considered to be due.
Clearly, men only joined women in the shower for one reason - and it wasn’t to ask when breakfast would be ready. What wasn’t clear was why Morgan was having a hard time finding the idea offensive.
“Aye, I slept well enough.” The highlander’s voice was low, a thread of humor lurking in his tone. Morgan glanced up at that and was snared by the intense blue of his eyes.
“Though you had naught to do with that, hmmm?” Alasdair arched a fair brow and his lips twisted in a smile so intimate that it nearly stopped Morgan’s heart.
In fact, the whole world stopped right then and there. Morgan stared, her mouth went dry, her heart started to hammer. She felt that languorous heat slide through her that she was quickly coming to associate with Alasdair and she couldn’t have summoned a single word to save her life.
Her toe slid experimentally over his foot, then continued up the muscled length of his calf, as though it had a mind of its own and liked what it found. Morgan had the sudden sense that she had no chance in this battle - after all, her body was already on Alasdair’s side.