Mara's breath caught at the implication, something sharp and hot pinching her heart because the first man to ever tease and tempt her so deliciously had to be not only the most gorgeous, but also one she couldn't have.
Ever.
Not unless she wanted to risk joining him in whatever realm he dwelt in when he wasn't following her around. Something she did
not
want to do.
Whether he was sex breathing or not.
"Ah, well," he said then, something in his tone making her think he was teasing again. "I'd thought to rescue you. For the second time, I might add. But if you prefer to gaze out at the firth, I shall leave."
Mara swiveled back around. "You're a… a ghost."
"Aye, that I am," he agreed, making it worse by winking at her.
A wink that deepened his dimples and brought back her tingles.
He gave a short laugh, clearly misreading the stricken look she knew must be all over her.
"Och, come, it isna so bad as that," he crooned, his burr thickening, its rich deepness melting her.
He stepped closer. "Or are you afraid I've come to escort you to the netherworld?" he asked, locking gazes with her until she shivered. "If so, then cast aside your doubts, for I've no idea where such a place is and have no wish to go looking. My only desire is to guard my bed."
She blinked. "Then what are you doing here?"
Lusting after you and telling lies.
The silent truth hurled at her, Alex bit back a snort. "I told you," he said, his voice more harsh than he would have wished; "I thought to come to your aid. Or would you be stranded here until darkness?"
She angled her head, and the slanting sun reflected in her hair, making the fiery strands shimmer like molten flame. The light fell across her face, too, revealing the sparkle in her amber eyes, showing him the doubt still lingering there.
The fear she couldn't quite disguise.
And with good reason, for he'd told a falsehood.
His goals had changed. Now his only desire was getting her
in
his bed. Preferably naked. That, and wishing he were still flesh and bone, wondering why he felt absolutely no urge to frighten her.
Only to calm and soothe her, then claim her for his own.
The saints knew he was already hard for her. Again. This time simply from standing so near to her and breathing in her scent.
And, he admitted, because of her puckered nipples.
He clenched his fists, tried not to notice. But they were so beautifully hardened. And they strained so sweetly against her top, he couldn't help but burn to feel them beneath his fingers, ache to know how they would taste when he licked and suckled them.
Grazed them with his teeth, then dragged one deep into his mouth, sucking hard and steady as he slid a hand into the damp curls between her thighs, let his fingers explore and excite her.
Alex groaned, turned away from her. He shoved a hand through his hair, fury churning inside him.
He had to have her.
She consumed him like a fever, and soon he wouldn't even be able to breathe if he couldn't clutch her to him, sink himself into the tightness of her sleek, female heat.
Already he was on the brink of madness, the depth of his need for her stunning him. More frightening still, it wasn't just her lush curves and sultry kiss-me-all-over eyes, but the way those eyes could light a room when she smiled. How her laughter warmed even the coldest corners of his dark and lonely world.
The wonder that spread across her face when she lost herself in romantic musings about his
real
world.
The long-ago one that no longer existed except in tumbled stones, rusted relics, and leather-bound chronicles filled with lies.
Alex shuddered, hid his misery behind a cough.
Most mortals he'd encountered no longer appreciated the world that had been his. That Mara MacDougall seemed to care, even in an overly fanciful way, stirred him with a fierceness he couldn't control.
Not anymore.
Truth was, he needed her.
If he still possessed even a shred of valor, he'd vanish and never show himself to her again. Or at least continue with his original plan and frighten her away.
But the lass desired him. He could scent the arousal on her.
He had but to glance at her nipples or the sweet curve of her lower lip and the stimulating musk of her need streamed off her, an erotic tide to flood his senses.
And addle his wits.
Make him the kind of self-serving blackguard he'd always despised—a knave with naught but drink, women, and pillaging on his mind. Alex scowled, smoothed a hand over his mouth. Soon he'd be no better than Bran of Barra, the overlord of letch, and all his rutting friends.
"Are you sure you can help me?" The lass was watching him, doubt clouding her eyes. "I mean… er… can you even touch real things?"
"You wonder?" A muscle jerked in his jaw, but when he spoke, his words were smooth and measured. "Did my sword hand not claim a lock of your hair? Did you not kick your foot into my shin after I carried you from the sea cave?"
"I'd forgotten," Mara admitted, heat stealing onto her cheeks.
It was hard to think when just looking at him made her so… orgasmic. In fact, she'd almost swear the wind was playing with her nipples again, especially when his gaze flicked oh-so-casually across her breasts.
She smoothed back her hair, hoped mind reading wasn't one of his supernatural powers. "Then you'll help me get back to the stables?"
He held up a hand as if swearing to his honesty. "Wherever you wish to go."
Mara considered.
Not that she had much choice.
Already, her mare had lost interest in their exchange and was once more chomping grass. Poky as the beast was, it could well be midnight before she managed to get off the cliffs if she declined Hottie Scottie's assistance.
Still, it wouldn't do to give in too easily. "How do I know you can ride?"
He gave her a slow, sexy smile. "I can."
Mara patted the mare's neck. "She doesn't want to do anything but stop and eat," she said, his smile making her all hot and achy. "What makes you think she'll cooperate for you?"
"For a lass who makes moon eyes at painted knights, I'd think you'd know the answer to that."
Mara flushed. Of course she knew about medieval knights. This one just had an annoying knack of robbing all coherent thought from her mind.
But she knew about knights. Oh, yes.
What she didn't know, she fantasized about. Such chivalric heroes handled their mounts with legendary expertise.
Supposedly they were equally skilled with women.
Heat snaked through her at the thought. Deep, pulsing sexual heat that pooled low in her belly, then slowly spread through her entire body until her most female places screamed in anticipation.
She bit her lip, so aroused she didn't dare breathe lest he guess how much he excited her. She actually hurt inside, feared she'd soon cry out if he didn't kiss her. Or, better yet, slip his hand between her legs again. This time rubbing her until she shattered into a gazillion little pieces.
She shifted on the saddle, need trembling through her. Never had she known such persistent throbbing. Tingly pulsations so hot and exquisite she could hardly stand it.
And just from the way he was looking at her.
How could an
apparition
make her feel this way? Why couldn't he be the garden-variety ghost? Wispy and all whitish gray? At the very least a little bit transparent?
Why did he have to look so real?
So melt-her-bones sexy?
And why was she allowing herself to fall for him?
"As a certain ill-fated friend often tells me, your silence speaks tomes," he purred, his voice rich and smooth. "So you are aware of a knight's various… skills?"
Mara gulped, knew he meant more than mastering horses. She sat tall, every square inch of Cairn Avenue daring her to be bold. "I suppose this is your chance to prove yourself," she challenged him. "Show me what you can do."
His smile turned wicked. "As you wish."
Mara narrowed her eyes. "No funny business."
"I'll not jest you, lass," he agreed, coming closer. "You have my word."
Unfortunately, jesting wasn't what she'd had in mind.
But she wasn't about to argue with him. Not with the mare already tossing her head and prancing at his approach.
Especially so long as she sat on the animal's back.
But when Hottie Scottie fixed the mare with his sea green stare, she stopped sidling and stood perfectly still as he began crooning words that sounded like Gaelic into the horse's ear.
He rubbed her muzzle, too, smoothing gentle hands along her neck and shoulders. Large well-formed hands that looked all too real and that he moved with confident self-assurance, each soothing stroke proving his skill.
He glanced at Mara then, his gaze just a touch arrogant. "Will you trust me to see you back to the stables now, Mara MacDougall?"
"No," Mara blurted before caution changed her mind. "Not quite yet. I wanted to see the seal colony."
"Then I shall take you there," he agreed, vaulting up behind her. "I'll make certain you enjoy… the ride."
Mara's breath caught at how quickly he seized the reins, spurred the mare into a smooth canter. "Just relax," he urged, holding her fast against him.
He laughed then, tightening his arm around her as he brought down his free hand in a loud, open-palmed
thwack
on their mount's rump.
And then they were flying. First thundering across the boulder-strewn grass and splashing through sparkling burnlets, then sailing over ever-rising slopes and past steep, rocky-sided gorges.
Ever onward they pounded, the wind in their faces, until Mara laughed, too. Giddy with excitement, she held fast to his encircling arm, certain her heart would burst at any moment.
From the wild joy of the ride, and especially the rousing warmth of his thighs rubbing so intimately against hers.
The triumph that filled her when he held her even tighter and cried out, "See what you have done to me! Made me forget you're a bloody MacDougall!"
And she had.
He was wholly and irrevocably under her spell.
Totally ensorcelled.
She'd cursed him as thoroughly as had her villainous ancestors with their dastardly brooch. For no other reason could he imagine why he'd send a horse plunging up one of the most precarious cliffs in all these benighted lands—just so a MacDougall could peer down at a welter of stinking, barking seals and their offspring.
But he'd done that and more.
And enjoyed every exhilarating moment.
Alex frowned at his weakness, then frowned some more because she couldn't see his dark mien.
Not sprawled on her belly on the grass.
Worse, she'd positioned herself between his obligingly spread legs—to keep from slipping over the cliff edge, she'd said as she'd stretched out beneath him.
A siren's trick, Alex was sure.
Not that he'd really minded.
Far from it, he'd gladly opened his legs for her, even enjoyed watching as she'd wriggled her luscious body into the best position to view the seal colony at the bottom of the steep drop-off.
Besotted fool that he was, he'd especially liked how she'd gripped his ankles as she'd inched forward to better look over the edge. A dangerous edge that instantly reminded him of his curse, his bounden duty to guard his bed and keep it free of such as her.
His brows snapped together and he glared up at the heavens. By the holy saints, had he lost his mind? Gone soft as a doddering graybeard?
Apparently he had.
Why else would he stand there like three kinds of a dimwitted fool while her glorious form stretched so invitingly beneath him? Why didn't he take advantage and get rid of her when he had the chance?
One flick of his foot would send her tumbling into the sea. He could be instantly relieved of her.
If the fates were kind, he might not even be plagued by another MacDougall for a century or two.
Peace would be his.
So why didn't he do it?
Before he could decide, she gave a little gasp of wonder. He looked down just in time to see her raise her hips and scoot closer to the edge. Another siren's ploy designed to make her deliciously rounded bottom wriggle and sway.
Wriggle and sway…
tantalizingly
.
Alex choked back a groan. His manhood sprang rock hard.
Worse, she was so close to the drop-off. Literally hanging over it, craning her neck and so absorbed in watching the cavorting seals she'd never know what happened were he to send her plunging down to meet them.
But he couldn't.
Not when her excited
oohs
and
aahs
were giving him such pleasure. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone so filled with awe and delight.
Well, maybe the day she'd stepped into Dimbleby's and fallen in love with his bed.
Alex harrumphed. Every muscle in his body tensed, and frustration welled inside him, making his head pound.
Truth was, rather than having done with her, he was much more concerned with what it would be like if she fell in love with him.
Even more damning, he suspected he already knew how it would feel to love her.
Blessedly, her grip on his ankles brought more acceptable thoughts to his mind. Indeed, each time her fingers clutched tighter or even just moved, another rush of hot blood went racing straight to his loins.
What would he do if she held his
man-part
in such a grip?
Already his breathing had turned ragged and his heart hammered so fiercely, he wondered she didn't hear it. He'd also hardened to fullest stretch, every inch of him throbbing so painfully he feared he'd soon shame himself.
A very real possibility if she dared wriggle her delectable hindquarters even one more time.
Instead, she glanced up over her shoulder. "O-o-oh, do you see the little ones?" she cooed, the wonder in her voice spearing his heart.
But then her eyes widened and she blinked, spikes of hot awareness shooting all through her. "Aren't they cute?" she managed, amazed her tongue had formed anything even halfway coherent.