In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams (34 page)

Until this moment she hadn’t known where she belonged, but she decided not to say that. He loved her and it didn’t matter where she was as long as it was beside him.

He turned, grabbed her hand again, walking out of the suite and down the corridor, their footsteps muffled by the runner beneath their feet.

The maids had been industrious; she inhaled the smell of lemon oil and beeswax as Lennox opened another door.

He moved inside, lit a lamp, and stood there watching her. She took a hesitant step over the threshold, looking around.

She’d never been here before, even as a girl. This was Lennox’s room, a chamber whose location she knew, but one forbidden her.

At first glance it was similar to her guest suite. The furniture was heavily carved mahogany with brass drawer pulls. Instead of pale yellow, however, the settee and chairs were upholstered in dark blue with touches of beige. A masculine room, furnished with pictures of ships at sea. At any other time she might have stopped to admire the large painting over the mantel: a clipper ship at full sail on a frothing ocean. But she was being carried along in Lennox’s wake.

In the bedroom he stopped, turning to her.

She pulled her hand from his and put it on his arm, feeling the corded muscles. Had he always been so strong?

He studied her, the glow from the sitting room lamp illuminating his face.

Lennox loved her.

She stepped closer, wrapped her arms around his waist and placed her cheek against his shirt. Her heart expanded, her soul opened up to encompass him. This moment was perfect and rare, a blessing she probably didn’t deserve.

Lennox loved her. She blinked back her tears, tightened her arms around him and wanted to stay right here for the rest of her life.

His chest moved as he drew a deep breath.

Could anything be more perfect?

She smiled, then pulled back, beginning to unfasten his shirt. He didn’t stop her. Nor did he say a word, merely stood with his arms at his sides as she started to undress him. Once his shirt was unbuttoned, she
pushed it open, revealing his chest. She threaded her fingers through his hair, leaned close and inhaled.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“You always smell like wood to me. Wood and the sea.”

“Do I now?”

She shook her head. “No. Now you smell of wood, ink, and smoke.”

He bent until his nose was against her throat. He sniffed her, raising his head a moment later.

Her laughter broke free. “What do I smell like?”

“Glynis,” he said. “Your perfume and the scent of your skin.”

She’d never known passion could be soft and sweet or that it could carry an undertone of laughter and one of tenderness.

Pressing her mouth against his chest, she tasted his skin. Salty. His nipple pebbled at her exploring touch. His indrawn breath made her smile broaden.

She took his hand, turned and led him to the bed. She mounted the small set of steps, sat on the edge of the mattress and patted the space next to her.

He grinned, easily sat beside her, not demurring when she raised up on her knees and pushed him onto his back.

“Are you seducing me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, intent on finishing unbuttoning his shirt.

“There’s no need. Whatever you want of me, it’s yours.”

She smiled, not explaining she needed to touch him, to allow her fingers and hands to explore as he’d done the night before. She wanted to enthrall, enchant, and pleasure him.

She placed her hands on his naked chest, stroking
her palms upward to the base of his neck and outward to his shoulders. Her eyes followed the actions of her hands, marveling at the size and the beauty of his body.

He was the perfect man.

When she reached for the buttons of his trousers, he encircled her wrists with both hands.

“I need to touch you,” she said. Would he understand?

He released her.

To make it fair, she took off her wrapper, revealing her soft pink nightgown. His gaze traveled from her neck down to her breasts visible through the silk.

He lay quiescent as she unbuttoned one button. For his cooperation, she rewarded him with a string of kisses from his waist to his chin. The second button was awarded a nip of his earlobe. The third a necklace of kisses around his throat.

She loved touching him. Her fingers were magical, making his pulse escalate. He watched her with eyes so intent she could feel his gaze.

“I really need you naked,” she said.

“Do you?”

She nodded, smiling.

He jumped from the bed and removed his shirt. In seconds his pants and the rest of his clothing were in a pile on the floor. Naked, he joined her again, lying on his side, his head propped up on one hand, a wicked grin curving his lips.

She pushed him to his back. When her hair came loose, she removed the last of the pins, shaking it free until it fell over her shoulder. She might’ve been a mermaid, trailing the end of one strand across his chest, teasing him.

She dusted his stomach with her fingers. Sitting
back on her haunches, she inspected the growing wonder of him.

Now she wished there was a lamp in the bedroom, one allowing her a full inspection. Her hands would have to give the shadows shape. How large he was, how long and hard and heated against her palms. Her fingers danced along his length, inciting a muffled oath from him. She smiled, delighting in her sudden, unexpected power.

Her thumbs played in the hair at his groin, stretched lower as she felt him tense. Gently she stroked his scrotum, her hands curling behind it to hold his testicles tenderly in her palm.

“Glynis,” he said, his voice guttural. “Enough.”

“This dictatorial nature of yours is new, Lennox. I don’t remember you ordering me about so much seven years ago.”

“You didn’t hold my balls in your hands seven years ago.”

“Pity,” she said. “I should have.”

She looked up at him. She really should have seduced him all those years ago.

“I like to explore you,” she said. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes,” he said, but his hips left the bed as if seeking her touch.

She placed her hands around his shaft again, marveling at the iron hardness of it. Daring herself, she bent and kissed the mushroom-shaped head.

Lennox tensed, rose up slightly, another oath escaping him.

“Do you hate that? Is it painful?”

“If I said yes would you stop?”

“I don’t know,” she said, enthralled with the power she was feeling. “If you’re really in pain, of course I
would. I wouldn’t want to be the instrument of your discomfort.”

Her right hand cupped his scrotum, her thumb gently brushing across the skin. Her left guided his shaft to her lips where her tongue circled the head slowly.

“Are you very certain it isn’t painful?”

“Glynis,” he said, his voice low and warning.

She smiled, wondering if he knew how much touching him excited her. Her nipples were so hard they hurt. Her body was weeping, fluid bathing the inside of her thighs.

She pressed her lips to the length of his shaft, licking him from the root all the way to the tip.

His breath left him in a shuddering gasp.

He rolled toward her, and she took the opportunity to grab one well formed round buttock, her nails grazing his skin. He jerked, making her smile again. How very strange she had never realized her effect on him. He reacted to her touch the same way she did to his.

Suddenly she was on her back and he was looming over her.

His arms were hairy, the hair tapering off toward his shoulders, the muscles knotting and bunching under her fingers. She threaded her hands at his nape, her thumbs brushing his ears, tracing the shape of them down to the lobes.

Everything about Lennox was as perfect as she wished it to be, as if God himself had asked:
Glynis, what should his neck be like? Should his shoulders be straight and broad? Shall I make him tall, the better to tower over you? And intelligent, to match your wit?

Shall I give him character, that he is an honorable man, one who cares for those in his keeping? One who shelters and protects? This man to whom I give you in exchange for seven years of patient misery, would you change anything about him?

“Nothing,” she said.

He raised his head. “Nothing what?” he asked, his breath soft against her temple.

“God and I were having a conversation,” she said, smiling at herself. “He wanted to know if I would change anything about you and I said nothing.”

“Nothing?”

She shook her head. Any further words were impossible because he kissed her, stripping thought and intention from her mind.

God could’ve spared him intelligence. Lennox hardly needed it when she couldn’t think around him.

A laugh escaped, startling her.

“Something amusing, Glynis?” he asked, his smile warming her.

She pulled his head down for a kiss. “Not amusing, Lennox,” she said against his lips. “Fascinating.”

He raised up. “Fascinating?”

“I love your body. Am I allowed to say that? It’s strong and beautiful and responsive.”

“I’m not beautiful,” he said. “Men aren’t. Now you, on the other hand . . .” He reached out and trailed a path around one nipple with a finger.

“You
are
beautiful,” she said. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And I like how your cock trembles when I touch it.”

He reared back and stared at her. “I don’t tremble.”

She sighed, bit back her smile, and shook her head. “Would you like me to show you? You quiver. I stretch out my hand and your cock almost bounces, it’s so eager. It’s like a puppy.”

His bark of laughter made her smile.

“Very well, I quiver around you. Is that what this is, a quest for dominance? Shall I allow you to win, my dearest wife? Shall I surrender to you?”

“Please don’t. Not until the battle is fully joined.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

She spread her legs, invitation without a word.

“You have to enter me, of course. And attempt to vanquish me with the strength of your sword.”

“And if I conquer you? What do I win?”

“Bliss,” she said, smiling.

“If you win?”

“Bliss again.”

“Ah, then the battle is only for the pleasure of it.”

He placed his mouth on the tip of her breast, licked it slowly, drew it in until she felt the sensation deep in the center of her body. She closed her eyes at the feeling.

She grabbed his upper arms with both her hands and pulled him to her. He lowered himself until his penis bobbed against her curls, but wouldn’t go further.

“Lennox,” she said softly.

She felt a hunger as elemental as that for food or water. She had to have him or die. He had to be inside her, making her whole. Only then would she be complete.

She widened her legs still farther, pushed her hips up to entice him. But he stubbornly refused to move, to enter her, to give her release. The emptiness grew, demanded she fill it.

Lennox moved his hips from side to side, the heated tip of his erection grazing one of her thighs then the other.

She followed his movements, undulating on the bed with him. Whatever he wanted her to do, she would, but only for a moment. After that she would tip him over and mount him and ride him like her pony.

The image of doing that made her smile.

“Amused again, Glynis?”

“I was imagining riding you,” she said.

He stilled, staring down at her. “You say the damnedest things,” he said.

She hadn’t heard that comment in years. Normally she was restrained, circumspect, ladylike to a fault. Here, in his bed, loving him, she was herself.

“At least I didn’t imagine having a whip,” she said. She punctuated the remark by slapping her hand against one of his buttocks.

She wasn’t surprised by his laughter. When he surged into her, she closed her eyes, the sensation overwhelming her.

“I’ve a whip of my own, my darling wife.”

“Yes you do,” she said, nearly breathless. Her hands clenched on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as heat flashed through her.

Slowly he withdrew, the seconds ticking by with astonishing slowness. With the same unhurried movement, he entered her again, punishing her with gentleness when she wanted anything but.

She dug her heels into the mattress, raised her hips to follow him when he left her again, luring him back. Her arms wrapped around his neck. She breathed against his throat, pleaded with him in sounds more than words.

Her feet trailed from his ankles up to his knees and back down again, glorying in the feel of him, the rough hair brushing her toes, the shape of his muscular legs. She rested her instep against his shins in a spot almost created for her. His buttocks were each the size of a perfect round loaf, shaped for her curving hands. She wanted to knead him, rest on his perfect backside, place her hands on his spine and lower herself until her breasts plumped against him.