Lois Greiman (10 page)

“But couldn’t I have you tortured in private?”

Perhaps this was an idea she hadn’t considered, because she paused, then rose and finally spoke.

“Someone would know.”

“Someone?”

“Burr. Peters. Sir Albert.”

“Ahh.”

“Thus I suggest a compromise,” she said and paced the room with mincing steps.

“I’m listening,” he assured her, but mostly he was watching. Watching as the blanket slipped another inch. Watched her lips move and her tongue moisten her lips. He watched and waited and felt his senses vibrate at her nearness. The very air felt different when she was in the room.

“You release me this very day,” she said, “and I will make sure there are no repercussions for your egregious actions.”

“Egregious,” he said, and stepped toward her. She stepped back, toward the bed.

“Yes.” She nodded, but she swallowed and tilted her chin up at the same time. “Let me go, and all will be well.”

He took another few steps. She did the same, but in a moment she was up against the mattress, and he could not help but reach for her. She plopped down onto the bed, ready to scurry backward, but he was quicker and pinned her there, one arm on each side of her body with her legs bent beneath him. Their faces were inches apart. Their breath melded, and in that moment he could think of nothing but feeling her beneath him, of sweeping his hand up the curves of her body. Of possessing her.

Her breath was coming hard. But so was his. He leaned in and kissed her lips.

Lightning struck him, shaking him to the core, but in a moment he realized her hand was on his chest, splayed against the rapid beat of his heart.

He drew away with a hard effort. Her eyes were wide and stunned, her plump lips parted and moist. He leaned in again, but she pressed him back.

“Let me go, MacTavish,” she breathed.

It took a moment before he could manage to shake his head, longer still before he could speak.

“I can’t let you go, Megs,” he said. “But I can make love to you.”

“M
ake—” She couldn’t seem to quite force the words past her erotic lips.

The blanket had slipped sideways, exposing half her left arm and the high portions of her chest. Cairn smiled. “I won’t hurt you, lass. In fact, if you quit your foolishness and—”

“Foolishness! You call protecting my virtue…protecting my very life—”

“Quit braining my lieutenant,” he explained, and because he could not help himself, he gently kissed the point of her shoulder.

She jumped like a startled quail beneath the caress. Interesting.

“Quit trying to escape,” he added, and kissed her collarbone. “Sleep with me.” The words came unbidden.

“No,” she said. The single word was breathy, but whether it was from fear or desire, he could only guess.

He glanced up. Her eyes were as wide and bottomless as tidal waves, her pupils all but swallowing the vibrant green of her irises. “No you won’t quit braining Peters or—”

“I won’t sleep with you!” She was breathing hard. “Ever.”

He eased his weight off her the slightest degree. She drew her feet onto the mattress, ready to escape, but it only served to displace the blanket, for he still held her captive. She was all but naked now, and that fact left him breathless, for she was stunning.

Judging by the size of her breasts, one would assume she was stout, but she had virtually no belly. He swept his hand over the concave expanse and down. Her hips were as narrow as a sapling, her thighs lean and long.

“But you would have slept with Peters,” he said, running his hand down her leg. She quivered in his wake. “And he has freckles.”

“I did not say I would sleep with him.”

“You implied it.”

He scooped his hand behind her thigh, then around and down, so that he cradled her bottom in his hand.
Nice. Nice nice bottom
, Hoary said.

“MacTavish!” Her voice sounded panicked, her eyes looked the same. “I lied to you.”

He stopped his hand, held his breath. “You did?”

She nodded and licked her lips. His hand remained immobile on the luscious curve of her buttocks. “I did not come here with only one companion.”

What new lie was this? He commenced breathing and skimmed his fingertips along her bottom.

She swallowed, breathing hard. “There were others. I was to…meet them.”

He left the lovely curve of her buttocks with some regret, easing his palm over her thigh to her knee.

“They…” She was breathing hard. “They had my possessions.”

“Possessions?” He paused and found her gaze, but her
body called again, and he turned his attention back to the compelling sweep of her satiny skin.

“I am a wealthy woman, MacTavish. Let me go and when I find my—” His fingers bumped over her knee. It was sharp and cute and strangely enough, begged to be kissed. He moved down in that direction. “Friends.” Her voice was raspy. “When I find my friends I will reward you. Handsomely.”

“I’d much rather have this,” he said, and kissed her thigh. Her stomach contracted. Her lips parted.

“Quit!” She was breathing hard through her mouth. It did strange things to his gut. “Don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“It is not right.”

“It feels right.” Tugging the blanket gently, he fully bared her left breast. “It looks…phenomenal,” he said, and, easing up her body, kissed the outside curve of that one succulent breast.

She bucked against him. “MacTavish! I—Cease! Let me go.”

“You needn’t fear, lass.”

“Let me go!” She sounded panicked. Where threats of decapitation and hangings had barely made her blink, the idea of sex seemed to send her teetering toward the edge of hysteria. Why? He narrowed his eyes in thought.

“Did he hurt you, Megs? Is that why you’re afraid?”

“No.”

“Did he warn you not to lie with another man?” he asked, and brushed her nipple with his finger. She jumped again.

“What are you talking about?”

“Wheaton.” He was patient now, ultimately so, for his mind was elsewhere. Or perhaps nowhere at all. His body had taken over. “Did he threaten you?”

“No. As I’ve told you before—”

But he kissed her breast again, and her words stumbled to a halt, left hanging on a breathy note.

“No threats,” he murmured, and skimmed the flat of his hand down her midline. Her eyes fell closed, and her body arched slightly. It was in that moment that the truth struck him like a mallet to the head. She might be afraid. She might be terrified. But she was also aroused. Wee Megs liked sex. Craved sex. So why was she fighting it. But when his hand reached her pubic hair she bucked like a storm-tossed schooner, nearly escaping. He drew her back by the barest of margins. But the blanket had abandoned her completely, doing nothing now but cradling her lovely rear. Her back was against the headboard, and her knees were bent, but it was her breasts that held his attention. They were capped by nipples that were dark and full and peaked like small, precious jewels. And they moved, up and down almost violently with the force of her breath.

“Don’t do this, MacTavish!” Perhaps it was a plea, but it sounded more like a warning.

“Why?” he asked and stroked her calf.

Her eyes dropped closed again and her head fell back slightly, but she rallied in a moment, though she didn’t manage to speak.

“You’re not afraid of Wheaton.” He caressed her toes. She pulled them back against her buttocks with a shudder. He moved to the other ankle. “You’re unattached.” He trickled his fingers up the back of her leg. She swallowed hard. “And though I don’t pretend to know women well…” He smoothed his knuckles down the length of her thigh toward the destination he so desired. “Methinks you do not detest the idea of copulation.” He moved in for a kiss. “So—”

“I’m a virgin!”

He reared back, cocked his head, and stared at her. Sec
onds ticked away. He cleared his throat, then shook his head once and held it canted to the side. “I was in a battle some years back,” he said.

She didn’t interrupt him, didn’t speak, just stared into his eyes like a cornered kitten. Hissing and ready to claw.

“A powder keg exploded nearby and I think…” He scowled, trying to do just that. “I think I lost some hearing in my right ear because I thought I heard you say you were a—”

“Virgin.”

Her legs were tucked tight against her fancy bottom, and her arms were wrapped around them, but her gorgeous breasts swelled beside her knees, and it seemed that if he made the right move, she would unfurl like a summer rose beneath his hands

“I am sorry, lass, but…” He drew a deep breath, trying to slow down, to consider. “I’m having a bit of trouble believing that Teleere’s most infamous thief is—”

“I’m not Megs.”

He nodded again. “Then you are—”

“Linnet.”

“The widow.”

“Aye.” She licked her lips, shifted her gaze sideways, and turned solemnly back to him. Her eyes were tremendously large and ridiculously bright. “About that…” She cleared her throat.

He waited, fascinated.

“My husband—”

“Wilbur.”

“William. William and I never…” She stopped and shook her head.

He raised his brows and waited some more.

“We never…”

He leaned closer as if that would help him hear the unspoken words.

Turning her eyes sideways, she snagged the blanket and tried to pull it over her nakedness, but he was sitting on it, and all she managed to cover was her feet. It was unfortunate but he could live with it.

“I never…knew him.”

“You didn’t know your own husband.”

“I
knew
him. Of course I
knew
him. I just didn’t…” She winced. “
Know
him.” She closed her eyes as if shutting out this entire scene. He remained silent. She opened her eyes with a snap, and lo and behold there was anger there.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she said.

He would have laughed, but all his energy had headed south, and he found he lacked the ability for such a Herculean effort. So he drew a deep breath and rallied. “You never swived your own husband?”

“That’s…” She pursed her lips and straightened her back against the headboard. If she’d had clothes, she would have looked quite proper. As it was, she simply looked delectable. “That’s a very crass word, sir.”

He did laugh now, but the sound was unnatural. “Are you correcting my grammar, Megs?”

“I am
not
—”

“That’s right. You’re Linnet. The widow, who never…
knew
her own husband.”

“I am telling you the truth.”

“Really? Then explain. I’m fascinated. Why would a woman like you…a woman who obviously…” He skimmed her body, but he did not touch. “Who obviously does not…detest the idea of
knowing
—”

“He was unable,” she interrupted.

“What?”

She cleared her throat and nodded violently. A slick sable curl bobbed across her nipple. He watched its progress breathlessly. “He had been…injured.”

“How did—”

“By a bull.”

“I thought he was a tailor.” He couldn’t resist her any longer, but reached out to brush that teasing hair from her breast.

She drew a hissing breath but spoke fairly steadily. “His father was a landowner. As was mine. Rupert. His father’s name was Rupert. His mother was called Martha. But he called her Fah. I don’t know why. It was silly really. They farmed a piece of land near Midhurst. He planned to be a farmer as well. In fact, he said to me once…‘a man isn’t really a man without’…” He skimmed his fingers across her breast to her arm. She closed her eyes. “Land.” She finished the sentence on a shiver.

“I’ve seen some bonny sights,” he said, and stroked her arm. Her lids lifted with slow deliberation. “The sun climbing, red as cranberries, out of the Caspian Sea. The flight of a sailfish as it soars for the heavens. But you, lass…” He shook his head, knowing he should detest her, should despise her, should at least be wary of her. But her skin was so soft. “You are the most beautiful thing yet.”

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then, “He intended to follow in his father’s footsteps,” she whispered.

He slipped his fingers into her hair, stroking it over her velvety shoulder.

“But then the bull—”

He traced a waving strand down her arm. Her lips parted slightly. No words came.

“Gored him?” he suggested.

“Yes.” She nodded, but the expression seemed almost sleepy. “Yes. She gored him.”

He smiled. She was always lovely, even when she was trying to kill him. But now, with her eyes wide with desire and
her breasts bare to the world…Triton’s balls She was a sight to behold.

“I don’t pretend to be well versed in animal husbandry, lass,” he said, and trailed a finger beneath her left breast. “But I believe bulls are male.”

“Oh.” The sound was little more than a sigh. “Yes. Of course.
He
gored him.”

“Before or after you married him?”

“Before,” she said. “Otherwise, we would surely have…”

“
Known
each other.”

“Of…of course.”

“Which explains your frustration.”

“My…” She sighed as he stroked her forearm.

“Frustration,” he repeated and shrugged. “Because you’ve not been
known
.”

“I am not frustrated.”

He trailed his fingers up her arm. She shivered.

He watched her eyes.

“It is not frustration. It is—”

“You will enjoy it.”

“What?”

“Let me make love to you.”

“Nay. I—”

He kissed her knee. She started.

“It’s been a long time for me, too. Who knows? It might do us both some good.”

“I—I cannot.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“I mean I will not.”

“Even if I let you go?”

“What?”

He regretted the words as soon as he said them, but they were out and he was horny. “If you don’t enjoy it. If you can
look me in the eye and say it didn’t please you”—he shrugged, probably because he was a raving lunatic—“I’ll let you go.”

“Free?”

“Aye.”

“You lie.”

He shrugged again. “I can’t say I haven’t lied in the past.”

“So you
are
lying.”

“Take a risk, Megs. Why not? Even if I am lying, you’d be no worse off than now.”

“Not true. I’d be compromised, and—”

He kissed her thigh. She exhaled softly between parted lips.

“With child.”

“Surely you don’t think women get pregnant every time they…
know
a man.”

She stared.

“Do you?”

“Of course not.” She sounded breathless and innocent.

“You won’t get pregnant.”

“How do you know?” Her voice was a whisper.

“I give you my word.”

Uncertainly shone like sunrise on her perfect features. “And if I don’t like it…” Her words trailed off.

“I’ll let you go.”

“But what if I fabricate the truth?”

“Is that the same as lying?”

She nodded.

“When I’m dishonest it’s called lying, and when you’re dishonest it’s called fabricating the truth?”

She scowled, not easily distracted. “What if I lie?”

“I’ll know.”

“Ahh.” She pursed her lips. Everything below his waist ached with anticipation. “So that’s it. Even if I say I abhorred
it, you will call me a liar and keep me bound here. You have no intention of—”

“If you look me in the eye and tell me you…abhorred it, I will let you go.”

“How do I know you are telling the truth?”

“You don’t.”

She shook her head. “Then—”

“I could call Peters in. I could sign my name in front of witnesses.”

Her jaw dropped. Perhaps she was beginning to understand the depth of his own frustration.

“Do you want me to?”

“Nay!” she gasped.

He couldn’t help but smile. Neither could he seem to keep his hands to himself. “Then—”

“Very well.” She said the words quickly, as if she were afraid that if she didn’t say them hastily, they wouldn’t be said.

“You agree?”

“Aye, if you vow, as a gentleman—”

“I’m not a gentleman, Megs. And I don’t pretend to be.”