The Ghost (Highland Guard 12) (36 page)

He swelled hot and hard at her words. God, he couldn’t wait to be inside her. He reached down, unfastened the tie at her waist, and eased the velvet robe off her shoulders until it fell in a pool of crimson at her feet. “That’s good to hear,” he said. “But I think I’m giving up all vows but one when it comes to you.”

She gave him a questioning look as her fingers trailed up and down the bands of his stomach. He had to grit his teeth against the urge to surge in her hand. But she appeared to have no idea of the torture she was exacting on him.

“And what vow is that?” she asked softly.

He swept her off her feet and carried her to the bed. “To love, honor, and cherish until death do us part.”

Marriage vows. He really was something out of an old tale. Joan knew she was a fool to let herself be this happy. That she was playing a game against time she could not win. That the love Alex felt for her might not survive the betrayal he was going to feel when he learned the truth. But she was going to live in this fool’s paradise for as long as she could and hold on to every precious second.

The sense of borrowed time made her bold and forward. Although she’d been playing a wanton for so long, perhaps some of it had rubbed off, she thought with a smile. But they might not have another opportunity like this before he left, and she wasn’t going to waste it. That he hadn’t needed as much persuasion as she feared made her think that he might be feeling the same way.

No regrets. At least not about this. Others could not be avoided.

“I want there to be no secrets between us.”

When he’d told her the truth about Rosalin, she’d been stabbed by such a deep knife of guilt she wanted to tell him the truth. If they were going to have a chance for a future, she knew she could not keep lying to him. As soon as she spoke to Lachlan, she would tell Alex the truth. Lachlan would undoubtedly argue (loudly) against it, but it was her decision.

And if she could convince Alex to turn . . .

God, maybe she was living in a fool’s paradise.

All thoughts of the future, however, were lost when he gently laid her down on the bed and kissed her. Softly at first, and then as the passion ignited between them, harder and more insistently.

He was leaning over her, but not content with that, she pulled him down on top of her, wanting to feel his weight—and maybe something else. Even through his leather chausses she could feel the thick column of his manhood hard against her. Remembering how he’d feel inside her made her restless . . . anxious . . . impatient. It made her want to press herself against him and move.

She didn’t realize she was already doing so until he pulled back and broke the kiss with a sharp, frustrated curse.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in between gasps of air.

“Nothing, if you want this over in a few seconds. Otherwise, we’re going to need to slow down.” He gave her a wry smile. “You don’t do much for increasing a man’s stamina.” His smile turned wicked. “I guess it’s something we’ll have to work on.”

Joan wasn’t completely sure she understood, but she had the gist. “I’ve never minded a little hard work.”

He laughed. “Ah, love, you have no idea.”

She looked down at the impressive bulge between them and said softly, “I think I do.”

His eyes heated at the naughty innuendo. “Touch me again, sweetheart.”

She did as he asked, reaching out to put her hand around the thick column straining against the leather.

His head fell back and his eyes closed with a groan at contact. But it wasn’t enough for either of them. Their eyes met, and she knew what he wanted.

She started to work the straps of his chausses. He had to help her remove them, but the linen braies underneath were much easier. Then there was nothing left between them.

God, he was . . . impressive. Thick and long, his manhood strained strong and hard against his stomach. It looked so red, though—and throbbing. “Does it hurt?” she asked, tentatively reaching out to trace her fingertip along the bulging vein that ran from root to tip.

He groaned again at her touch, seeming momentarily incapable of responding. His entire body seemed to be drawn up as tight as a bow. “Not in the way you think,” he finally managed. “It’s a good kind of hurt right now.”

She nodded and then looked up at him. His eyes seemed to be burning with a low simmering heat. “Show me what to do,” she said, her finger now circling the blunt tip of him. “I want to bring you pleasure.”

“Everything you do brings me pleasure,” he said in a—ironically—pained voice.

But he showed her. He took her hand and wrapped it around him, showing her how to stroke him.

She loved the feel of him. The thinnest, softest velvety skin over hot steel. But she loved even more what it did to him. The pleasure that overtook his face was something to behold. It made him look fierce and primitive and soft and gentle at the same time. She could feel the raw sensual energy reverberating in the air between them, and knowing that she was responsible, she was in control, was humbling.

She was just starting to get the hang of it when he stopped her. “No more,” he said gruffly. “You are killing me.”

“I take it that’s a good thing?”

He gave her a decidedly wicked smile. “Why don’t you tell me?”

He proceeded to show her exactly what he meant. Very methodically and very thoroughly. He exacted his sensual torture with his mouth, his tongue, and his hands, bringing her to the peak of pleasure before pulling away. Killing her. And it was definitely a good—a
wonderful
—thing.

First he tortured her breasts. He circled the taut tip through the linen with his fingertip and then with his tongue until she was straining against the fabric, until she barely noticed that he had rid her of the barrier and divested her of her gown. She was too hot and aching, too desperate to feel the warmth of his mouth on her skin to care that she was naked.

The warm suction of his mouth and the light nibble of his teeth set off sharp bolts of pleasure that shot to the very core of her. Which is exactly where he touched her next. She nearly shattered at the first sweep of his finger on her quivering flesh. Her hips rode against his hand. The pleasure he was exacting with his mouth on her breast collided with the hot ache between her legs. They were building, racing toward a cataclysmic finish, but he wouldn’t let her go there—not yet.

Nay, he had other far more wicked plans in mind. At first, she had no idea what he intended. When his mouth suddenly released her breast, she wanted to cry out in frustration. But he hadn’t removed his fingers—thank God—they were still stroking her to mindless oblivion. Which was her only explanation for how she didn’t realize until too late that he’d slid down her body and that his mouth, instead of kissing her stomach, was now brushing the inner part of her thighs.

Shock broke through the pleasure. She tried to close her legs. “Alex!”

He paid her no mind, his big hands splaying her hips to slide around and cup her bottom.

“Trust me,” he said, the warmth of his breath a teasing whisper. “You are going to like this.”

She bucked her hips in protest. How could she like this when the intimacy of it mortified—

She cried out suddenly as his mouth brushed her right
there
. The feel of his lips and tongue . . . Oh God. He was right. It felt good. It felt
really, really
good. It felt so good that she forgot to be embarrassed. It felt so good that she thought she might never doubt him again.

She lost all sense of shame and gave herself over to the sensations. His mouth, his tongue, the scrape of his jaw, the very wickedness of what he was doing brought her to the very peak of pleasure. Her body tried to fight it, but he forced her over with the determined strokes of his tongue and the exquisite pressure of his mouth.

Sensation gripped her for one last paralyzing moment where it all came together in a powerful rush before shattering in sharp spasms.

Alex couldn’t wait another minute. Tasting her pleasure, feeling the force of her release against his mouth, was too much for him. Barely had the last spasm eased from her body when he lifted himself over her and started to push inside.

She was so wet, so warm, so ready for him, he had a hell of a time going slow. All he wanted to do was move his hips back and plunge in deep and hard. Sliding in inch by inch, as the tight glove of her body gripped him, was torture. Wonderful, agonizing, perfect torture, and he savored every minute of it.

Only when he’d gone about as far as he could go did he give that little nudge, that final thrust of possession that took him full hilt, eliciting a gasp of surprise that made him want to roar with primitive satisfaction.

He’d touched the deepest place of her and they were connected in a way that could not be undone. Their eyes met, and he knew she felt the significance, too.

Very slowly he started to move. Lifting his hips in rhythmic circles to slide back in and out in short, gentle strokes. But then the strokes got longer . . . and harder. His hips pumped and the erotic little gasps she was making every time their bodies slammed together grew louder and more insistent.

His jaw locked, his teeth gritted, and sweat gathered on his chest and face from the effort to concentrate, to stay in control, to not let passion overtake him again.

It was a battle he lost as soon as she started to lift her hips against his with increasingly frantic urgency. As soon as she started to grip him, clenching her body to hold on to him longer.

Her responsiveness undid him. She was so damned beautiful in her need he couldn’t hold back another minute. She was going to come again, and this time, he was going to be with her.

He let himself go, releasing the clamp on the pressure at the base of his spine, and felt the shuddering waves overtake him as he thrust in deep, holding his body to hers and grinding against her until they cried out in unison.

It was intense. Cataclysmic. Out of control. He’d never lost himself so completely in anything. For the first time in his life he knew exactly where he belonged. With her. Forever.

When it was over, all he could do was collapse on top of her. Skin to skin, pounding heart to pounding heart, until fearing that he was crushing her, he found the strength to roll onto the bed beside her.

Not wanting to break the connection, he drew his arm around her and pulled her in snugly against the side of his body. One soft cheek and one small palm rested against his chest, and her knee was bent across his legs. It was a position that he suspected he was going to get used to very quickly. Absently, she traced the scar on his arm. It was strange that she’d never asked about it.

It was a while before she propped her chin on her hand to look up at him. For someone who had just been very thoroughly ravished, she looked impossibly innocent.

“What are you thinking?” she asked. “You are so quiet; I hope you are not feeling guilty again.”

His mouth quirked to the side in a wry smile. “Not at all. I’m feeling an appalling
lack
of guilt, actually.”

“Good,” she said with something of a harrumph.

He smiled. “I was also thinking that I forgot to give you something. I brought it back with me from home.” He laughed. “I think my mother feared I was never going to ask for it.”

She was obviously perplexed. “For me?”

“Aye, for you,” he said, pressing a kiss on her nose. He rolled over her and fished around on the ground beside the bed for his sporran. Digging inside with his fingers, he pulled out what he was looking for and got back into position with her nestled half on top of him before opening his palm.

She gasped, her eyes shooting to his in shock and accusation. “Alex!”

For a moment she just stared at the circle of gold and stone with the eyes of a starving child who had glimpsed a plate of sweets in a window. When she looked back at him her eyes were damp and shimmery. “It’s beautiful.” He could hear the emotion in her voice. “But I couldn’t accept—”

“It’s a
betrothal
ring,” he said, cutting her off. “You have to accept it.”

She looked like she wanted to refuse again, but eventually she nodded.