Lord love him. A true redhead, after all.
Breathing heavily, he curved his hand around the smoothest, roundest breast he'd ever encountered. His cock jerked as its firm heft overflowed his large palm. He rubbed his thumb over the blushing tip, and he didn't know who shuddered, he or she. Mayhap both. He'd always adored this part of a woman—and there was much to adore here. Hunger charged through him, and he lowered his head to feast.
Her startled cry burned through him, made him suck harder. Her nipple blossomed beneath his tongue, ripe and full, maddeningly sweet. Kneading the full mounds, he licked and played until she went pliant against him. Lust bolted through him as her eyes closed, her neck arching in silent bliss. Damnation, 'twas a gorgeous sight. His hand smoothed over her supple belly, slipped between her thighs.
Wet, luscious heat.
He groaned. She gasped.
Her thighs locked around his hand, and she blinked at him, breasts heaving.
He cocked his head. "What's the matter, pet?"
"N-nothing." She licked her lips, and his nostrils flared. "I ... I just ..."
"Said I'd take care of you. Relax for me, little one," he coaxed.
"I'm not ... little." Her voice hitched as he managed to swirl his fingers, his lungs burning at her lushness. Her slick response to his touch.
"Compared to me, you are," he said huskily. "Let me take care of you. Let me ..."
After a moment, her thighs slackened, granting him access. Triumph roared through him as he petted her decadent little puss, the fiery curls soft, the folds beneath even softer ... and
damp
. Lungs burning, he felt his own leaking moisture, the eager pre-spurt of his cock as he found her little pearl. She jerked against him, whimpering as he diddled her.
"So sweet," he breathed as her eyes squeezed shut. "Aye, lass, don't hold back ..."
With a hungry growl, he went to his knees beside the chaise and put his mouth on her. She jolted, but he held her thighs open, groaning as her essence saturated his senses. Spicy and sweet
all over
. He tickled her clit with his tongue, and she made a sound of sweet distress. As he laved and suckled the bold little nub, he eased a finger inside her.
Fire shot up his spine.
She was incredibly tight. Hot.
"You're gripping me like you don't want to let me go ..." he gritted out. "
Beautiful.
"
She cried out again, but the roar in his ears was louder. Consumed by feverish need, he slung her knee over his shoulder, burying his mouth in her cunny and fingering her at the same time. He grunted with pleasure as her dripping honey coated his tongue. She was so small and snug, each ripple of her passage clenching his fingers. Her eyes remained closed, her expression strangely vulnerable. He didn't let up until her moans soared into a crescendo, until her climax left her limp and shuddering against the velvet.
Only then did he lift her effortlessly into his arms. Her eyes were dazed pools, her cheeks glowing. Claiming her lips once more, he carried her to the wide, waiting bed.
FOUR
Annabel awoke from a disorienting fog. She blinked at the reflected image of herself: her hair spread in tangled skeins over black satin, her breasts bare, and a sinewy, hair-covered arm slung possessively across her belly ...
Her breath jammed in her throat. Her head turned swiftly on the pillow.
McLeod lay on his stomach beside her. Naked as she was. The even rise and fall of his muscular backside indicated that he was asleep.
Heaven help me ... what have I done?
Panic flooded through her, images of last night flittering through her mind. Literal images, for the looking glass above the bed had given her a bird's-eye view of what had transpired. Her wantonness in the arms of a stranger. The way she'd panted for him as he came atop her, arched her back as he'd thrust so firmly inside.
For an instant, she'd frozen: he'd been so
big
. He'd stretched her, an invading presence buried deep in the core of her. His thick, pulsing manhood had touched places where she'd never been touched before.
Randall hadn't been half the man McLeod was. Ironically, her husband hadn't showed an iota of the gentleness that the rugged stranger had. With Randall, the act had always been quick, hurried. If not painful exactly, it hadn't been pleasurable either, and he'd shown little consideration for her response. As if sensing her discomfort, however, the Scot had stilled immediately.
"Not hurting you, am I?" he'd said, his brow furrowing.
His gentleness had disarmed her into giving him the truth. "No," she'd whispered. "If you could wait a moment ..."
"As long as you need, beauty." He'd leaned down, kissed her until she'd been drunk on his virile flavor, on his murmured assurances.
You've nothing to fear. I'll take care of you. Beautiful ...
Words she'd never heard from a man.
As fantastic as it was, for the first time in her adult life, she'd felt ... safe.
The darkness of the past year had receded as she'd surrendered to the temptation of safety and passion. In the Scot's powerful arms, she'd lost herself. For one precious night, she'd lived without fear or shame, had felt as beautiful as he'd said she was.
Now the night was over, and reality broke over her. She'd slept with a stranger. A ... customer. Worse yet, she'd given far more than her body. Had she imagined the magic of what had transpired between them, the fierce tenderness of McLeod's touch?
It doesn't matter—I cannot do this.
The truth was as blinding as dawn's first rays. She couldn't be a whore. Couldn't do what she'd done last night with another man. Didn't want to ... Dash it all, what had she been thinking resorting to this? Heat prickled behind her eyes. She looked at the man beside her, who held her with a lover's possessiveness as he slept on, his russet hair tousled, a night beard shadowing his strong jaw.
Somehow, he'd changed everything.
He'd given her back her courage.
A plan took shape in her mind, resolve walling off her other emotions. Plenty of time to wallow later. Now 'twas time for action. Breath held, Annabel gingerly moved from beneath McLeod's arm, easing the heavy limb onto the mattress. She got up stealthily from the bed, made her way to the pile of clothes tangled next to the chaise.
Stubble it, she had only the robe she'd worn last night. She couldn't risk returning to the wenches' wing to retrieve her things. For she meant to break her contract with Todd ... which meant she had to get out of the club
now
. Time was of essence. At this early hour, she had a chance of slipping out undetected whilst everyone was asleep or passed out from the previous night's proceedings. With a little luck, her absence might not be noticed for an hour or two. Good enough for a head start.
She grabbed McLeod's shirt and yanked it over her head. It hung almost to her ankles, and his masculine scent enveloped her, a virile blend of wood-spice and ... him. Tingling, she rolled up the sleeves, considered and discarded the idea of donning his trousers. There wasn't a hope of those fitting her. Instead, she pulled her robe over the shirt and donned her slippers. It would have to do until she could find something else ...
Her gaze landed on McLeod's jacket where it lay carelessly on the rug. An instant later, her fingers were fumbling through the pockets of the dark blue superfine, her heart thumping. Her search yielded a small leather bag. Her hands shook so badly that the coins within jingled, and her eyes darted to the figure on the bed.
Her heart shot into her throat as McLeod mumbled something, rolled onto his back. Her pulse continued to hammer as his muscular, hair-dusted chest surged up and down. He dozed as innocent as a babe … oblivious to the fact that she was picking his pockets.
Her throat closed.
I'm sorry. Forgive me.
And ... thank you.
She tamped down her emotions, focused on the dangers ahead. Once started, there was no returning from this new path she'd chosen. If Todd caught her ... she drew a breath. She had to take the risk. Because denial had been ripped from her, and she now knew what was at stake: between her life or her soul, she knew what choice she had to make.
Clutching the coin purse to muffle its sound, she fled from the chamber.
*****
Will opened his eyes, befuddled when the rolling emerald hills and shimmering loch vanished, replaced by the view of a strange bedchamber. He blinked. He'd been ... dreaming? Since his time in the 95th Rifles, he'd rarely slept deeply enough to dream—or at least to recall his nighttime fantasies. He had a habit of waking fully alert. But at the moment he felt groggy, pleasantly relaxed from the deepest slumber he'd had in a good long while.
Memory returned, and a grin curled his lips. He couldn't help it. By
God
, of course he'd been exhausted—the insatiable wench had worn him out.
He turned his head, eager to see Bella in the daylight. But the place next to him was empty. He felt a twinge of disappointment to find her gone. Perhaps she'd gone to use the convenience. Or powder her nose. He hoped it wasn't the latter. Because as the night had gone on, layers of her paint had worn off, and he'd glimpsed the most alluring sprinkle of golden freckles on her nose ...
Bella had been a female straight out of his fantasies. A goddess who'd managed to be both sensual and oddly innocent at the same time. Her unexpected vulnerability made him hungry to know more about her. To know everything ...
He scrubbed his hands over his face. A movement caught his eye—looking upward, he saw himself in the looking glass above the bed. Naked amidst black satin sheets.
Reality slapped him in the face.
Right. You tumbled a doxy at a gaming hell, McLeod
.
Nothing to wax poetic about.
And yet ... he couldn't deny that last night had been different from his past encounters.
Bella
had been different. She'd seemed surprised by her own passion, her sweet, uninhibited response to him. The way they'd fit together had been as natural and elemental as breathing. From the moment he'd laid eyes on her, he'd felt a pull toward her that he couldn't put into words. A possessiveness that made no sense—that made him both wary and excited. All he knew was that, after last night, the thought of another man touching her made him fit to kill.
His jaw set. Even as one part of him warned against moving too fast, another part countered with the idea of an exclusive arrangement. Mayhap he'd propose the notion to Bella when she returned. If she was interested, he could talk to Todd and work something out. Though he didn't look forward to bartering with the cutthroat—he grimaced, imagining Todd's smug face and likely demands—Bella would be worth the trouble.
Will waited impatiently for her to reemerge. He idly fantasized about picking up where they'd left off. They'd tried different positions throughout the night, each as satisfying as the last. He'd learned quite a few things about her already. For instance, when she was on the verge, she made an adorable little humming sound in her throat, and a peachy flush would spread over her delectable tits ... The sheet over his loins tented.
If she returned soon, they'd have time for a quick morning tup.
After a quarter hour passed, he got up from the bed. He wasn't pleased that she'd left without saying goodbye. He expected a bit more courtesy after what they'd shared last night. From his count, she'd come five times, and he was certain she hadn't been feigning.
Reasonably certain.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Goddamnit,
was
he certain?
His good mood evaporated as he went to retrieve his clothes. If the past was any indication, he hadn't a talent when it came to reading females. He'd thought Bella had felt the same genuine attraction as he—but he'd believed the same about Laura. And he thought, feeling more foolish by the moment, he couldn't deny the fact of Bella's profession. She was a whore, for God's sake. Part of her
job
was to dupe men—to make a fellow feel as if he were wanted, needed ... the best damn lover in the world.
He bent to snatch his clothing from the ground by the chaise—and his scowl deepened. Where was his bluidy shirt? Yanking on his smalls and trousers, he searched beneath the chaise. Nothing. He scanned the environs ... and a sudden, premonitory chill gripped his nape. He strode over to the table where he'd left his jacket. Tore through the pockets ... and came up empty.
The fabric crumpled in his fists.
"Bluidy hell," he roared.
FIVE
Will did not like being stolen from—and liked being made to look a fool even less.
He would have avoided Todd altogether, but seeing as how Bella had stolen his shirt as well as his coin bag, he couldn't very well leave the club half-naked. Well aware of his employer's smirk, Will took the substitute garment from the footman and yanked it over his head. Seeing as the shirt belonged to Todd, its hem ended at Will's navel—making him look as ridiculous as he felt. Scowling, he threw on his waistcoat and buttoned up his jacket.
"How often do wenches vanish on you?" Todd goaded him. "Take your shirt and your coin?"
"Hasn't happened before and won't happen again," Will said shortly.
"That's what they all say." Todd's smugness faded, replaced by a more menacing expression. In brusque tones, he said, "You'll have to find her, of course. Bring her back. Such behavior cannot be tolerated—sets a bad precedence for the other wenches. The bitch owes me blunt, and she shall pay."
Ice formed in Will's gut. Bella was indebted to Todd—and she was defaulting?
Was she
mad
?
"How much does she owe?" he said.
"Five hundred pounds."
Holy hell.
With deep foreboding, Will said, "How'd she manage that?"
Todd's eyes narrowed. "All you have to know is that she signed a contract, and she's not weaseling out of it after one night. You find her, McLeod, and you bring her back to me."
A chill spread over Will's insides. His hands balled at the notion of bringing Bella back for Todd's brand of punishment. She might be a thief and liar and lack the honor to pay her debts, but he had never hurt a woman or knowingly put one in harm's way.