Unlaced by the Outlaw (Secrets in Silk) (24 page)

And waited.

He stood against the small table, behaving as if she weren’t there. He leaned his head against the wall, as if he were listening to the hallway. Long minutes passed before she realized that he wasn’t going to touch her anymore. His earlier kiss had been a way of provoking her, while Mr. Barnabas was on the other side of the door. It was almost an act of possession, reminding her that no one could ever affect her the way Cain did.

She rolled onto her side, cooling her burning cheeks against the pillow. He would sleep over there, she suspected. Far away from her, close to any threat. He would keep her safe.

Just as he always had.

Her mind twisted in turmoil as she realized that, although he’d stolen a kiss or two over the years, never once had he harmed her. He’d been her steadfast shield, with the quiet strength of a man who didn’t belong in her world.

Shame darkened her cheeks even more. She’d used him, knowing that there would never be anything between them. And when she’d surrendered to temptation, allowing him to kiss her, she’d only fueled his ardor.

He wanted her still, and she didn’t know why. After all the years she’d spurned him, why had he stayed? She didn’t like the woman she had become. All her life she’d obeyed the rules, doing what a good girl should. And she’d pushed aside the one man who had loved her, who had always protected her.

Slowly, Margaret sat up in bed, drawing up her knees. Her movement caught Cain’s attention, and he turned back to her.

She’d mistreated him so badly. Worse was the realization that, if he had been a duke, she’d have accepted his proposal years ago, without a moment’s hesitation. Did that mean she had valued wealth and a title over another person’s feelings? What did that make her?

Selfish. That’s what she had been. And the more she looked back on herself and the way she’d treated Cain Sinclair, the worse she felt. He had always put her needs before his own.

Without really understanding what she was doing, she swung her legs to the edge of the bed and pulled back the coverlet. She didn’t know what to do right now, but she had silenced the prudish young woman who had lived her life in ironclad rules. It had brought her nothing but spinsterhood.

Cain didn’t move from his place by the door, but he never took his eyes from her. Margaret removed her wrapper and set it upon the back of the chair, walking toward him in her nightdress.

“What is it, lass?” he whispered.

“I’ve been unfair to you.” Her inner sense of propriety was raging, but she couldn’t have moved away if she’d tried. “All these years, you watched over me. Even when I was engaged to wed Lord Lisford.”

“I did try to talk you out of it,” he reminded her.

She nodded, but the right words wouldn’t come to her. Her mind and heart were caught in a state of confusion. She was so weary of all the rules, of all the years of obedience.

“When I go back home . . . when my parents learn about all that I’ve done, they’ll want to lock me away.”

“What do you want?” His hand moved up her spine, and the touch was so light, a shiver rocked through her.

She lifted her face to his, wanting to close her eyes and shut out all the reasons why this was wrong. The desire to lash out at her former self was growing stronger. She wanted to rebel against the rules, to break every last one of them.

“I want something I shouldn’t have.” Her arms slid around his neck, making her invitation unmistakable. “Before I have to face the outside world.”

Cain muttered a curse in Gaelic, drawing her against him until she felt the hard outline of his body. Her skin grew sensitive, her body awakening against his touch.

“I’m no’ a saint, lass.” He drew his hands down to her hips and his arousal rocked against her legs. He tempted her beyond measure, and she hardly cared about anything else.

No matter what she said, no matter what choices she’d made, not a single person would believe she was untouched.

And the truth was, she
did
crave Cain’s touch. She wanted to cast out the prim and proper miss, becoming someone else. Someone who didn’t care what others thought of her.

“You’d best be certain about what you’re asking,” he warned. “For once we begin, I won’t stop.”

Margaret laid a finger against his lips, bidding him to be quiet. Then she lifted her mouth to his and kissed him hard.

Chapter Ten

N
ever in a thousand years did Cain believe Margaret Andrews would try to seduce him. Something had pushed her over the edge, and she was trying to ruin herself. He couldn’t be certain of her reasons, but like the sinner he was, he didn’t care.

Her mouth was closed, and he angled his kiss, coaxing her to open for him. She softened, and he slid his tongue inside her warmth.

She let out a sudden gasp, but he covered the noise by claiming her mouth, trapping her arms against her sides. The sweet taste of her was honey to his mouth, and he didn’t hesitate to take her further, palming her hips. He wanted to show her the pleasure there could be between them, but he didn’t want her to be afraid.

Against her ear, he murmured, “I want to touch you the way I’ve dreamed of, lass.”

“Please,” she whispered. The softness in her voice was an invisible caress.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, daring to move his hand slowly up the side of her breast. He didn’t touch her nipple, but from the way her face tightened, he sensed her need deepening.

“Yes.” A sigh mingled with her words, and she closed her eyes.

Cain reached for her hand and forced her to touch her own nipple. Using her hand, he guided her to caress herself. He kissed her earlobe, asking, “Does this make you feel good, lass?”

“It makes me ache,” she confessed, her face blushing.

It made him ache, too, his erection taut against his kilt. But he shoved back the primal reactions, knowing he had to go slowly. “Best no’ to talk much, lass,” he warned, keeping his voice low. “Someone might hear us.”

She obeyed, then startled him when she rose up on tiptoes to kiss him again. It was as if she craved him, as if all the years of desire had reached the breaking point. And Cain couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be than in her arms.

He reached down and picked her up, carrying her over to the bed. She was light in his arms, making him wish he’d fed her more on this journey. Gently, he laid her down on the pillow, marveling at her. Her dark blond hair was loose around her shoulders, framing an angel’s face. Her green eyes held secrets she would not say, and he wondered if he ought to step back.

He sat beside her, his arms on either side of her shoulders. “Are you certain, lass?”

Her answer was to reach for his palm and place it upon her breast.

The touch of Cain’s hand upon her body was overwhelming. Margaret closed her eyes, letting herself experience the unfamiliar pleasure of a man’s caress. Through the linen of her nightdress, she felt the sensations and the sweet abrasion of her nipple against the fabric. His thumb circled over it slowly, and there came an answering echo in the aching between her legs.

Then he dared to touch her other breast, both of his hands moving over them. It was a sweet torture, knowing how forbidden this was.

But Margaret was tired of obeying the rules. Tired of being the good girl, so prim that a man would hardly dare to hold her hand. She pulled Cain’s mouth down to hers, wanting the sharp rush of the world falling away at his kiss.

He ravaged her mouth, making her want so much more. Her legs scissored against the coverlet, and he broke away, his mouth traveling down her throat.

No, that wasn’t what she wanted. She tried to guide him back, but he pinioned her hand at her side, his mouth moving to the buttons at the top of her nightdress. He flicked open the first button with one hand, his mouth finding her bare skin.

Then he drew out the tip of one breast, rubbing the nipple between his forefinger and thumb. Her breathing grew uneven, and she tensed when he undid another button. His mouth drifted lower still, his palm claiming her breast.

He wasn’t going to—ohhh . . .

The explosive gasp of air couldn’t be stopped when his hot mouth covered the nipple he exposed after the last button. She bucked against him, her hand moving to his hair.

Between her legs, she felt a burgeoning sensation of desire deepening. It was nothing like she’d expected, although her sisters, Victoria and Juliette, had warned her. She didn’t know what she’d thought it would be like—simply lying back and letting her husband do as he wanted to. Submitting meekly as a good wife should.

But this was more than submission—it was seduction.

“Are you all right?” he whispered against her breast. The stubble of his beard pricked her skin, but the roughness stimulated her even more.

“Don’t stop,” she managed. It occurred to her that he was touching her, but she’d not done the same to him.

She lifted her hands to his hair, smoothing it back. She’d always thought his long black hair was terribly uncivilized, but here, against her skin, it felt silken.

“Do you ken what happens when a man makes love to a woman?” Cain whispered.

She went motionless, shaking her head. No words would come to her, for she was utterly stunned that he was speaking in such a way.

“He spends all night touching her, taking her body apart until she cries out with the pleasure of it.” He leaned in, his hand brushing her erect nipple as he traveled lower. “That’s what I’m wanting to do to you, Margaret. I’m wanting to feast upon your skin and take you down until you’re so wet, you’re pleading for me to come inside you.”

He reached toward the hem of her nightdress and touched her calf. “You hold all the power, lass. Tell me what it is you’re wanting.”

Her conscience was screaming at her to cease this madness, to retreat back into the shell of the woman she’d been. But she ignored the spinster, no longer caring about anything else but Cain. “Just don’t stop.”

His eyes turned so blue, they were like the hottest part of a flame. “Good.”

She wanted to bind him to her this night, to embrace the fervor that had always been between them. His hands moved up her legs, beneath the nightdress. She grew shy, tightening her legs together when he drew closer to her intimate space.

“Are you wet, lass?” he asked, his hand moving against her center. There was no need to ask. The moment his fingers slid against her, he had his answer. She was throbbing, her body crying out for something she didn’t understand.

He began to stroke her, and she tilted her hips upward, welcoming his touch. There was a primal rhythm to the motion, and deep inside, she felt herself rising to his call. Higher still, he took her, and she moved against him, straining for more. His thumb edged her hooded flesh, circling and filling her with need. She was tremulous, aching to be filled with him, and her nipples grew erect. He licked at the tips, teasing her with his tongue while his hand caressed her.

She was beyond all conscious thought, so aroused that she grasped his hair and pulled him up to kiss her again. At that very moment, he slid his finger inside her wetness. His tongue invaded her mouth, while his hand did the same, and the sensation took her beyond all control. Without warning, her body spiraled apart. Aching heat shuddered against her, and she felt her body drawing his finger deeper inside. Against her mouth, he murmured, “That was faster than I thought. You must have been close.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about, but she bit back a moan when he stroked her intimately. Her body was alive in a way it had never been, and she couldn’t get enough of him. She kissed him again, and her nails dug into his skin when he continued thrusting his hand inside her. Steadily, he kept up the rhythm, and she clenched him, moving her hips.

“I want you to come again for me, lass,” he told her. “Only this time, I’ll make it even better.”

She wasn’t certain how that was possible. It was already as if she’d been unlocked, her body open to an ecstasy that she’d never imagined. But he wouldn’t stop touching her, his fingers drenched in her wetness. This time, he kissed her bare breasts again, his tongue teasing the edge of her nipple. He pushed a second finger within her, and her fist clenched the coverlet when his thumb began to circle the hooded flesh above her opening.

She could imagine having him inside her. Thick and hard, she envisioned him thrusting, in the same way he was moving two fingers. He’d stretched her, making her want so much more.

Then he stopped moving, his own breath growing unsteady.

“Please don’t stop,” she begged. With his fingers buried inside her, she was craving the intrusion. She pressed her hips close, trying to mimic the thrusting he’d done.

“I need a moment,” he said, closing his eyes.

But Margaret didn’t want that at all. She was too close, poised on the edge of another release, but she didn’t know how to seize it.

She reached out to touch him, trying to encourage him to continue. His body was rigid, his face against the pillow.

Was he hurting?

She reached out and encountered the wool of his kilt. Without warning, he moved atop her, still fully clothed.