Highland Wolf (Highland Brides) (23 page)

She turned, a scowl marring her brow. "I don't know how to trust, Scotsman."

"’Tis a slippery thing, true enough," he said softly. "But 'tis na unmanagable once ye get a grip on it."

She shook her head, but her fine lips lifted slightly into a smile. "I don't think so. Not for me."

"Who are ye?" It seemed he had asked that question a hundred times. But it had never intrigued him more than now.

"Who would you like me to be?"

"Yerself."

"There is no myself, Scotsman," she whispered, and in her eyes he saw sorrow, deep and earnest.

He crossed the distance between them and took her into his arms. And from there, there was nothing he could do but kiss her.

She was warm and soft and kissing him in return. He felt her desperate need like a tangible thing and hugged her more tightly against him.

"If there is no ye, lass, then who am I kissing?"

"Someone truly terrified," she whispered.

"Nay." He shook his head. "Nothing frightens a shadow."

"But things frighten me," she said, and shivered.

"Hence the disguises?"

"When I am Betty I can match any man quip for quip. When I'm a lad I have a youth's speed and daring. And when I am the Shadow, I fear nothing.”

"What do you fear now, lass?"

"You."

"I will na harm ye," he said, gently touching her face.

She closed her eyes. "’Tis not true. You look to find the person who I once was."

"Is that an evil thing, lass?"

"Find her, and what happens to the others, Scotsman?"

"What others?"

She motioned to her chest. "The others that I have become. They have kept me alive. When I am no longer them, I will die."

Roman tightened his arms about her, understanding. "When I was but a lad, me parents were taken from me. I lived then with me uncle. But me uncle could na be trusted, nor could the parents who had abandoned me, I reasoned. Thus I thought that none could be trusted. I must fend for meself, stay apart from the world, lest someone steal me verra life."

"But you were wrong?"

"In later years, after I had been touched by kindness, I thought mayhap it would be better to die than to live without that."

"And now? What do you think now?"

"That I must take the risk. If I dare."

She watched him breathlessly for a moment, and then she kissed him, softly, tentatively. The sensations were sweet beyond measure, yet searing, stunning. He let her lead the way, let her fingers slip beneath his jerkin. Even through the linen of the embroidered shirt, he could feel the warmth of her hands. They slid sensuously around his body, pulling him closer. She deepened the kiss. He calmed his breathing, touched her lips with his tongue, felt her shiver with desire against him.

The knowledge of her arousal heated his already warmed system. His manhood rose, nearly matching the outlandish size of the codpiece that stood like a stiff guard between them. No longer could he be content to allow her to lead the way. He slid his hands under her baggy tunic and about her back. Her skin was warm and soft. He pressed his palms up her spine, and she arched against him with a shudder of pleasure.

It was that simple movement that made her irresistible. Beneath the tunic, he could feel the strips of cloth that bound her breasts. He found the knots against her back and loosened them until they fell away. He slid his hands downward to find the laces that kept her ill-fitting hose upon her body. He untied them without stopping the kiss, and then smoothed the coarse fabric down her buttocks. She pressed her hips forward, and he gripped her bottom and pulled her upward.

She straddled his waist.

Roman splayed his fingers, running his hands up her torso, bunching her tunic and binding clothes above them. The clothes slipped away. She drew her arms out of the sleeves eagerly, and he tugged the tunic over her head.

Her breasts were free, bare, high and firm and so lovely that he caught his breath. Ever so gently, he cupped one in his hand, weighing it in his palm before he closed his eyes and slipped it over the fullness of the curve. She gasped and arched toward him, breathing hard.

Roman opened his eyes to find her watching him. There was longing there, but there was also fear.

Desire, hard as flint and just as sharp, spurred him. His gaze slipped down her body. She gripped him with her slim, endless legs, her torso leaning away from him. Her nipples were hard and erect, pink blossoms that called for his kiss. Below that, her ribs slanted down to a belly that was flat and firm. Her waist was tiny and tight, her hips flared.

He shivered with excitement, but held himself still. "Lass..." His voice was husky. "Do I go ta fast for ye?"

She exhaled sharply, and he realized suddenly that she had been holding her breath. "This trust is ..." She paused. Her eyes were wide and blue. "'Tis indeed a slippery thing. It comes and goes, and there are times when I do not care if I trust at all."

"Trust can indeed make fools of us," he whispered. "But 'tis said that caring can make us whole."

"Caring kills," she whispered hoarsely.

"Mayhap 'tis worth the price," he whispered, and, bearing her to the bed, eased her down upon it.

He settled slowly down beside her and touched her face with careful fingertips. She closed her eyes and tilted her head into his touch. Roman skimmed his hand along the fine bone of her jaw, down her delicate throat and into the silky mass of her hair. It remained confined on the top of her head. His fingers slipped into the soft nest and found a pin. He tugged it free, then trailed it gently down her throat, her shoulder, over her breast, and down to the hollow of her abdomen. Back up, his fingers went, retrieving another pin before slipping downward. But now he followed its path with kisses, light, careful, mere whispered caresses to her shoulder, her arm, the sweet, firm curve of her breast. Until finally all the pins were placed in a pile on her flat belly.

Roman spread his fingers in her hair now. It was as soft as a dream, gold as a morning ray of light. He spread it forward until it spilled over her, covering her shoulders, brushing her breasts, spreading gossamer sheer over her rose-petal nipples.

"Tara." He breathed her name softly. "But ye are bonny, lass, beautiful beyond all I imagined." He touched her breast again, but did not allow his hand to stay. Instead, he smoothed it lower, over her curves, downward.

Her legs were long and pale as a lily. They were bent at the knee and pressed together, covering most of the golden triangle of hair that adorned the apex between them. Roman ran his fingers slowly down one thigh, stroking, caressing. Her lips parted and her eyes fell closed as she absorbed his touch. He could feel her muscles relax beneath his hands and soon her knees had fallen open, exposing the core of her womanhood. He slipped his hand along her inner thigh. The skin there was as smooth as finest silk, and when he reached her center, she was moist, warm, soft.

She moaned and pressed against his fingers.

Fiery bright desire raced through Roman, but he would not hurry. Instead, he slipped his hand downward to cup her warmth in his palm before sliding lower to press his wrist against her heat and caress her bottom. The frilly white of his cuff looked strangely right against her dark, golden curls.

She arched her taut body and shivered violently against his touch. Her hands came up to grasp his jerkin and hold tightly. "Scotsman," she said, breathing hard.

There was desire in her eyes, hot and eager. But there was also fear. If she called a halt, Roman thought, he was honor-bound to agree.

"Aye, lass?" His voice was husky.

"I would see you naked."

He exhaled carefully. "If... if ye call me Roman," he whispered.

"Roman," she breathed, and, shivering, kissed him.

Fire. Hot and wild and consuming!

It was all Roman could do to untie his jerkin without breaking off the kiss. But she was impatient now and pushed him away far enough to assist his efforts. She pulled the garment off. The shirt beneath was fastened with a row of small bone buttons. They opened with magical quickness beneath her skillful hands.

His chest was bare but for the amulet of teeth. Lying beside one nipple, it made him look all the more fierce and untamable, Tara thought. She skimmed her hands over his chest, unable to resist.

"When I first saw you at the inn you wore this," she whispered, touching the wolf teeth. "You were naked, and I was the Shadow, there on a mission." Tentatively, ever so tentatively, she touched the nub of his nipple and felt the muscles underneath coil beneath her hand. "Never have I been so tempted to pull out of a role, to touch..." She swept her palm over his nipple again, and again the muscles beneath her hand jumped. It was a marvelous feeling, full of life and heat. An experience like none other.

"Do you..." She paused, breathing hard and seeming to feel each drop of blood that coursed wildly through her veins. Slowly, she pushed his shirt off one shoulder. It was broad with bone and muscle, powerful and exhilarating. "Do you perhaps feel what I feel?" She searched his eyes, wondering.

His lips were near hers, and his hair, dark as midnight, fell across his bare skin in highlights of black and cinnamon.

“There be lightning in me blood," he whispered.

She could not help but smile. "Burning," she said.

"Aye," he murmured, and kissed her. But she was no longer content to allow things to remain as they were. It was a simple thing to free the laces of his hose. The shirt slid away from his chest. The hose slipped away from his hips, and the codpiece paled beside the power of his erection.

She let her gaze settle on it for a moment, before shifting her eyes away.

Roman pressed the hose lower, but they clung to him as if loath to leave his powerful thighs. He wrestled with them for a moment, pushing them down and finally sitting on the edge of the bed to peel them away.

Tara stared at the broad strength of his back.

"Scars." She whispered the word, and reaching out, touched a jagged strip beside his well-muscled spine.

He didn't flinch, but turned slowly toward her.

"You have scars," she whispered, meeting his gaze.

"From long ago and best forgotten," he murmured, wrapping her again in his arms.

But she shook her head. "Scars are not forgotten. They are hidden or they are healed."

"Then heal me, lass," he whispered, and kissed her.

She leaned back into the mattress. There was excitement, yes. But there was more here. There was depth and feeling, and a man with hands so slow and strong that she felt she could die beneath his caress and not care. What was this wild longing?

His hands roamed her body, smoothing over her breasts, her thighs. His kisses followed, slow and hot and lingering.

He settled between her legs and she welcomed him there, bending her knees, feeling the warmth of his nakedness with gladness. His manhood was rigid and hot between her thighs.

His kisses slipped from her lips, down her throat, and lower until he found the crest of her breast.

She arched against the sizzling sensations. And somehow, like silver magic, he was inside. Both stopped their movement. He seemed as hard as an oaken bough. Every muscle was bunched and controlled, every fiber taut and ready.

She felt his shiver of anticipation and could wait no longer. Tightening, she bucked against him. The hounds of desire were set free. With a groan, he thrust forward.

The portal to Tara's core ripped free. She felt it give and welcomed the opening, for now he was sunk deep within her and she could wrap herself around him and glory in the wild ride. There was no time for thought. No time for delay. They rode together at a desperate pace, gasping for air and satisfaction.

She filled her fists with his hair and drove against him, reaching for something that demanded attention.

Harder, faster. Muscles writhing, breath rasping.

She felt him grow inside her, felt the bulge of hard need, and then he was pulsing, pushing her over the edge of desire. She heard his groan, saw him arch back his head, and felt the release of her satiety. Her head felt light and her muscles useless. Her hands fell to the mattress.

Roman eased away, then rose to his feet.

So this was sex, what she had waited so long to experience. She smiled ever so softly to herself.

"How dare ye!" Roman said, looming, dark and angry over the bed. "How dare ye be a virgin!"

Chapter 17

“What?" She blinked up at him, naked, sated, confused.

Roman stood with his fists clenched and every fine muscle tight with anger. "How dare ye be a virgin?"

She was tempted to laugh, tempted, but not so foolish.

"You're ..." She pushed the hair out of her face. The amulet swung lazily against his glorious chest. It fascinated her, but she managed to keep from touching it or him. "You're upset because I was an innocent?"

"Innocent!" He all but snarled the word, then threw up his hands to circle the tiny room and come back to glare at her once more. "Ye are na, nor probably ever were, an innocent."

"But, I thought you said—"

"Ye lied!" he exclaimed, jabbing a finger at her. "Ye lied again, even about..." He waved his hand toward her, as if encompassing her entire being. "Even about that!"

She could not help but smile now, just a mite. "You're angry."

He made a sound that reminded her very much of the beast whose teeth he had stolen.

"From the start ye have lied, connived, schemed! But I thought, foolishly, I see, that in this one thing..." He raised a stern forefinger to shake it at her. "In this one thing I thought ye would be honest."

"How exactly did I lie to you, Scotsman?" she asked. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms about her bent legs to stare at him from a better vantage point. She was naked and cooling, but somehow her nudity failed to bother her. 'Twas a fact she would have to consider later.

"How?" he rasped. "Ye said ye were a whore."

"Oh."

Bending his forefinger into his fist, he paced again. "Usually when a woman says she is a whore, ye can believe her. ‘Tis a fairly certain thing. For if they are apt ta lie, 'tis usually the opposite they say. But na with thee. Nay! Na with thee. Jesu, I should have known better."