Brigand (7 page)

Every tear he’d ever shed, every sacrifice, every loss was
washed away by the flood of emotion she evoked, the flood of desire their
linked bodies created.

She writhed beneath him. The walls of her cunt rippled
around him in agonizing waves. Sanity fled.

He yanked out. She gasped, then the gasp became a deep moan
as he plunged back in. Again and again, from this angle and that. He found the
spot, the one that made her quiver and quake, and he worked it, barraging her
with thrust after thrust after thrust of hard, hot passion.

He knew when she came again. Her body tightened, an
excruciating hold. She panted and cried out and a warm wash coated his aching
cock, easing his passage.

A frantic fervor possessed him. A burning, boiling need for
release. For possession. Complete possession. As he worked her, coaxing her to
the edge of bliss once more, his tension rose to an unbearable peak.

She lifted her knees, clasped his hips. Grunted and begged
and quaked under the weight of every plunge. It drove him wild that she was
right there with him, wrapped in rapture, urging him on, weeping for more.

His pace increased. Shorter, harder, deeper. He felt his
crest, his completion, burning in his balls, coiling at the base of his cock.

Need blurred his vision. A need so raw, so feral, so bestial
he could barely contain it. He dipped his head and captured her nipple. She
cried out, came around him, clamping his cock in a vise—a vise of pleasure.

He crested.

Sucking in a lungful of much-needed air, he exploded. His
seed erupted into her waiting womb in a hot, desperate flood. Wave after wave
of seething delight scorched him, burning him to the core.

And then a peace unlike anything he’d ever known rushed in
to fill the void. It welled up within him and bubbled into his soul, saturating
him with an unspeakable serenity. He closed his eyes and reveled in the moment.

It was the sweetest moment of his life.

And it was all because of her.

Violet.

Violet awoke in heaven. A soft mattress cradled her body.
Warmth cocooned her. A sense of well-being sang in her heart. It had been so
long since she’d felt something so wonderful, she almost didn’t recognize it.

It took a minute to center herself, to remember who and
where she was.

Memories of the previous night flooded her and with it came
a scorching heat. It crawled up her neck in a prickling tide.

Oh. Had she done that?

Had she splayed herself on the carpet before Ewan’s fire and
begged him to take her?

She had.

And heavens. It had been marvelous.

She should probably feel the thorns of shame stabbing at her
conscience. She did not. For years she had dreamed of that boy, that kiss.

If she would give herself to a man, she couldn’t imagine a
better choice. And after her experience with Craig, after the horror of nearly
having her innocence ripped from her—by a man who revolted her—she could feel
no regrets at giving it to Ewan.

She nestled back against him and he tightened his embrace,
mumbling something in his sleep. Her bottom nudged the crux of his thighs, the
thick wedge rising there. Desire—and a touch of mischief—flickered through her.
She undulated her hips, just a bit, and the wedge twitched.

A sense of power, elation danced in her veins.

He wanted her.

Even in his sleep, he wanted her.

Gently, she turned in his arms and laid her head on the
pillow so she could gaze at his handsome face. She loved every line. Yes, he
was sometimes surly and often mulish. He could bellow and yell and glower like
the dickens. And he was a brigand. He’d locked her in the dungeon and treated
her like a servant.

She didn’t care.

She should care.

One day this would all be over. Kaitlin would relent and
return, or Ned and Malcolm, or Edward, would find her. One day she would return
to her family.

They would pressure her to wed. Some prancing lord.

A man like Ewan was not in her future. He couldn’t be.

Unless she walked away from her family—and she simply could
not—she would, at some point, have to say goodbye to him. To this.

Her heart ached at the thought but she couldn’t see any way
it could be different. The world was what it was. Ladies of the
haute
ton
did not wed Scottish criminals.

He snuffled and grumbled. His brow lowered in his sleep like
a petulant boy’s. Her heart skittered, melted. Unable to resist, she leaned
forward and pressed a kiss on his bristly chin. Then laved him. Made her way
along the underside of his jaw to his neck.

The skin there was fragrant, infused with his scent, his
essence.

When he had nested in the crook of her neck last night, she
had been stunned by the pleasure his working lips evoked. She’d never known
those spots to be so sensitive. She wondered if he would feel the same
wonderment, the same bliss if she nuzzled him there—

He stiffened. Sucked in a great breath and let it out in a
groan.

Violet smiled to herself and doubled her efforts. He did
like it.

And he was awake.

She let her hand drift over his chest, playing with the line
of his scar, making her way to his nipple. She scraped it with a nail. He
flinched but didn’t pull away. So she did it again.

“Violet.” A harsh rasp.

She ignored him, let her kisses trail down over the wiry
hairs on his chest. And she captured the nipple with her lips. And sucked. His
muscles locked. Every fiber of his being hummed. A groan wrenched from his
throat.

Oh. She liked this. She enjoyed plying him with pleasure.
Teasing his passion.

He did not allow her to tease him for long.

When her questing touch drifted to that fascinating spike,
when she fisted his length and stroked, marveling at how it could be hard and
oh so soft at the same time, he caught her wrist in a gentle cuff.

“Darling,” he murmured. “Much more of that will unman me.”

She laughed up into his eyes. “I’d like to unman you.”

“I’m sure you would. However…” He tipped her onto her back
and levered over her, wedging himself between her thighs. He raised up onto his
knees, spreading her legs farther. “I have a need for my spear and would prefer
it unbroken.”

She hissed in a breath as he entered her. As delicious as it
had been last night, this morning it was better. Last night there had been a
sting before the pleasure. Now there was only delight.

He went slowly, filling her with an unrelenting advance,
then he eased out, leaving a void. She tried to be patient, really she did. But
when he didn’t fill her again as quickly as she would have liked, she planted
her feet on the bed and thrust up at him.

He chuckled. “Greedy girl.”

“I am,” she said on a sigh. “I am greedy.”

He gave her what she wanted, hard and deep. He nudged some
arcane magic deep within her, a place that made her nerve endings explode, made
her shatter into a thousand glittering fragments. And then he did it again. And
again, making her mindless, thoughtless, helpless. Lost to anything and
everything but the exhilaration pounding in her blood.

He captured a nipple with his lips, as he had the night
before. And sucked. Shards of agony, an exquisite twinge, shot through her.

“Yes, oh yes.” She held his head just so, commanding him.
When he tried to move away, to find the other breast, she tightened her
fingers.

His murmur rumbled through her.

“What?” She blinked.

He hissed, “You’re so tight.”

She realized she’d been clutching at him there, as well, in a
mad attempt to hold him in, in her, forever. She forced her muscles to release
and was rewarded by another magnificent thrust and another. And then she
stopped counting. His movements became quicker, harder. He pounded into her in
fast, frantic thrusts, creating ripple upon ripple of pleasure in her womb.
They expanded, like ripples in a pond, to engulf her. He stared down at her as
he moved, his lips slightly parted, his eyes glazed. Wonderment scored every
line of his face.

As he neared his crisis, as the vein in his neck became
pronounced, and his face turned red as he forgot to breathe, and a sheen of
sweat arose on his skin, she clutched him again. This time deliberately. Timed
her internal flutters in concert with his maddened plunges.

His nostrils flared. Words, garbled, incomprehensible
mutterings, spilled from his lips.

His muscles tightened. He battered her with a series of
excruciatingly perfect lunges. One. Then another. And yet another. Each one
wild enough, raw enough, fierce enough to send her tumbling over the edge as
well.

He collapsed on top of her, gasping, covering her with a
dizzying weight. His body possessed her. His scent surrounded her. His essence
infused her.

She hated when he rolled away, though he took her with him,
positioning her on the hard pillow of his chest.

He captured her head and tugged it down to his. Sealed her
mouth with a long, wet kiss. By the time it was over, she was giddy. And her
arousal was stirring again.

“Ah, Violet.” His lips moved to her temple. “That was wonderful.”

Contentment coiled through her. Satisfaction that she, in
her innocence, had been able to please him.

He’d been someone special to her, her whole life.

And now she was special to him.

He thumbed her bruise. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She smiled. Yes, her jaw still ached but the rest of her
body ached more and overrode the pain. And the ache of her body was a pleasant
one. “No, Ewan.”

He blew out a laugh. “Because I can’t seem to control myself
when I’m with you.”

“I don’t mind.” She pressed a kiss on his scratchy beard,
right on the spot that had started all this.

He drew her into his arms and cradled her. She nestled her
nose in the crook of his neck and drew in his scent. It filled her. Delighted
her.

“Don’t moan like that or I’ll be hard and ready again.”

“Was I moaning?”

“You were.” He kissed her brow. “I could stay like this all
day.”

“Me too.” She cuddled closer. She could have. All day.
Forever.

But a scratch at the door intruded on the welling peace.

Ewan growled low in his throat, muttering a curse she didn’t
think she’d ever heard before. He set her gently to the side and wrapped a
blanket around his lean hips. She watched him storm to the door, enjoying the
sight of his broad, naked back with all those undulating muscles. The scars now
had a new meaning.

He’d earned them—some of them at any rate—for her.

He opened the door a crack and snapped, “What is it?”

Violet didn’t hear the murmured response but she recognized
Pip’s voice. Whatever the boy said annoyed Ewan. He grunted and slammed the
door. He dropped the blanket and started hunting about for his braes. “Colin’s
here,” he said.

She sat up, not bothering to cover herself. Why should she?
He’d seen it all, tasted it all, by now. “Who’s Colin?”

“My lieutenant. My second-in-command. I have to meet with
him.” He pulled on his shirt and turned toward the bed as he worked the
buttons. He glanced up and his gaze stalled on her breasts. His fingers froze.
His throat worked. He tipped his head to the side and shot her a boyish grin.
“You do tempt a man, Violet Wyeth.”

Heat scudded through her. A blush crept up her cheeks. Not
because she was shy but because the look he sent her lit a fire in her belly.
She slipped from the bed and made her way to the window, made it a point to
swish her hips as she walked. She put her hands over her head and stretched,
making sure the view he got was alluring. “Far be it from me to keep you from
work.” She shot a mischievous grin over her shoulder.

He reversed his motion and yanked the shirt off.

“To hell with work,” he muttered. “Colin can wait.”

* * * * *

Colin Blackthorne was waiting, albeit impatiently, in his
office when Ewan finally emerged from his solar. But then Colin had never been
a patient man.

Colin had been a soldier, fighting in the war against France.
He’d returned to Dundee to find his family murdered and his home burned to the
ground. He and Ewan had met when came to petition the McCloud to help him find
and punish the men responsible.

They’d worked together to do just that. Ewan had been so impressed
by the man’s sharp wit and strategic mind, he’d tried to hire him. But Colin
had resisted. He had no intention of becoming a career criminal. But when Ewan
shared his plan to turn his enterprise to legitimate pursuits, Colin had jumped
on board.

Many of their most profitable businesses flourished under
his command. And Colin worked hard to make sure the activities stayed on the
right side of the law.

They usually held their weekly meetings in his offices in
Perth but since Ewan had moved his household to the Cloud—for the time
being—Colin had come here.

Ewan sat through the report, only half attending the usual
update about the mills, the shipping companies and, yes, the occasional gaming
hell.

Gaming hells were fairly profitable concerns. But their true
purpose on his slates was to make and strengthen valuable relationships in the
ton
—the
connections he would need when Sophia made her debut. Personally, he despised
gambling. Unless it was on business.

Because of those hells, he now had close personal friends
who were barristers and lords. Powerful men owed him money and favors. He held
them in abeyance. He would need them soon. The London social season began in
January…

His brow furrowed, his belly clenched at the thought.

He would be married to Kaitlin by then.

Violet would be a fading memory.

He recalled their latest romp and a smile curled his lips.
Well, that memory would never fade. It would be difficult letting her go when
the time came. He didn’t want to contemplate how difficult.

But her cousin was a duke. He would surely demand her
return—

His brain seized.

Her cousin was a duke.

What if…

The ridiculous hope died a nasty death. What duke in his
right mind—who did not owe him a very large sum of money—would hand over his
virginal cousin to a man with Ewan’s reputation? It would hardly matter that
his reputation had been very carefully cultivated, that most of the sins
attributed to him were bold-faced lies. Reputations were reputations,
regardless of the truth behind them.

That Violet was hardly virginal—anymore—did not signify.

She was Quality. And despite his wealth, his success in
nearly every corner of the market, he was not.

He was the illegitimate son of a maid. A disgraced maid at
that.

Even if this duke-cousin would allow a union between them,
society would not. An association with the notorious Scottish McCloud would
only drag Violet’s name and reputation through the mud.

He would ruin her. More than he already had.

No. When the time came to let her go, he would. As much as
it would curl the edges of his soul, he would.

“Goddamn it, Ewan. Are you listening?” Colin glowered at him
over the account book from which he was reciting.

“Of course.”

“The hell you were.” He slammed the book closed. “I don’t
know why I bother to try to keep you informed.”

Ewan sucked his teeth. “Neither do I. You always do well
with or without my consent.”

“Well, we’ve covered enough.” He fixed Ewan with an intent
stare. Intent enough to make Ewan fidget.

“What?”

“You had me wait quite a while for you.”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t. Not in the least.

“I had a chance to chat with the lads.”

“And?” This wasn’t small talk, not quite. He wished Colin
would get to the point. He wanted to finish up this meeting and find Violet.
Maybe steal a kiss.