Claire Delacroix (26 page)

He looked away then, examining the shower head, then smiling down at her once more, his eyes nearly indigo with intent. “’Tis a fine circumstance for what I have in mind,” he rumbled.

And Morgan had a very good idea what that was.

Before she could convince herself that she should bolt, Alasdair bent and kissed her ear in a most distracting fashion. What little was left of Morgan’s resistance eroded dangerously.

She had to keep him talking, at least until she could collect her thoughts! “Um, well, you know, I won’t be long, and then you can have the shower all to yourself...”

“I wish only to be where you are, my lady,” Alasdair breathed into her ear.

Morgan hated that she shivered at the sensation, then she caught her breath as the highlander nibbled on her earlobe. His hands fanned across her lower back, the way his fingers spanned her waist making her feel infinitely small and delicate.

He cradled her in his arms and ran a line of kisses along her jawline. One more time, Morgan had the intoxicating sense that she was treasured and she couldn’t turn away. Such tenderness was irresistible - as was the certainty that one word of protest from her would stop the whole interlude cold.

But Morgan was honest enough to admit that she didn’t really want him to stop. When Alasdair’s mouth locked over her own in gentle demand, Morgan actually heard herself sigh with satisfaction.

And every single argument she had went AWOL. Alasdair’s hand closed possessively over her breast, his thumb sliding across her taut nipple until Morgan arched against him. His hand eased lower, the other one cupping her buttock, then he ducked to flick his tongue across her nipple. Morgan gasped and clenched fistfuls of his hair as Alasdair suckled.

Morgan thought she would explode. A throbbing took up the beat between her thighs and her wandering toes slid over his knee.

Alasdair groaned and lifted her, holding her against the tiles so that her feet dangled freely. He lifted her errant foot, caressing her instep before placing that foot on his thigh. His kisses distracted and disoriented Morgan, and she could do no more than hang on to his broad shoulders and enjoy.

Which wasn’t so bad. Morgan writhed when Alasdair’s strong fingers slid over her thigh, across her hip, then through her pubic hair, but he was undeterred. His fingertip landed with gentle assurance on her throbbing clitoris and moved with a surety that stole her breath away.

And Morgan couldn’t find it anywhere within herself to fight this amorous assault. She had never had anyone touch her with such tender persistence, had never had any man awaken such longing within her. Alasdair’s thumb locked onto the nub of her desire and caressed her with slow persuasiveness.

Morgan kissed Alasdair with newfound abandon as her hands slid over his strength. To her amazement, he moaned into her kiss. When Morgan felt the heat of his erection press against her, her hips began to buck in intuitive demand.

His finger slipped inside her and Morgan caught her breath. Their gazes locked and Alasdair smiled slowly as he moved his thumb once more. Morgan’s heart thundered, the heat rose beneath her skin, and she couldn’t look away from the hypnotic sapphire of his gaze. The rocked together in instinctive rhythm, the water bore down upon them, and Morgan felt the crest of a wave rise deep within her.

She must have given some small sign, because Alasdair captured her lips in that very moment. He trapped her between the wall and his chest, his scent filling her lungs, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers inside her. Morgan writhed demandingly, pulling him closer, wanting more, wanting all he could give her.

Alasdair slanted his mouth across hers, his fingers danced with persistence. Morgan cried out as her orgasm exploded through her body with dizzying force.

And she sagged against Alasdair, trembling, in the wake of the torrent he had summoned.

* * *

It took several moments for Morgan to realize that things were not proceeding exactly as she had expected. Gradually, the haze retreated from her mind and she noticed that amorous intent had left the highlander’s touch.

When her pulse slowed, Morgan found herself standing on her own two feet with Alasdair busily soaping her down. Her breasts were all lathered up, as were her arms and belly. But it was obvious from the deft purpose in Alasdair’s touch that this wasn’t some game – he was simply washing her.

It wasn’t what Morgan had expected to happen next. She frowned and looked but his erection was just as enthusiastic as ever. Before she could ask what was going on, Alasdair pivoted her purposefully beneath the cascading water, and she sputtered for a moment beneath its flow.

“Rinse,” he commanded. “Then bend over that I might scrub your back.”

Morgan did as she was told, still trying to make sense of what was happening. His fingers were turning the tense muscles of her back to putty, but she knew she didn’t imagine that his mood had changed. Morgan sighed as Alasdair found the souvenir kink that an afternoon of sleeping in the Micra had left in her shoulder, but she forced herself to ask.

“What are you doing?”

“Bathing you, my lady.” Alasdair’s tone was amiable. “Was that not why you came to this chamber?”

Morgan couldn’t really argue with that. “Well, yes.” His thumbs moved rhythmically against the knot, and Morgan closed her eyes with pleasure. She let herself enjoy his ministrations and savored the luxurious feeling of being pampered.

By a rough warrior. Morgan smiled at the contrast, then gasped in delight as Alasdair scratched her shoulders. She stretched like a cat, directed him left, right, and down, and knew she had never felt so good.

“Rinse,” he commanded again and Morgan straightened as bidden. When the highlander squatted down in front of her and started to lather up her legs, Morgan eyed him assessingly.

What was going on?

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked tentatively.

Alasdair’s grin was fleeting. “That would be my question,” he joked, then flicked a glance at her that was so intent, it stole her breath away. “Were you well pleased?”

Morgan flushed scarlet. “Well, yes.”

“Good.” Alasdair nodded and frowned slightly as he focused on the task at hand. He worked the soap between each toe, then rinsed her foot before placing it back on the porcelain. Then he lifted her other foot.

“Um, what about you?”

One fair brow arched. “I can wait well enough,” Alasdair murmured, and Morgan couldn’t help but wonder how long he intended to wait.

Was he just softening her up for a big sensual attack? Morgan wondered whether she was the only one feeling awkward – Alasdair certainly didn’t seem to have any doubts about how things should proceed.

His erection seemed to be mocking her, dancing between his thighs as he moved, as though daring her to ask about it being so obviously left out of the loop.

Then Alasdair pushed her under the shower’s assault and Morgan closed her eyes. She felt the weight of the water in her hair, then Alasdair’s strong fingers began to massage her scalp.

She was being spoiled. Morgan decided not to worry about what was to come, but just to enjoy. The hum between her thighs was already starting again as Alasdair’s hands worked through her hair.

“Um, there’s shampoo in that little bottle,” she directed with one finger, taking the excuse of not wanting to open her eyes under the shower of water.

“Shampoo?”

“To wash my hair.”

“Ah!”

Then Morgan was folded against his chest, her lungs filled with the scent of him, his hands working up a lather in her hair like an expert. Her breasts were slightly crushed against his chest, the afterglow of her orgasm still throbbed through her veins. His erection nudged against her belly, and Morgan melted beneath his touch.

If heaven was anything short of this moment, Morgan didn’t want to go.

All too soon, Alasdair gripped her shoulders and backed her into the shower stream again. “Rinse,” he dictated and when Morgan lifted her hands to ease the shampoo out of her hair, Alasdair’s hands cupped her breasts.

Morgan’s heart jumped but she didn’t step away. Alasdair teased her nipples in a most distracting way, and she admitted she was prolonging the moment as much as possible.

Because Morgan knew that this was It. She braced herself for him to make a move on her and opened her eyes, but Alasdair had stepped out of the shower.

Leaving Morgan alone.

She peeked around the curtain and watched him dry himself off. She cleared her throat. “Um. What about you?”

“I believe I am clean, as well.”

“No, I mean about, well, about
that
.” Morgan’s face burned as she indicated his erection.

Alasdair grinned, then shrugged. “’Tis a state I grow accustomed to in your presence, my lady.”

Then he wrapped a towel around his waist and left.

Left?

“Wait a minute!” Morgan stumbled out of the shower, nearly slipping on the slick tub as she turned off the water. She darted out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints.

Alasdair stood at one window, watching her, arms folded across his bare chest. Morgan pointed back to the bathroom with rising frustration, hating how one good look at him awakened all those impulses that were safer locked away.

Morgan felt ruffled and disoriented, and didn’t like it. Didn’t Alasdair find her attractive after all? Was he just teasing her? But then, shouldn’t she be glad they hadn’t done more? She tried to blame her feminine pride for the confusing jumble of pride and disappointment.

“I thought you wanted me!” Morgan blurted out, hating the tinge of hurt revealed in her words.

Alasdair’s slow smile heated her blood with dangerous ease. “Make no mistake, my lady, I do.”

“Then, what...”

“Morgaine.”

That single low word silenced Morgan’s outburst. That blue, blue gaze made her words stick in her throat.

Alasdair’s voice was low with intent. “Believe me, my lady, I desire you as never I have desired a woman before. But know this. I see that men have played poorly with your affections, and I would have you trust me, for naught good happens between the linens before trust is forged.”

Alasdair crossed the room with quick steps, capturing her chin in one broad palm. Morgan was stunned by the sincerity gleaming in his eyes.

“Believe this, Morgaine,” he insisted with an intensity that melted her bones. “You have but to invite me to your bed, and I will spend my every breath in bringing pleasure to us both.”

Morgan blinked but he was perfectly serious. And she did believe him.

Part of her wanted to issue that invitation right now.

The other part, though, managed to speak up. After all, Alasdair had a wife.

Didn’t he?

“What about your wife?”

Alasdair grimaced. “Ah, the beautiful Fenella.” His expression turned grim. “What would you know of her?”

The confirmation that his wife existed, the admission of her name and her beauty combined to make Morgan’s heart clench. And that packed a more powerful punch than she could have expected. Before, she had only feared that Fenella existed – knowing the truth changed everything.

Especially Morgan’s assessment of Alasdair’s character. Men were all the same, and hoping otherwise didn’t change anything. Morgan felt sick at what she had nearly done.

She had almost replayed a familiar scene, and she didn’t like the role she found herself acting.

Revulsion made her tone harsh. “How dare you touch me like that?” Morgan flung out her hands in frustration. “How can you practically dare me to invite you to my bed, then calmly ask what I want to know about your wife? Don’t your marriage vows mean anything to you?”

Alasdair frowned, then shook his head. His gaze locked with hers once more. “’Tis a long tale.”

Morgan knew her skepticism showed. Matt would have said pretty much the same thing. There was always an excuse.

“I’ll bet.” Morgan heard the bitterness in her tone. She stalked back into the bathroom and began to towel herself off roughly.

It made absolutely no sense that she was fighting against tears. How could she have misjudged Alasdair so completely? He wasn’t at all the man she thought he was, let alone as compassionate and wonderful as she had believed.

How could she have been so stupid?

Morgan completely ignored the large shadow that loomed in the bathroom doorway just a moment later.

“I shall make you a bargain, my lady,” Alasdair finally said softly. “I will tell you of my wife, if you share with me the tale of your hatred of whisky ’Twas a man at root, unless I miss my guess, and I would know the manner of cur who has scarred you so deeply.”

Morgan’s head snapped up and she stared at Alasdair. He looked so sincere that she was tempted once more to trust him. And that made her doubt her conclusions.

Was she judging him too harshly? What if he really did have a good reason?

Didn’t she at least owe him a chance to explain?

Alasdair had promised not to try to get the crystal from her and he hadn’t. He had saved her from being mugged. He had sworn off whisky apparently just to please her. He let her know he was attracted to her, but what happened was always up to Morgan.

She fingered the towel and considered the facts. Alasdair did rant and rave a bit, but flinging words was not the same as flinging fists. She had to concede that his situation couldn’t be easy. He made a great fuss over keeping his word, a trait that Morgan found quite admirable. And Alasdair apologized.

Matt had never done any of those things.

Morgan peeked through her lashes at the highlander. The simple fact was that Alasdair hadn’t broken his marriage vows. He had pleasured her and stepped away.

And Morgan wanted to know the whole story. She dared to hope that all men weren’t like Matt.

No, she dared to hope that this man wasn’t like Matt.

Not only that, but Morgan found it oddly appealing to be offered the chance to talk about Matt. No one knew what he had done, not even Justine, and Morgan had the sense that it was time to let the pain of the past go.