Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 (12 page)

After a moment's pause, Kahl
shuffled into the bedroom.

Laura quickly turned to face
Roan, crimson staining her cheeks. "Go!" she urged in a stage
whisper, giving him a shove in the arm. "Please!"

Left at odds by the turn of
events, Roan ambled back to his room and closed the door behind
him. Shivering with cold, he whipped the top quilt from the bed and
haphazardly draped it over his shoulders, then lethargically went
to the fireplace and prepared the iron grate with quartered wood
stacked to the left of the white marble facing. He rose, took a box
of wooden matches from the mantel, hunkered again, crumpled two
sheets of 1848 newspaper stacked in a low crate in front of the
wood, and built a fire.

When the flames had risen to
his satisfaction, he lowered his bottom to the cold stone hearth
and numbly stared into them.

Kahl's untimely intrusion
had broken the spell.

"Wha's wi' you, mon?" he
asked himself aloud in a monotone. "Two days. Two days and ye're
ready to bed her?"

He gave a solemn shake of
his head then ran the back of a hand beneath his chin
stubble.

"Ye're smarter than tha',
Roan Ingliss. It’s the house—or it’s Lannie settin' you up for a
fall. Och, I know he shared his bloody whiskey wi' you, but one
night o' camaraderie, does no' a friend make.

"Damn me, I'm tired." He
scowled into the flames, the pounding of his heart sounding hollow
in his ears. "When did you last sleep? No' nod off, mon.
Sleep!"

Rubbing his hands down his
face, he lifted a bent knee and rested his chin atop it. After a
while, his eyelids lowered, and his pulse rate slowed, but still he
could not sleep. A fluttering reminder of his earlier desire
taunted him.

"Where's yer stamina, mon,"
he murmured, his eyes remaining shut. "You've got to banish her
from yer mind. Think o' somethin' ither than—"

An inexplicable sibilation
passed through his skull. The hearth, the flames, wavered in front
of him, became grainy and distorted, then once again sharply
defined. Ice flowed through his blood. Lodged in his heart. The air
surrounding him shifted, again and again, until suddenly, he felt
himself caught up in a passage of movement. His heart thundered.
Terror swelled within his brain. Adrenaline flooded his veins,
boiling his blood.

He experienced a sensation
akin to coming to an abrupt halt. Words bombarded his mind,
compelling him to voice them.

"Ta you, let snow and
roses

And golden locks
belong.

These are the world's
enslavers,

Let these delight the
throng.

For her o' duskier
lustre

Whose favour still
I...wear,

The snow be in her
kirtle,

The rose be in
her...hair!"

The compulsion intensifying,
he went on:

The hue o' highland
rivers

Careerin', full and
cool,

From sable on to
golden—"

"How did it go...?
From...from—

"From rapid on to
pool

The hue o' heather
honey,

The hue...o' honey
bees,

Shall tinge

Shall tinge her golden
shoulders,

Shall gild her tawny
knees."

Roan sagged in exhaustion,
and wearily stared into the dancing flames.

"Robert Louis Stevenson's,
'To You, Let Snow And Roses," came a breathless voice.

His head shot up, and his
heart skipped several beats at the sight of Laura standing by the
open door. A breath caught in his throat as his gaze scanned the
length of her, from her tousled blond head, to the shapely pale
legs visible beneath her thigh-length, simple-cut
nightgown.

"So you're a poet at heart,
too?" she smiled, easing the door shut.

Barefoot, she crossed the
distance and leaned against the fireplace wall, facing him. "Had my
Lit professor your accent, I might have taken poetry more
seriously. What else should I know about you, Roan
Ingliss?"

"Perhaps the whys and the
wherefores," he said softly, his gaze sweeping her from head to
toe, and up once again.

Crouching, she studied his
strong features for a time. "Tell me," she urged
finally.

Shifting his gaze to the
flames, he frowned. "The whys: 'cause ye're here, I suppose. And
lovely, desirable. The wherefores....for wha' I'm no' sure. Perhaps
for the sake o' a night's pleasure; for a wee time o' escapin' the
shadows o' the past."

His eyes, amber in the
fire's glow, locked with hers. "Tell me yer whys and
wherefores."

Laura didn't hesitate. "The
whys are because you're here, I suppose." She smiled a bit shyly.
"Not because you're just an attractive man, but because you're you,
Roan. Does that make sense?"

"Aye...I think."

"And the wherefores...." She
looked down at her folded hands atop her lap and lightly shrugged.
"I like to believe I'm an independent, modern woman, but the truth
is, I'm not always sure—at least about the modern part."

She lifted her gaze to meet
his questioning expression. "The last time I, umm, initiated making
love with a man, it left me feeling very confused and...empty. I-I
guess the act made me realize that my mind's longing for physical
love could not be compensated by a random night's fling. Am I
shocking you?"

Roan grinned and flexed his
shoulders. "No. It’s nice to hear a womon speak openly o' such
matters. Too eften, people fail to communicate. Kahl back to
sleep?"

Laura nodded then grimaced.
"He had a slight accident in the bathroom, though."

Roan arched a
brow.

"He, umm, missed the toilet.
You, ah, left your clothes on the bathroom floor."

"Ma clothes—ma
trousers!"

Again Laura nodded, a
twinkle in her eyes. "I rinsed them in the tub and laid them out
over a chair. I doubt, though, if they'll dry by
morning."

Roan stared into the fire
for a time, then shook his head and chuckled. "Damn me if I squeeze
maself into Lannie's trousers."

He sobered the instant their
gazes locked. For an indeterminable time, silence bathed the room.
Then Roan frowned and cut his gaze to the fire.

"What's wrong?"

He shrugged and drew the
quilt tighter about his shoulders. "I don't know. There's a strange
buzzin' in ma ears."

"It's probably all the
whiskey you consumed."

Roan looked at her. "No. Tis
weird, I know, but I feel fine in tha' respect. Tis you...." With a
shake of his head, he stared again into the hearth's source of
warmth.

"Are you sorry you kissed
me? Is that it?"

"Are
you
sorry?" he asked, scowling at her
through a pained expression.

Laura took a moment to think
over her reply. "You know, it's weird, Roan, but it felt
very...right...as if I'd waited for that moment all my
life."

Lowering her backside to the
floor, she sighed. "I don't want to let go of what I'm feeling,
right now." She lightly tapped between her breasts. "At this very
peculiar moment in my life, I swear my heart is beating only for
you."

He held out his hand to her.
"Come here."

After a moment's hesitation,
she rose to her feet. Seconds ticked by. Self-consciousness made
her fidgety.

"I won't hurt you," he
vowed, extending his hand out further.

Lifting hers, she closed her
eyes for a moment when his warm fingers enclosed hers. He gave a
gentle tug then another firmer tug urging her to step closer,
urging her to stand with her feet planted to each side of his outer
thighs. Then he released her hand and, for a long moment, stared up
at her through an unreadable expression.

"Wha' are you afraid o',
Laura?" he asked thickly.

Swallowing hard, her chin
quivering, she achingly replied, "You, and how you make me
feel."

His hands gently lit on the
back of her knees. With a low groan, he leaned to and nestled his
face against the soft mound crowning her groin.

Laura clenched her teeth and
dipped her head back. Her fingers threaded the hair at the back of
his head, kneading, flexing, coaxing him to further explore. For a
tormenting time, his palms massaged the back length of her legs,
until, hesitantly, he cupped her buttocks, then held her firmly in
place.

With deliberate slow
strokes, he smoothed his face across her abdomen, now and then, his
teeth nipping her through the fabric of her nightgown. Laura
trembled in anticipation, agonizingly sweet anticipation that
threatened to consume her in the fires of need. She couldn't ignore
the absolute rightness she felt at his touch. Ageless rightness, as
though she'd been created for this one man, and no
other.

His fingers hooked onto the
waistline of her panties, and drew the flimsy material down over
her hips. She gulped, trembling, barely in control of the raw
passion rapidly building and building within her fevered body. His
first tug ravaged her panties, and he tossed them aside. The
realization that her womanhood was now bared to him, intensified
her excitement until she was sure she would perish beneath its
power.

He gripped her hips and
coaxed her back a step. Her breathing became ragged, labored. She
pulled the nightgown over her head and mindlessly swung it away.
When she felt his lips touch her intimately, ecstasy akin to a
climax rocketed through her system, tingling to the tips of her
fingers, the tips of her toes, nearly causing her knees to buckle
when his tongue stroked her in a manner previously unknown to her.
Spasms impaled her reasoning, jolted her wave upon wave.

Crossing his legs Indian
style, he gripped her hips and tugged downward. She straddled his
lap, facing him, her gaze never wavering from the passion glazing
his eyes. His hands smoothing over her outer thighs, he kissed her
at first lightly, then in a demanding, masterful way that prompted
her to thread her fingers through his hair and draw him closer.
Lightheaded, weakening with desire, she tightened her fingers
within the soft, thick strands.

"God," he breathed against
her lips, then nuzzled his brow to one side of her face. "Ye're
incredible! So soft. I can’t wait.
Sair to
dae."
Hard to do. "So...
sair to dae."

He kissed her hungrily. His
arms encircled her, crushing her small, rounded breasts against his
chest. Laura's arms folded around his neck, and with the fire's
warmth licking along her spine, she melted into the sheer
masculinity of his embrace.

She thought his kiss enough
to appease her until his hands crept up between their bodies and
cupped her breasts. A gasp spilled past her lips. She arched away
from him, her hands anchored on the muscular contours of his
shoulders. Her eyes closed to the bliss of his kneading her
breasts, of his thumbs gently massaging the dark, rigid peaks of
her nipples. His tongue caressed the graceful lines of her throat,
evoking incendiary pulses to again detonate along her skin. The
provocative trail descended to her right nipple, where his mouth
encompassed the taut bud.

"Oh God," she moaned, her
fingers burying themselves into the hair at her temples.

Roan's hands moved to her
back, supporting her as he suckled the nub of her firm breast.
Every muscle in his body ached for her. The fire in his groin
painfully hardened him, but he was determined not to end, too soon,
the maddening ecstasy of his anticipation.

His mouth sought and
enclosed her left nipple, his tongue repeatedly circling it,
eliciting a groan from her that rocked him with a shudder of
appetency. Unable to withstand the conflagration of his needs, he
gripped her upper arms, drew her head up, and stared into her eyes
with a look that betrayed his impatience to possess her.

Breathless, Laura managed a
weak, "Yes."

"Lang syne,"
he chanted breathlessly, their gazes remaining
locked.

His hands cupped her
buttocks and eased her onto her knees then, reaching between her
thighs, he positioned himself. His other hand gripped her hip, and
he deeply kissed her while coaxing her to lower herself onto his
taut member.

Her arms went around his
neck. Her body trembled as the moist cavity of her loins met with
the implement. A look of uncertainty flashed in her eyes, spearing
him with alarm until she reached between her thighs, wrapped her
fingers beneath the soft, smooth head, and began to lower herself
onto it.

Roan clenched his teeth, his
eyes riveted on her expressions of agony and pleasure when she
slowly filled herself with all he had to give. He was dimly aware
of losing himself, feeling oddly displaced. Undeniably, he loved
this woman. He cherished her very existence, although he vaguely
questioned the possibility of feeling so strongly for someone he'd
known for so short a time.