Enraptured (26 page)

A shiver ran through her, pulling her for the first time back into the world around her. The fire kept the room from being frigid, but it was not quite warm enough for naked flesh. Coll was lying on her clothes, and she hadn't the heart to wake him. She picked up his discarded shirt and slipped it on. It occurred to her that the door was unlocked, that anyone could come in on them, and she hastened over to lock it.

Walking back, she grabbed the knitted afghan from the chair by the fire and draped it over Coll to keep him warm. Then she settled down beside him and watched him sleep. He looked peaceful, even boyish, all strain absent from his face. Her eyes roamed over his features, taking in the broad brow, the fine blond hair that spilled across his forehead, the sweep of his cheekbones and the firm line of his jaw. She
smoothed his hair back, and her fingers lingered to trace the curving lines of his eyebrows. She was tempted to draw her finger along his cheekbones, as well, but she refrained. Her eyes dropped to his lips, firm and well defined. She remembered them on her neck. Her breasts. The air came a little faster in her throat.

Her gaze moved down, taking in the soft hollow of his throat, the hard, high shelf of his collarbone. How could such a thing be so enticing? Just bone and flesh and yet . . . She could not resist; she traced her forefinger along the ridge of his collarbone and down the centerline of his chest. The curling hairs prickled her fingers, and they drifted across his chest, circling the small, flat buds of his nipples. She slid her palm over the high plateau of his chest, tracing each rib and exploring the muscles that padded them, dropping down onto the soft valley of his stomach. Her fingers crept beneath the edge of the soft blanket and paused.

She should not. It was an invasion of his privacy to gaze at him while he slept, unknowing. She would be indignant if he did the same to her. But heat flooded up her throat at the thought, and excitement stirred in her, not resentment or shame. Her fingers slipped lower, dragging down the knitted blanket an inch at a time. She touched the dip of his navel, her forefinger circling the rim. She ran her hand down him slowly, stirred by the sight of her fingers on his body. The cloth jerked suddenly, and she sucked in a breath. She remembered how he had swelled and pushed against his trousers as she unbuttoned them, how strong and thick his member had been as it sprang free of the restraint. He was responding to her touch now, even in his sleep. Violet itched to see him, to explore him, to discover the texture and
strength and heat of his maleness. Her fingers hesitated at the edge of the cover.

“Dinna stop now.” Coll's voice was low and husky.

“Oh!” Violet started, surprised, and turned guiltily. Coll was watching her, one arm crooked behind his head, his eyes hazy with sleep, lips soft and sensual, and the expression on his face started up a fierce throbbing deep in her abdomen. She blushed. “I am sorry. I shouldn't; that was . . . rude of me.”

His lips curled into a lazy smile. “I think I like it when you're rude.” Coll reached out, giving a tug to the shirt she had thrown over herself. “And what's this? It doesna seem fair, me as naked as the day I was born and you all covered up.” He slid his hand under the shirt, unerringly seeking out her breasts. Violet melted at his touch, and the masculine smugness in Coll's expression told her he knew that fact well.

“Stop it,” she protested feebly, and Coll's smile broadened. He gathered up the loose material in his hand and pulled her to him, lifting his head to take her mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss. By the time he released her, Violet was breathless, the blood pounding in her veins.

“Come. Do what you will with me.” He flipped back the cover, exposing the very long, very naked length of his body. “I'll not protest.”

“Coll . . .” She could not keep her eyes from straying to the lower half of him.

“What?” He twined a strand of her hair around his hand. She could hear the smile in his voice, but along with it a low vibration of desire. “You know I could deny you nothing.”

Violet spread her hand on his stomach. He twitched, hissing in a sharp breath. She cast a glance at him, but
nothing was in his face but hunger. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, guiding her lower.

“Dinna stop, lass.”

She drifted over his body in slow discovery, learning the soft skin of his stomach, the sharp outcropping of his hip bones, the tight prickling of his nipples. She twined her fingers through his hair and curled them around his staff, glided down between his legs and cupped him in her palm. With each stroke, each touch, he stiffened and pulsed. That, too, sent need coiling through her gut. She bent to touch her lips to his nipple, which brought a soft groan from him. Violet stole a glance at him. His eyes were closed, his lips parted.

She circled the flat bud with her tongue, mimicking what he had done to her, then settled her mouth on him to suckle, her hand roaming over his flesh. His skin flamed, his breath rasped. She reveled in each tiny demonstration of his pleasure. Leaving the tight bud, she kissed her way across his chest and down the hard line of his sternum, then dropped to the soft skin of his stomach.

He went taut, thrusting his hands into her hair, and grated out something in a language she did not recognize. Violet raised her head; his eyes were intense, so fiery and fierce she thought they should have inspired fear in her, but all she felt was a rush of hunger. She slid up his body and sealed his mouth with hers.

With an inarticulate noise deep in his throat, Coll wrapped his arms around her and rolled over, pinning her beneath him and kissing her as though he would never stop. She arched against him, aching to take him into her again.

At last he pulled back, bracing his hands on either side of her head. She looked up at him dazedly, reaching up to pull him down to her. “Coll, no . . . please . . .”

He rolled to his feet, reaching down to pull her up with him. His grin was tight and feral. “Oh, I will please. I swear that to you. But I intend to do it somewhere far more comfortable than this.”

Bending, he swept her up in his arms and started toward the bedroom.

C
oll carried her to the
bed and set her down on her feet. “First, let's get rid of this.” He pulled his shirt from her and tossed it aside. His eyes drifted down her. “You are so beautiful it stops my heart.” Cupping her face in his hands, he placed a kiss on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. “I did not take enough time with you before. I was too . . . driven . . . to use the care I should have.” He trailed his fingers down her arms. “But this time I will. This time you will have it all.”

“I don't know what you mean.” Violet's voice hitched as his fingers skimmed over her buttocks and back up her sides.

“I know you don't.” He took her earlobe gently between his teeth. “But you will.”

His mouth came back to hers, his lips soft and gentle, coaxing every sensation possible from her. His hands moved over her slowly, fingers featherlight on her skin, until her knees were trembling, and she thought her legs might give
way beneath her. As if he'd guessed, Coll lifted her, settling her onto the bed with as much care as if she were glass. Then he stretched out beside her and, as he had promised, set out to please her.

With hands and lips and tongue and teeth, he aroused her, tantalized her, traveling every inch of her skin, stoking the fires of her hunger until she thought she could not bear it but must explode with pleasure. She felt as if she were racing toward something, need coiling deep within her. Though it came ever closer, each time when she thought that she was going to snap, Coll pulled back, finding some new place to touch or kiss, some new way to send her spiraling upward again.

He feasted on her breasts until they were heavy and full, her nipples hard and dark rising from the hot pull of his mouth, and all the while his agile fingers played between her legs, opening and teasing her until she was blazing. Then he moved behind her and started his slow way down her back, his mouth traveling along her spine while his hand slid down her side, lingering over the curve of her hip and drifting over to spread across her stomach.

She let out a gasp when his hand stole between her legs from behind, finding the same slick, throbbing folds. He nipped at the fleshy mound of her buttocks, and Violet writhed beneath his ministrations. She ached for him, yearning to feel again the supreme satisfaction as he filled her, wanting something that she did not know, aware only of her desperate need.

“Please,” she murmured, turning to Coll, her eyes huge and lambent, her hands moving restlessly over his arms and shoulders. “I want you. I want to feel you inside me.”

His skin, slick with sweat and already blazing, flared even
hotter at her words, and his breath came out in a shudder. He rolled over her, positioning himself between her legs, and shoved into her inch by inch. Violet could not hold back a groan as he filled her with piercing sweetness. She shifted to fully take him into her, and he went still, his fingers digging into the sheets beneath her. Then, slowly, he began to move, pulling back and thrusting deep.

Violet wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder, as she moved with him. Now the desire that built in her was unstoppable, clawing and tightening with each movement he made. She gripped him tightly, holding on as if she might fly apart. Suddenly, violently, the need inside her exploded. Violet clamped her teeth into his shoulder to muffle the cry that was torn from her, and he let out an answering roar as he jerked wildly, the cataclysm storming through them, sweeping everything before it. Waves of pleasure washed out through her, stunning her and leaving her replete and limp.

Coll collapsed onto his side and pulled her into the shelter of his arms. Violet clung, too astounded, too enervated, to move. She pressed her lips against his flesh, so attuned to his heartbeat, his breath, she scarcely knew where he left off and she began. His skin quivered at the touch of her mouth, and he curved his hand over her hair.

“So
that
is what you meant,” she murmured.

“That is what I meant.” She felt Coll's smile against her hair, and his voice was laced with masculine satisfaction. He pulled the covers up over them, tucking them in around her shoulders.

“You are right. 'Tis much more comfortable here.” Violet snuggled into the curve of Coll's arm.

“Mm.” He kissed the top of her head. “I am sorry I spoiled your news.”

“What? Oh.” She smiled. “It doesn't matter. I much preferred what happened.”

“I feared you might regret it.”

“No.” She lifted her head to look into his eyes, frowning. “Do you?”

“Me? Regret this?” The astonishment in his face was enough to soothe her pride. “Nae. How could I regret making love with you? You are . . . beautiful. Perfect.” Coll bent to kiss her lips, then lay back with a sigh. “But I broke my vow. I find that I am weak where you are concerned.”

“I did not ask for your vow.”

“I know. 'Tis fortunate, since clearly I canna keep it.”

She looked into his eyes. “I do as I choose.”

“I know.” He smiled, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. “And I am glad you chose me.”

Violet felt awash in happiness. Coll had accepted how she felt, what she wanted. No doubt he understood her position better than most men, having grown up with such independent women as his mother and sister. Even more amazing, he knew her better than anyone else ever had and yet still he wanted to be with her.

She stretched up to kiss his lips, and his hand went to her nape, holding her there for a longer, deeper kiss. When at last she pulled back, he said huskily, “You'd best go ahead and tell me now before I lose track again. What was it you found?”

“Well, I didn't find it exactly.” Violet sat up, heedless of the covers sliding down to provide him with an enticing view of her bare breasts. “It's more that I found what it meant.”

“Did you now?” His eyes drifted downward, and he reached up to brush his knuckles across one rosy nipple.

“Coll . . . you're not paying attention.”

“Oh, but I am.” He cupped his hand around the heavy orb.

“Not to my words.” She could not keep from smiling even as she pushed his hand away. “Where is that shirt?” She twisted around to look for it.

“No, no. Don't put it on. I'll be good. I promise.” He linked his hands behind his head. “Now tell me.”

“I think I figured out the mark on that little knife of yours.”

“The sgian-dubh?” His gaze sharpened.

“Yes. It reminded me of a Nordic rune. So today I went through my books.”

“Why would there be a Nordic rune on my knife?”

“I don't know. I presumed it had something to do with the Vikings who invaded Scotland hundreds of years ago. According to my book, they often left their runes carved on things—as a message to their compatriots, I suppose, or maybe a sort of signpost for other Norsemen who came afterward.”