Love Everlastin' Book 3 (14 page)

Releasing her wrists and
sliding his arms protectively around her, he sweetened the kiss by
forcing back the intensity of it. She clung to him with the abandon
of a lifelong lover, of someone familiar with not only his body,
but his mind. Her hands moved over the heated skin of his waist,
back, and shoulders. Then she was willing him to remove his
sweater. He complied without hesitation, pulling it over his head
and tossing it aside. It fell draped across a yellow rosebush, the
knitted wool weighing heavily on the already laden
branches.

Winston ignored the sweater
and swung his gaze back to Deliah's face. He was breathing
laboriously, as if he'd been running a marathon. Heat brought high
color to his cheeks. He watched her gaze drink in his naked upper
torso and arms, and wondered if she didn't think him too thin. Next
to the laird of Baird House, he felt puny, but he could read in her
eyes that she appreciated his lean, muscular build. His chest was
smooth. Only his lower arms and legs sported fine dark hair. The
burning trail of her fingers told him she liked his smooth, corded
skin, found him as enticing as he found her.

Bees, the wind whistling
through the gazebo, and birds, serenaded them as Winston drew up
her nightgown until he was able to slip it over her head and toss
it in the general direction his sweater had gone. He couldn't stop
himself from studying her small waist, her flat stomach, and the
gradual ascent over her ribs to the firm roundness of her breasts.
He felt giddy and lightheaded as he lowered himself and captured
her mouth in a deep, exploring kiss. The softness of her skin, the
swell of her breasts and her hardened nipples against him, all
plummeted him into a sea of maddening sensations. Her fingers
trenched his hair and massaged his scalp, urging him to kiss her
deeper, deeper, until he was sure she intended to swallow him
whole.

He wanted the physical union
with her more than he'd ever wanted anything. To bury himself in
her softness. Lose himself inside her womb and claim rebirth once
ecstasy unburdened his troubled soul.

Images bombarded his mind.
They were already joined, urging each other toward the pinnacle of
physical love. Tormenting sensations targeted his loins, heart,
palms, and temples. His skin was coated with perspiration. It hurt
to breathe and it hurt not to, but he nonetheless drew in a deep
breath to quell the intensity of the need flooding him
unmercifully.

Her fingers sensuously
stroked his cheeks and mouth then her hands lowered and unbuttoned
his pants. Anticipation lanced him so fiercely he almost feared
what was to come. What if he lost control too soon? It had been so
long since he was with a woman, and these fledgling feelings
warring inside him made him feel more like a teenager than a
man.

As if reading his thoughts,
she abandoned unzipping his pants and cupped his face within her
hands. He lowered himself to kiss her again, but before their lips
met, he heard her whisper, "Now, Roan. God, I love you!"

He jerked back and his eyes
widened in horror at the sight of a naked Laura beneath him. Her
eyes were laden with raw, primordial passion, her parted lips
inviting and seductive.

"No!" he roared and
scrambled to his feet.

Winston bolted up. Panic
closed in around him and he blinked rapidly to clear the milky haze
distorting his vision. He knew he was in his room, in bed, but how
he got there was beyond him. It was difficult for him to accept
that the garden and what had happened there were but a
dream.

No, not all a dream. He had
unwittingly tapped into Roan's mind, obviously while the man was
making love to Laura somewhere in the house.

He shivered and realized the
room was icy cold. Frowning, he spied a kneeling figure in front of
an opened window. The hair pooled on the floor around her readily
identified her.

Hastening off the mattress,
he rushed to her side. She was leaning over the wide sill, her
right hand outstretched as she tried to catch some of the large,
downy snowflakes spilling from the sky.

"Deliah!" he said sharply,
and pulled her to her feet.

He shut and locked the
window, then went to the hearth and testily built a fire. When the
flames had fully engulfed the logs, he turned, standing at the same
time. He wasn't surprised to find her still standing by the window,
a hurt look shadowing her features. She stood with her hands primly
folded in front of her, her hair a cascading mane about her slender
form. Winston approached her and stopped within arm's reach. He was
still peeved with her childish disregard for her health, but also
chagrined with the vivid memory of the two of them in the
garden.

"I'm sorry I bit your head
off," he said, still frowning and shifting his weight from one
socked foot to the other. He didn't care for the look of
vulnerability she now wore, nor the way she kept her gaze demurely
lowered to the floor. "Deliah, it's bloody freezing ou' there," he
said by way of an apology, "and you've nothing on but a
nightgown."

Her gaze slowly lifted until
she was looking him in the eye. She heaved a sigh then again looked
down.

Winston fought back an
impulse to pull her into her arms. He didn't need to complicate his
life any more than it was. Perhaps after he unlocked the mysteries
surrounding her, and if she was unattached....

Swiping a hand down his face
in a gesture of frustration, he glanced at the door. "When did you
last have something to eat?"

She shook her
head.

"Does tha' mean you don't
know, or you're no' hungry?"

His somewhat cheerful tone
lifted her gaze. The way she looked at him, reminded him of a
skittish butterfly, waiting for the slightest movement to send it
into flight.

"Join me for a sandwich or a
cup o' soup?"

There were times, like now,
when her silence sparked his nerve endings. He held out his right
hand, waited, and was about to lower it when she reached out and
entwined her fingers through his. Taking moderate steps not the
normal for his long legs, he led her to the leaf-carved armoire,
where he pulled a borrowed blue robe from one of the hangers, and a
pair of light gray woolen socks from one of the three lower
drawers. He helped her put on the robe and coaxed her to sit on the
edge of the bed.

"There's a lot o' drafts in
this house," he said, going down on one knee. "You've got to take
better care o' yourself, lass."

He slipped one of the socks
on her left foot, glanced up and offered her a smile, then got her
right foot covered. Playfully, he tugged the tops of the footwear
upward, one at a time. The borders reached to just below her
knees.

Still smiling, he glanced up
and felt a psychological blow to his gut. Time froze in a moment of
uncertainty for him. The breathlessness and the slamming of his
heart returned with more force. She was looking at him as if trying
to get inside his head. He could almost feel the intensity in her
alluring eyes penetrating the center of his brow, burrowing into
his brain, his mind, and exposing his every foul memory he'd stored
over the years during his work. But then he told himself he would
know if she were scanning his mind. He would know if she were able
to mentally reach into those dark pools of knowledge he
harbored.

Blinking, he settled his
buttocks against his heels and continued to search her features. It
occurred to him that perhaps that intensity he'd glimpsed was
caused by a flashback of what had brought her to the gazebo. She
seemed calm enough now. And he realized she should have been taken
to a doctor, or one brought to the house. He didn't sense that she
had suffered any physical trauma, and Agnes had said she hadn't
seen so-much-as a bruise on the woman.

Still....

"Has someone hurt you?" he
asked softly.

She dipped her head a bit to
one side.

"Can you write?" he asked,
and pantomimed the question.

A ghost of a smile appeared
on her lips and she shook her head.

Winston cleared his throat.
"You're no' going to make this too easy, are you," he stated and
chuckled when she again shook her head.

"Okay, lass, I promised you
food, and food it is." He took her hand and led her through the
door, into the hall. They were halfway to the staircase, and he was
on the verge of asking her if she needed to use the water closet,
for there were none on the first floor, when Agnes materialized a
few feet in front of them. Winston nearly jumped out of his skin,
but was even more unnerved by the fact that Deliah wasn't startled
at all.

Her hands on her hips and a
paternal eyebrow arched, Aggie, chided, "And just where do you
think ye're takin’ her?"

A ragged breath spilled past
Winston's lips. "Ta the kitchen."

"Tha' so? This child was in
yer room, was she?"

Winston released a painfully
dry laugh. "She's perfectly safe wi' me." To emphasize his words,
he crossed his heart and held up his right hand. "On ma
word."

"Your word, eh?" A grin
cracked through her stern expression. "Aye, I know you’re a mon o'
yer word. I'm always feelin’ ma oats when I leave the grayness.
Couldn’t resist givin’ you a wee fright." Her grin broadened and a
mischievous glimmer appeared in her eyes. "It’s the ghostly thing
to do, Master Winston."

Winston released an immense
sigh of relief. It struck him funny to think of Agnes Ingliss as
having a sense of humor. Since first stepping into the house, for
some reason he couldn't fathom, she'd made him nervous. No! It was
more than nervousness. When in her presence, he felt as if he
should bow or fall to one knee. He was intimidated by her, and yet
she had never done anything to qualify this reaction in him.
Perhaps it was that she reminded him of his grandmother in small
ways. Whatever the cause, he wasn't accustomed to reacting this
way, be it person or ghost.

Unconsciously, he gripped
Deliah's hand a bit tighter and drew her closer to his side. "Mrs.
Ingliss—"

"Och!" she chortled,
flagging a hand through the air. "You make me feel ancient! Aggie,
please."

"Aggie." Again feeling like
a boy in the presence of something he couldn't understand, he
cleared his throat. "I was wondering if Deliah shouldn't see a
doctor."

The old woman looked
stricken with shock, her watery blue eyes riveting on the young
woman. "Deliah? She's talkin’ then?"

"Wha'? Oh. No. The name came
to me."

Obviously confused, Agnes
jiggled her head and searched Winston's face. "You gave it to
her?"

Winston shook his head,
glancing from Agnes to the girl and back to Agnes. "I'm sure it's
her name. Why are you acting so odd abou' this?"

"We dead do tha'," she said
comically. Her face cleared of its perplexity. "Sorry, Master
Winston. Sometimes ma humor is a wee off." She frowned and
intensely studied Deliah. "I've heard tha' name before. Deliah.
Seems so long ago."

Winston was anxious to
question her further, but he could see Agnes was struggling to
bring up the memory. After a few more seconds, her face brightened
and she snapped her fingers jubilantly.

"Ah, I remember! Borgie, ma
son, came home one eve efter workin’ here in the gardens, and said
he had the scare o' his life. Said he accidentally pruned one o'
the rhododendrons too close and someone scolded him to be mair
careful. He said the voice came from nowhere. At first he thought
it was Lannie tryin’ to scare the bejesus ou' o' him, but he said
the voice was tha' o' a lass. He called her Deliah and, when I
questioned him how he knew her name, he said he didn’t know. How
verra orra."

It is very odd,
Winston thought.

Again Agnes flagged a hand,
but this time it was to dismiss the issue. "Back to you thinkin’
she need see a doctor, I think no’. Maybe a head doctor, but the
weather's no' worthy o' a drive to town."

Winston grinned. "I've been
overly concerned wi' her inability to communicate."

"Aye, it’s a shame, but she
seems happy enough. And she clearly understands wha' we say to
her."

Winston didn't agree that
the younger woman understood much of anything. He was about to make
that statement when Agnes unexpectedly sidestepped and placed a
hand on the wall.

"Have you sensed somethin’
peculiar abou' the house?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"Depends wha' you mean by
'peculiar'."

A speculative frown further
creased Agnes' brow. "There used to be a slight vibration when I
touched the walls—like some kind o' energy flowin’ throughou' the
house. It’s normal now." She moved away from the wall, her gaze
locked with Winston's. "Right efter you came, I noticed the
change."

Winston nodded. "I don't
know what happened, but something did change the ither night. I
can't explain it, though."

"You bein’ psychic can’t
explain it," she murmured, her eyes staring off into space. "The
magic's gone. How verra sad."

"I don't think it's really
gone, Agnes. More like...it's taking a break."