Rachel Carrington (13 page)

“Most beautiful women are.”

“Well, thank you for the compliment, but you have nothing to worry about. Alexander is pleasant company. That is all.”

“Not to him.”

“Surely he doesn’t think that I am interested in him?”

“With Alexander, it does not matter if the woman is interested. It is only his interest that concerns him.”

The bite of Sinclair’s tone brought a smile to Carla’s face. “That sounds amazingly like jealousy, Your Grace.”

His face darkened to a thunderous scowl. “I have no reason to be jealous. You do not belong to me.”

Carla heard the underlying
yet
in his voice.

“And I will never belong to any man,” she responded simply, needing to make that point clear.

He swept his dark gaze toward her, inclining his head shortly. “Perhaps not in your world, but here in mine, you will.”

Carla’s mouth fell open. “You are, without a doubt, the most arrogant, presumptuous, conceited, narrow-minded man I have ever met.”

His eyebrows rose. “And I am supposed to apologize for those traits?”

“They aren’t traits, Your Grace. They are faults.”

He grinned at her ire. “In your world, maybe. In my world, they are traits of the finest quality.” Leaning over the side of his mount, he caught the reins of Carla’s horse and tugged her closer. Then, catching her by surprise, he cupped the back of her head and swept his lips across hers, stealing her breath and her common sense. When he lifted his head, her eyes were glazed with desire and her lips were parted as she breathed in short, staccato increments. He touched a finger to her nose and with a laugh that rang with pride, Sinclair spurred the stallion into a full-fledged run.

Carla caught up with him at the water’s edge and she slipped from the saddle with more anger than rationale. Marching toward Sinclair who now sat on the emerald green grass, looking up at her with a smirk, she called his name with a bite. “Don’t think just because you’ve touched me once that you can do it at will now.”

Sinclair leaned back on his hands. “I did more than touch you, Lady Carla, or have you forgotten?”

Blood warmed the back of her neck. Forget? Not likely. She allowed her eyes to rake him from neck to the thickness between his thighs, a distinctly larger bulge now that her gaze rested on it for a long moment. “You want sex,” she declared.

Sinclair’s eyes swept up to hers and heat swelled inside of her. “I want you.”

She dropped to her knees in front of him. “You can’t have me.” Her panties grew wet in spite of her protest. She wondered if he knew how he affected her. That even now her pussy quivered with the memories of his wicked, clever tongue.

He straightened and snatched hold of her arm. “I can and I will.” Fire flashed in his eyes as if daring her to contradict him.

She tried to push against his chest, but he wouldn’t budge. She cursed at him, but the thrill of his massive size, the wild, untamed expression on his face, made the juices flow from her pussy. She gave one more token resistance while her heart rapped against her breasts.

Sinclair snagged his hand in the thickness of her hair and yanked her closer, cursing below his breath before he fastened his lips to hers. Fire exploded in her belly and raced to the lips of her pussy, making them throb.

The kiss wasn’t gentle or seductive. It ravished her, claimed her and demanded she give in to his possession. He ground his hips against her, the heaviness of his cock riding low on her thigh.

God, she wanted to touch him. She’d created this image in her mind. What he’d look like, taste like.

Boldly, she cupped him, flattening her palm against his crotch. Her jerked and caught hold of her wrist.

His lips twisted away from hers and he gasped.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Carla.” His eyes blazed into hers.

“Who says I can’t finish it?” As his fingers around her wrist loosened, she rotated the lower half of her hand, pressing lightly against the head of his cock.

Sinclair closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to feel your hands on me.”

“Only my hands?” she whispered in blatant seduction.

His eyes flew open. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

She was a woman of the twenty-first century. She knew exactly what she was saying. They had their differences, but attraction wasn’t one of them. Besides, she’d always heard the best way to a man’s heart was through his cock.

Sinclair slowly removed her hand and Carla sensed his attempt to be a courtly gentleman. He flattened her against the grass. He loomed over her, unbuttoning his trousers while her eyes grew wider with each release of the heavy metal clasps. She held her breath, captivated with the sheer audacity of the moment.

Sinclair lowered his pants over his hips and his cock surged forward. Carla reached out to touch the smooth flesh, both amazed and intrigued. The broad veins and glossy head busied her hands. The smooth skin felt like silk against her palm and when she slid her hand up and down the hard shaft, she felt him jump.

She looked up into Sinclair’s flushed face. “Do you want me to taste you?” She made the question a purr and wondered if he knew how much she wanted to close her lips around the thickness.

Anticipation became a living, breathing entity within her. She ached for him. Needed to taste him.

His eyes closed. “Yes.” The one word came out on a breath of sound.

Carla fell to her knees and hovered directly in front of his jutting cock. She tipped her head back and looked up at his face. For the longest moment, their gazes locked and the flush on his face told her his anticipation was as strong as hers.

Slowly, she began to lay back against the grass, keeping her eyes on his face. His eyes widened as she pressed herself flat against the cool earth. “Come to me,” she instructed.

Sinclair’s breath escaped on a harsh sound and he dropped to his knees. Carla watched him, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. Instead of sliding up along beside her, Sinclair opened his legs and climbed up her body, his knees on either side. He didn’t stop until his cock touched her lips.

Then Carla placed one hand on his thigh, tickling him with just the tips of her fingernails. She exhaled, her hot breath dancing over his cock and balls. He closed his eyes and reared his head back, letting out a low moan of satisfaction.

“Lower,” she commanded.

He followed her dictates without question, lowering himself inch by inch until his hands fisted in the grass above her. The warm, musky scent of his cock enticed her. Thrilled her. Invigorated her. How long had she waited for this man? This chance?

Carla flicked out her tongue and curled it around the tip. She tasted the saltiness of his juice and a warm, sticky wetness coated the inside of her thighs. It wouldn’t take much for her to come, too. With each stroke of her tongue, she imagined Sinclair’s face nestled against her pussy, his tongue dipping into her dripping well again. She began to quiver, aching between her thighs.

“Sweet God,” Sinclair rasped out, his hips jerking forward.

Carla pressed her head upward and stroked him with just her tongue, licking from the base of his cock to the engorged head. Then she took him deep into her mouth, almost to the back of her throat.

Sinclair let out a strangled sound and his elbows almost buckled. “Oh, yeah! That’s good, baby.”

Her nails tantalized his balls, scratching him with as much fervor as she suckled him. She laved him, swirling her tongue around the head time and again while her jaws worked to hold him tight.

“Let me feel your teeth,” he commanded in a hoarse voice.

She scraped her molars lightly across his turgid cock and Sinclair jumped on a moan. She felt his balls drawing tighter, closing in on the base of his dick and she increased the pressure of her tongue against that most sensitive spot of his cock. His body began to shake and he panted above her.

“Oh, God, yes, yes.” He pumped his hips as if fucking her. He thrust in and out of her mouth furiously.

Carla dug her nails into his ass cheeks and tightened her mouth, creating suction. She moved slowly, nibbling and licking until Sinclair moaned low and long.

“I’m close,” he whispered, pumping a few more time and then he came on a series of groans. His hot seed spilled down the back of her throat and she swallowed it greedily, the hot liquid burning its way down.

Sinclair shook while she continued to milk him. Then he pulled back, collapsing on the ground next to her, one arm slung over his eyes. “Dear God,” he muttered.

She thought the exact same thing. She hadn’t wanted it to end because now reality smacked her full in the face. Sex between them could only be that. Sex. No matter what took place, she couldn’t stay. This wasn’t her world.

Carla sat up and straightened her dress. “We should head back.”

Sinclair’s arm fell away from his eyes and he looked at her. “Carla?”

She got to her feet and tugged the bodice of the damnable garment into place over her breasts. The material fit too snugly and boosted her cleavage. It was help she didn’t really need. She turned her back toward him.

“What’s wrong?” She heard him stand behind her and the rustle of clothing as he rebuttoned his trousers.

“Nothing.” Did she imagine it or did her voice shake?

He came to stand behind her, putting his hands on her upper arms. He tugged her gently back against his chest. “Are you ashamed?”

“Of course not. I’m just—” she turned in his arms, “—not sure what we’re doing other than making the inevitable goodbye infinitely more painful.”

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, a long, sweet kiss, which brought tears to her eyes.

“Let’s not talk about goodbyes now.”

“When should we talk about it then?”

He pressed her head to his chest. “Later. Much later.”

* * * * *

“Your Grace! Your Grace!” Nettie, her skirts rustling and panic in her voice, raced down the narrow corridor from the kitchen to the drawing room. Her hair escaped from its serviceable bun and her eyes were wild with fear.

Sinclair looked up from his game of chess, accustomed to his housekeeper’s bursts of agitation. “What is it this time, Nettie? Fly get in the flour again?”

Nettie curtsied properly and righted herself, dancing from foot to foot. “I wish that was all it was, Your Grace, but there’s a storm brewing. It will be here in a day or so. It is all over town. It is a bad one, coming in off the ocean. Everyone is closing up their shops and battening down their hatches.”

Sinclair favored Carla and Nettie both with a reassuring smile. “We’ve weathered storms before. It will not be much different to weather another one.”

“Oh, but this one is much different, so they’re saying. This one is a killer, left seventeen dead along the isles.”

“That will do, Nettie. Start preparations in the kitchen and notify the groomsmen to properly stable the horses.” Sinclair’s long strides carried him toward the door.

“Sinclair.” Carla’s soft voice stopped him.

“Yes?”

“Should I be alarmed?”

His smile was still firmly in place. “I will not lie to you. It might get a little rough, but as I just told Nettie, we have weathered many storms in this castle and will weather many more to come. It is just a storm.”

“It doesn’t sound like it’s just a storm.”

“I shall return momentarily. In the interim, I believe it is your move.”

* * * * *

The carriage slowed to a stop outside the gates of Heath Castle and the gatekeeper, wielding a lantern, pressed forward into the dusk, looking for the visitor’s face. “Who goes there?”

“It is Letta Masters from town. His Grace will see me if you announce my name.”

“Very well then. Travel on.” The gatekeeper raised the portcullis and waved her inside.

Letta wrapped her cloak around her face, an ineffectual garment against the rising winds. Lifting the heavy brass doorknocker, she rapped several times.

The door swung wide and Nettie gasped, reaching out one plump arm to drag the visitor in out of the wind. “Heavens above, girl, what on earth on you doing out on a night like this? Do you know that there is a terrible storm brewing? You could get caught in it if you are not careful!”

“I know, but I must see Miss Morgan. I have something to tell her.”

“Good news, I hope.” Nettie raised an expectant eyebrow.

“I can only share the information with Miss Morgan.”

“Of course. Follow me.” Nettie grumbled her way to the drawing room. “Miss Letta Masters to see you, Miss Morgan.”

Carla stood so quickly the chair teetered on two legs. She caught it before it could hit the floor and righted it, turning slowly to face her visitor. “Why am I so nervous about your being here?”

Letta couldn’t erase the strain from her face. “I had to talk to you. I was lying down this afternoon. It had been a tiring day and I saw, well, there is no easy way to say this. I saw death. It was a man, someone you know, in your life. I could not see his face. He is tall, handsome and well—” she threw a glance toward the door as if to reassure herself that they were alone, “—I knew that I would not be able to rest until I shared this with you.”

Carla pressed her hands against her cheekbones, her eyes a pale shade of blue. “I don’t know what to say. You don’t know who it was?”

“As I said, I could not see his face. Miss Morgan? Miss Morgan?”

* * * * *

Dread, cold and thick, settled in the pit of her stomach and Carla pressed one hand against her abdomen as the soothsayer’s voice faded into a dull sound. Even through the thick walls, she heard the screech of the wind and her heart accelerated. Tall, handsome…could it be? No, it couldn’t be Sinclair! But he was the only man in her life. Oh, God. She whirled, heading toward the exit. “I have to find Sinclair.” Colliding with solid muscle, Carla let out a small sound of dismay.

Sinclair’s arms folded around her to prevent her fall. “What has got you in such a hurry? Miss Masters, what brings you out on a night like this?”

“I had some information that I felt was urgent enough to warrant taking my chances with nature.”