Authors: Jordan Summers
Heat bloomed in Abigail’s face. She’d never had anyone demand something so outrageous. Even her husband hadn’t asked to ‘
’ her. He’d been content to make love with the candles out. “I can’t. I never.”
“You will do that and more before this night is through. I have a tremendous appetite and I intend to feed directly from your flesh, from your passion.” It was the truth. In this he did not lie.
Lazarus feasted upon Abigail’s naked beauty. Their kiss had been a mere appetizer to the main course, for which he was about to partake. The pink, pouty flesh between her legs glistened in the firelight. He inhaled her musky scent, drawing her aroma into his lungs for safekeeping. He wanted to savor this moment, but it was difficult with hunger pounding at his temples.
He reached out and ran one finger along her slickness, bringing it to his mouth for his first taste. He closed his eyes in ecstasy as her juices exploded on his tongue. Lazarus groaned and glanced back at the woman lying before him. She took his breath away.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he asked, the words torn from his chest.
She shook her head, a delicate flush covering her breasts.
Lazarus gripped her knees and pushed her thighs wider. “I’ll show you,” he said, voice croaking with the effort to speak.
Abigail’s feet still dangled over the edge of the bed, but the lush globes of her bottom were firmly cupped by the satin covers.
“Don’t move. I want you just like that.” Lazarus dropped to his knees between her legs and brought her to him. He leaned forward and breathed her in once more, a growl rumbling from his chest. He pressed a chaste kiss upon her quivering flesh. Abigail whimpered and began to writhe.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her blue eyes wide with surprise.
Lazarus blinked, shocked that her husband had never pleasured her in such a manner. “Loving you,” he said, nibbling on her inner thigh, working his way up.
She whimpered as he neared her center. Her entire body quivered.
Lazarus let the anticipation build, then he plunged his tongue into her moist channel. Abigail’s body clenched, then slowly blossomed before his eyes. Lazarus continued to lave and suck until her back bowed off the bed, then he slipped a finger inside her. Abigail was so tight, so blissfully tight. If he hadn’t known that she was a widow, he’d think her a virgin. Gods forbid. The last thing he wanted to do was seduce a virgin.
He worked his finger in deeper, then slowly slid it out, repeating the motion again and again until her hips rose to meet him. Lazarus knew he’d never fit unless he prepared her body for what was to come. He sunk deeper into her welcoming flesh, twisting his finger until he could add another. Thanks to the venom in his kiss, she was painfully aroused. He intended to make her even more so.
“Your body is like a gift to be opened and savored. I intend to savor every last drop.” Lazarus flicked his thumb over her clit. Abigail’s hips bucked and she gasped.
“Please,” she begged, her thighs tightening around his wide shoulders.
He thrummed her, playing her lush body to a tune that only he could hear. As if on cue, her body wept in response. Lazarus pulled back, replacing his fingers with his tongue once more. He plunged into her, licking and tasting, feasting upon her flesh, while he fed voraciously off her essence. All while taking care to pleasure her in return.
Abigail came apart with a cry, her body shuddering, and still Lazarus kept feeding. His starving body roared to life, while bringing her to peak after peak. She’d stopped thrashing, but continued to whimper as one orgasm blended into the next. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
Lazarus rose above her. “Now it’s time to burn, my love,” he said, then surged inside her, his cock splitting her fist-tight channel with one smooth stroke.
Fire surged through him at the joining of their bodies. Lazarus moved with fluid thrusts, rekindling her need. His back arched under her fingertips as her nails scored his flesh, pulling him deeper. Lazarus kissed his way down the side of her neck until he reached one of her erect nipples. He slipped the pebble into his mouth and began to suckle with the same rhythm in which he moved.
Her skin flushed and she made a delicate gurgling sound in her throat as the pleasure pulled her under again. Lazarus licked and sucked her tender flesh, teasing her with his teeth, while surging repeatedly into her, deeper and harder, until his cock kissed her womb. Her body tightened around him, opening and clenching until he thought madness would overwhelm him. This was it. This was the perfection he’d sought.
“Come for me, Abigail. Join me in this maelstrom.” He grunted and rolled his hips.
She cried out, her nails scoring his arms as her body convulsed beneath him. Color exploded behind Lazarus’s eyes and blood roared in his ears as he gorged himself on her release. He willed his body to hold on for a few seconds longer, but it was too late, Abigail had swept him away with her. His hips jerked once, twice, and then he flooded her body with his hot, thick seed.
Drenched in sweat and lungs heaving with the effort of their joining, they lay nose-to-nose, lips to lips, breath mingling, while they slowly floated back to earth.
His fingers brushed her hair. “You are everything I imagined you’d be. Everything I could ever need, ever want. And more. You are my desire incarnate. Please say you’ll be mine and accept me for who I am.”
There was a pause. His heart dropped. Cold enveloped him as he braced for her reply.
“Lazarus, I-I can’t. This is too much. I don’t even understand how this happened. It’s as if my body betrayed me. Until I have time to think, I will not seek an alliance with you or anyone else.”
“I’m not offering something as trivial as an alliance. Did you not feel our connection? The earth moved as our bodies joined.” Anger simmered in his voice. “You could not get something like that from a meaningless dalliance.”
Abigail closed her eyes. She didn’t know what she felt anymore. Her experience with sex was extremely limited, but she knew there had been more to their joining than simple gratification. The very earth had moved. Her body was still quaking. She did not want to upset or anger Lazarus, but Abigail wasn’t about to commit to something without careful consideration.
He pulled back, a tic working his jaw as he stared into her face. She wasn’t sure what he sought to find, but something hardened in his expression when he didn’t.
Lazarus stood suddenly.
The loss of his thick cock and his pulsing warmth left Abigail shivering atop the covlet. She wanted him back inside of her body, blanketing her, making her feel loved and cherished once more. “Lazarus,” she said, reaching for him. He stepped back.
“I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” His words were cold, but the heat in his eyes couldn’t be banked.
He dressed quickly, his movements curt, yet efficient. When he was clothed, Lazarus strode across the floor, tossed the curtains aside, and slipped over the side of the windowsill. “Know this, Lady Abigail, we are not finished. I have tasted your honey,” he licked his lips for emphasis, “and discovered once will never be enough. Mark my words, dear lady. I will not rest until I have you.
All of you.
She shuddered under the threat, but it wasn’t from fear. It was the promise of intent she witnessed in his fiery eyes. He was absolutely serious in his resolve. Abigail’s ears strained as she listened for his precarious descent. There were no boot scuffs or breaking of trellises.
The only sound she could discern was the flapping of wings as he made his silent departure. The man left as quietly as he’d arrived. If it weren’t for the pleasant ache in her body, Abigail would swear he’d never been there.
* * * * *
After spending an hour reassuring her friend that Hamish had done nothing untoward to her, Rose somehow got coerced by Abigail into attending the McCoy’s ball. The Scottish countryside was supposed to be quiet, non-social, yet here she stood next to her friend, fearing and secretly anticipating Hamish MacDougall’s arrival.
Not that she knew for certain he’d be here or that she really wanted to see him, but Abigail insisted there was a very good chance. And like some addle-brained miss, her spirits sored. Rose quickly doused those feelings. As far as she was concerned, she and Hamish had said their peace.
Rose glanced out at the crowd. Lord Lazarus Hyde had appeared only moments ago. She didn’t miss Abigail’s swift intake of breath or her sudden glow as her eyes met his across the room. For someone Abigail was trying to avoid, she sure looked pleased to see him. Rose couldn’t really blame her. Lazarus was looking particularly dashing tonight. His pale skin had been replaced with a nice healthy glow.
In the carriage ride over, Abigail had sworn that she’d brought Rose with her for defense and support. Rose smiled. She would oblige her friend, though she held doubts about how much help she could be. It wasn’t like Lazarus would stop if he set his mind to having her. Rose glanced at Abigail’s face. Make that having her
. Rose recognized the look of a sexually satisfied woman, although she’d only experienced it firsthand with Lord Lyon. Of course that wasn’t the only thing she’d spotted when she looked at Abigail. Rose wondered if her friend knew that she was experiencing the first blush of love.
“I’m going to get some punch. Would you like some?” Rose asked.
Abigail didn’t respond. Her eyes widened as Lazarus made his way through the crowd toward them.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Rose grinned and slipped off toward the refreshment area. With any luck Hamish MacDougall would avoid this soiree and she could spend a quiet evening watching the crowd like she’d intended all along.
Laughter floated around her as she neared the table. Rose turned to see the merriment. A flash of dark hair and a strong profile caught her attention. Her brow furrowed as she moved to follow the retreating form. He looked familiar. She caught another flash of the man. Rose shook her head to clear her vision. It couldn’t be. Not now. Not when she’d finally settled in with the people here.
Rose bypassed the punch and went straight for the champagne to steady her nerves. She reached out to retrieve a glass. Her hand was enveloped before she could curl her fingers around the stem. Rose gasped and turned to see Hamish beside her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper.
He cocked his head. “I was invited.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Rose glanced past Hamish in an attempt to get a better look at the man she’d spotted moments ago. The man turned long enough to smile at her, then vanished into the crowd. Rose felt the color drain from her face and her stomach plummeted.
Oh God, it was him.
Lord William Longfellow had returned.
“What’s the matter, lass? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
She had, a ghost from her past. But that didn’t make any sense. What would William be doing here of all places? He wouldn’t, her rational mind reasoned. It had been ten years. A decade could change a man’s appearance. Perhaps she was mistaken. She glanced Hamish. “It’s nothing. I thought I saw someone I knew from London, but that’s impossible. It was probably just a trick of the light.” Even as Rose spoke the words, she didn’t quite believe them.
Hamish picked up a glass of champagne and placed it in her hand. “Here, drink this. Perhaps the heat is too much. We could stroll outside for a bit of air.”
Rose arched a brow. “After what happened the last time? I think not.”
“Rose.” He grasped her arm.
“Release me this instant. You made your thoughts clear. I realize my manners are lacking, but I am no simpleton. Now if you’ll excuse me, Laird MacDougall. I must go find Lady Abigail.”
“No!” His voice boomed, shaking the glasses on a nearby tray.
Rose took one step to leave and suddenly found herself being lifted off her feet and whisked outside. “What are you doing? Unhand me,” she hissed under her breath.
“I shall do no such thing until I’ve said what needs to be said,” he growled.
“I mean it, Hamish. Release me this instant or I shall scream.” She tried to pull out of his unyielding grip.
“Go ahead.” His green eyes flashed as he dared her to do so.
The man was utterly impossible. Rose stopped struggling and allowed him to convey her out of the room. “You are causing whispers.”
He glowered. “Let them talk.”
“That’s easy for you to say, it’s not your reputation at risk.”
Hamish stopped short and set her down, turning so quickly that Rose collided with his wide chest. “Do you think I’d dishonor you?”
She opened her mouth to answer.
“Do you?” he asked, nostrils flaring. His lips thinned, bracketed by tiny white lines as he waited for her response.
Rose searched his face, but it only took a moment to find the truth. “No,” she said reluctantly.
Despite his highhanded ways, Hamish was nothing like Lord William Longfellow. She shivered as his name crept through her mind like a thief in the night. The man she’d seen moments ago had looked so much like him, older perhaps, a little worn, but still the mirror image. There was no reason for William to come to Scotland. It wasn’t like he knew where she was nor would he care. Not after all these years. She relaxed a fraction as Hamish opened the French doors leading to the wide terrace.
“What is it you wish to say?” she asked.
Hamish stood silently for several seconds, his face flushing under her perusal. “I’d like to apologize for...for my behavior at Lady McKeon’s ball.”
Rose blinked. Apologize? That had been the last thing she’d expected to hear from the strong Scottish laird standing before her. “There’s no need for apologies. Misunderstandings are common. We simply made a mistake. All is forgiven.”
“A mistake?” His eyes narrowed to green slits. “I
think the kiss was a mistake, lass.”
“You don’t?” she asked in confusion.
“No.” He shook his head in denial. As if to prove his point, Hamish stepped closer and pulled Rose into his arms. A second later, his lips descended upon hers. A soft brush at first, then he deepened the connection, fusing their mouths together in an explosion of heat that rocked Rose to her core.