Samantha James (16 page)

But there was nowhere to go. His stance was wide, his shoulders broad. He was every inch the haughty duke. He was like a fortress of stone that could not be breached.

“Come here,” he said softly.

She shook her head.

“I’d enjoy a bit of a tussle.” There was a pause. “In bed or out,” he added silkily.

Maura knew her eyes were huge. “Alec—”

“I’m a man, not a boy, Irish. I’m acquainted with the pangs of desire. I’m well acquainted with the desire in you, Duchess. Your lips do not hide what you seek to hide. I’ve tasted the passion in you, in every kiss we’ve ever shared. In the heat of your body, the dew between your thighs, every breathless little sigh into my mouth. I cannot rob what you give freely.”

Her composure was fraying. She felt as if she were in a maze, twisting and turning, unable to find the way out.

“How long, I wonder, will you continue to deny me?”

“I—I do not deny you.”

“Oh, but you do.”

Maura stepped back. Her hand went instinctively to the pouch in her pocket. She gripped it, pulling it out, curling her fingers around it, willing it to give her strength.

“May we continue this discussion tomorrow? It has been—”

“Ah, yes, I know. A tiring day. Or perhaps the ache in your head has returned.” This time he did mock her. “Run, Irish. Run away once more. But it won’t be long before I catch you.”

Maura swallowed. But when she turned, her slipper caught in the hem of her skirt. She would have gone down if Alec hadn’t snared her elbow.

And somehow her little velvet pouch slipped from her grasp and fell to the grass.

Alec bent down and caught it in his palm. His expression changed to one of curiosity as he felt the weight within it. “Perhaps I’m the one who needs a sprinkling of your fairy dust.”

He nudged the strings apart. Maura tried to stop him but then everything inside her froze. It was as if she watched from some far distant place as Alec opened the pouch and turned it upright.

The contents spilled into his palm. Dirt and stones sifted through his fingers to the ground.

And he laughed.
He laughed.

“Well, if that isn’t the damnedest bit of fairy dust I’ve ever seen.”

Maura made a choked sound. Stricken, her gaze lifted to his. “Damn you, Alec McBride. Damn you—” There was a tiny break in her voice. “—you bloody Scotsman!”

It was suddenly too much to bear. Only half aware of what she was doing, she picked up her skirts and ran toward the hall. She leapt over an exposed root. Behind her she heard a curse. Alec had not been so adept. A quick glance confirmed his stumble.

Inside, she bolted toward the back stairway, her feet flying ever faster.

Run, Irish. Run away again. But it won’t be long before I catch you.

The words merely fostered her flight. He was
still behind her, but he was gaining, his tread on the stairs heavy and swift.

Her breath came in ragged spurts. The door to her room was open. She bolted through, then tried to close it.

Too late. Alec shouldered it wide, then jammed it closed with the heel of his hand.

He turned. Maura stood in the middle of her room, her eyes full of angry accusation.

“Maura!” His tone reflected his consternation. His bewilderment. He advanced to where she stood. “What the devil is wrong? Why did you run? It was just a handful of pebbles and earth.” He reached for her.

She batted his hand away. “It wasn’t,” she nearly screamed. “It was a piece of my home. A piece of my heart!”

“Maura! I don’t understand.”

She flung herself at him then, thumping his chest with her fists. “It was Ireland. My father’s lands. My lands.”

“McDonough lands?” Realization began to set in. Alec caught her wrists.

Maura wrenched herself free. “Aye!” she cried. “You’ve robbed us again. But I swear, you’ve robbed us for the last time, you bloody Black Scotsman!”

All strength drained from her limbs. She sank
to the floor. Utterly desolate, she hugged her arms around herself and began to rock back and forth. Her shoulders heaved but she made no sound.

Alec stared down at her helplessly. Something tightened in his breast. It hurt to see her like this.

“For God’s sake, Irish.” Sinking down to his knees, his arms closed around her. He pulled her close. Even then she tried to resist. His beautiful, spirited Irish rose…When she curled her hands into fists, he brought her closer, wedging them against his chest. He held her captive, firm but not hurtful.

“Maura…Maura, listen to me.” His murmur stirred the hairs at her temple. “I’m sorry. Set your mind at rest, sweet. What, did you think you’d never return to Ireland? You’ll see your people again. You can return anytime you like. You have only to say it and it will be done.”

He meant to reassure her. But it appeared his words had the opposite effect. It was as if she curled into herself. It wasn’t something he could see. But he felt it.

And then she broke into dry, jagged sobs.

It was like a knife to the throat. A slash upon his heart.

Throughout the storm that raged within her body, Alec held her. Held her until she lay limp against his shoulder, his throat oddly tight.

For a long, long time they remained like that—Alec’s arms around her, Maura’s cheek pressed into the hollow of his shoulder.

She gave a small, breathy sigh.

In turn, Alec caught one small, feminine fist and pressed a kiss upon her knuckles.

She stirred against him.

Alec lifted his head to look at her. His half smile ebbed.

Her hair had come undone. It showered over her back and shoulders, a black, silken rope. Alec sucked in a breath.

With a subtle tightening of his arm, he brought them both to their feet.

Within the span of an instant something changed. Everything changed. Passion supplanted protectiveness. Desire unseated comfort.

The very air between them was charged with fever-pitch awareness.

Slowly, he lowered his head. Their lips touched…clung. Her hands curled against him. With a small sound in her throat, she angled her head to meet him fully.

He deepened the kiss by degrees. Lingeringly. Her lips parted beneath his; she opened to him like a flower beneath the summer sun. Every fiber in his being surged to explosiveness. He tamped it down, when all he longed for was to be inside her,
driving deep and hard. His mind was buzzing. It felt like he’d waited a lifetime for this kiss…for this woman.

This time he was the one who dragged his mouth away.

Her head ducked low. Her breath was shallow and quick. Her hair sheltered her face. He pushed it aside, tucking the silken strands behind her ear. His thumb traced down her cheek.

“Open your eyes, Maura. Let me see you.”

Within his tone lurked a quiet command.

Her gaze climbed slowly up to his mouth. It rested there for long, immeasurable moments before lifting to his eyes.

Their eyes cleaved.

There was no evading him now.

Pinned beneath the power of his gaze, Maura felt herself sway. Her anger had drained. A stark, painful longing cut through her. She was weary, so weary of being forever on guard against him. Weary of fighting her own treacherous longing. She wanted to yield. She wanted to be caught. She wanted to be held. She wanted to be his.

She wanted to belong to Alec McBride, the Black Scotsman.

“I did not lie when I said I want you in my bed.” He delivered the words with unmistakable deliberation. “I want you, Irish. I want you now.” He
scoured her face intently. Even with her cheeks stained with tears, to him she had never been more beautiful. “Tell me you feel the same.”

“I do,” she whispered tremulously. And then again, this time echoing a vibrant need: “I do want you, Alec. I do.”

The words had scarcely left her mouth than he lifted her; her toes left the floor. She felt the knotted hardness of his bicep as he swung her around, high in his arms. But it wasn’t to her bed that he directed his steps.

It was to his.

He closed the connecting door between their rooms with the heel of his boot. Their mouths still fused, he lowered her to the floor. His fingers were busy undoing the buttons of her gown. He caressed every inch of flesh bared to him.

In some faraway corner of her mind she realized she should stop him. There was too much at stake for her to abandon her cause without care. Without conscience.

But in that moment she didn’t care. Resolve unraveled. Decision was impossible. Kissing Alec was an insidious pleasure, she decided hazily. An almost sinful pleasure. It lured like a drug. She wanted more; she couldn’t get enough of him.

His mouth pulled slightly away. He cursed the encumbrance of clothing even as he attacked and
dispensed with each layer. Frustration prompted his declaration.

“I swear I am going to burn every gown you own, Irish.” He dragged her bodice from her shoulders. A kiss was dropped on the swell of each breast, thrust high by her corset. “From this moment on you need not bother with the nuisance of clothing. I decree it.”

“What, do you fancy yourself king, sir?”

“Aye, and you are my queen. My pirate queen.”

“And you my pirate lord.” Maura’s laugh was breathless.

The last of her petticoats dropped to the floor. Alec bent low and began to peel away her stockings. He stroked the back of one knee, glancing up at her. “Lovely. A gift from an ardent admirer?” He glanced up at her.

The caress made her shiver inside. “Perhaps you should tell me, your grace.”

“Oh, aye.” He chuckled. Silver lights danced in his eyes. They were beautiful, so clear and blue, almost crystalline. “A most ardent admirer.”

Maura’s heart turned over. It felt wonderful, to tease with him like this. Alec was on his feet now. He fell silent. Those beautiful blue eyes roamed over her, every square inch of her. And now they burned with a hot, molten glow.

Maura felt a blush rise, from the bottom of her
feet clear to her face. Only then did she realize it was still daylight; late afternoon sunlight seemed to cast a halo over her nudity.

Filled with nervous modesty, she tried to step close. Alec shook his head.

“Not yet, my love. Let me look at you.”

My love.
Oh, if only he meant it!

Maura held her breath while his eyes journeyed slowly down the length of her. A decidedly rakish smile curved his lips. “A pity I have no patience.”

She blinked. “What?”

His smile widened. “It wasn’t so very long ago, my pirate queen, that you confided you loved to dance naked around the fire. I admit, this is a sight I should like to see.”

Maura smothered a groan. Alec laughed and shrugged free of his shirt. “You are discharged of the request,” he told her. “At least for today.”

He shed his clothing with equal haste to those he’d shed from her. Maura’s pulse began to pound as he bore her to the bed. A push and his trousers slid down his legs.

Sunshine spilled through the windows, bathing him as it had bathed her, and for a mind-shattering instant he stood there, the sunlight behind him gilding his frame.

It left nothing to the imagination.

Her heart tripped. Her mouth went desert dry.

Alec McBride, Duke of Gleneden, was not a man one could ever ignore. There was about him an intensity of presence that commanded attention, whether one willed it or not. From the very first time she spied him at Lord Preston’s masquerade, towering over all others, she had experienced that pulse of sheer, explosive energy.

Nude, the man was even more impressive.

His form was perfectly proportioned, all sleek, fluid length as he stretched out beside her. Her heart bounded forward. Alec’s desire was…well, just as impressively—just as abundantly—proportioned. Oh, yes, she was well aware when that element of his desire sprang taut and free against her belly. Indeed, she sucked in a breath of shock.

Alec’s smile faded.

“Look at me, Irish.”

Maura’s cheeks were fiery hot. Her gaze trickled to his. With his thumb, he traced the shape of her mouth.

“I told myself I didn’t want you, Irish. I told myself that I didn’t need…this.”

He shocked her by pressing the ridge of his hips against the flat of her belly.

Lean fingers slid beneath her hair, curling around her nape. “I was a fool, Irish. I was wrong. So very wrong.” His voice plummeted to a whisper. “You stir me. You torture me. You slay me.”

Each word might have been an echo of her own.

He kissed her, slowly at first—oh, so slowly! And then with mounting fervor—with fevered hunger, a soul-blistering kiss that left them both vying for air.

“You are exquisite.”

Alec’s hand climbed the rise of her ribs. Laid claim to one breast, toying with the peak, splaying his fingers wide. With a muffled exclamation, he fed her nipple into his mouth.

Shivers washed over her skin. Her breasts puckered and swelled. He allowed no embarrassment, no time for anything but sweet, sheer sensation. Her fingers shaped the back of his neck, coiling in his hair.

Alec raised his head. His eyes were burning.

His hand trapped hers, bringing it down…down ever more. Maura’s heart plunged into a frenzy. Her gaze ventured the very same path. The tips of her fingers raked the hair-roughened plane of his chest. His belly. Clear to the mass of dark coarse hair that surrounded his shaft, thrusting. His hand engulfed hers. With the pressure of his fingers, a subtle tightening, he closed her fingers around him…Maura was stunned. Her eyes widened. If anything, he swelled harder. The knowledge that she aroused him so was heady.
Thrilling. Yet spinning through her mind was the question of how she…how could they…

And then even that was lost when he touched her, there between her thighs, a bold possession that sent a shock of sensation deep in the pit of her belly. He traced the lips of her channel, executing a rhythm that drove her half wild. He circled the secret little nugget buried within her nest of curls. In some distant part of her, she was stunned; it was as if her body searched for this blatantly erotic caress.

Her lungs emptied in a rush. “Alec,” she gasped. “Alec—”

His mouth trapped hers. “It’s all right, sweet. Let me. Let me touch you. Let me please you.”

Maura writhed. She melted against him. Around him.

“Aye, lass, that’s the way. Don’t hold back. Just let it happen. Just…let it happen.”

Her breath sheared. Something inside her gave way. Swamped with sensation, her body pulsed its release. She was dimly aware of crying out.

When sanity returned, Alec was braced above her.

His knees spread her wide. Her gaze was riveted to his rod, thick and fever hot, the swollen tip buried within damp feminine folds.

Maura flinched. She couldn’t help it. She buried
her face against the side of his neck, aware of a deepening pressure. She could feel herself being stretched. Widened. Instinctively she sought to clamp her thighs together.

“Alec—” His name was half choked. “Alec, I…we did not—”

“I know. I know.” His head turned ever so slightly. “Do you trust me, Irish?”

She drew a shuddering breath. “Aye,” she said helplessly. “Aye!”

He pulled himself out. The head of his rod glistened.

Maura drew a ragged breath. Her gaze was drawn to his face. His features were taut with rigid strain. The cords on his neck stood out.

Only then did she realize the restraint he exercised. Raw emotion filled her throat. Something inside her caved way.

“Alec!” she cried. “Alec!”

Alec was just as affected as she was. He hissed in a sizzling breath. Sweet Jesus, she was hot. Silky and slick around the head of his cock. He tried to be slow. He tried to hold back. But when she offered up tremulous lips, it was more than he could stand.

With a hoarse sound of need, he plunged forward. He felt the tearing of her virgin flesh. His lips swallowed the tiny little gasp she made.
Something purely primitive, purely possessive, pounded through him. She belonged to him. She was his. His.

Embedded as far as he could go, he kissed her lips. Her cheek. The hollow at the base of her throat. His hands caught hers. Their fingers threaded. Twined.

Their bellies pressed. Sealed. Their mouths clung. Her breath belonged to him—as his belonged to her. With every breath, with every heartbeat, he plunged closer to her womb.