The Ghost (Highland Guard 12) (25 page)

Eyes that heavily lashed and seductively tilted should be dark, but hers seemed impossibly blue as she stared up at him with her boldly carved features, snow-white skin, and wide crimson lips, offering to fulfill his deepest, basest desires.

He hadn’t realized how many he had until that moment.

Quite a few of them would involve the high, generously rounded, and tautly tipped breasts, the generous size and exquisite shape of which he could easily make out under the thin swath of linen. He swore, his cock twitching hard as he made out the deep shade of pink of her nipples. He wanted to suck those little pearls of pink deep into his mouth and nibble them between his teeth until she arched and squirmed.

He forced his gaze away from her breasts. But the slide downward didn’t help. The slim hips only made him think of holding on as he drove in hard and deep, and the long, slender legs were only too easy to imagine wrapped around his waist, squeezing him tighter . . .

He swore again and turned away, his body a rigid mass of throbbing steel. He was as hard as a rod and so primed for release he could come with one firm stroke.

She had no bloody idea how badly he wanted to take her up on her offer.

But he wasn’t going to do this. No matter how much he wanted to—and every nerve ending in his body reverberated with wanting to.

It wasn’t right. Not like this. The next time he made love to a woman she would be his wife. It wouldn’t be one night of passion and lust without promises, it would be making love with vows and a future.

Still, it wasn’t easy to get the words out. His mouth was pulled as tightly and angrily as the rest of him. “This isn’t what I meant, and you know it. You need to leave, Joan. Now.”

Those catlike blue eyes never flinched. She arched a very delicate, very dark brow in challenge. “Now who is pretending?” She walked toward him, holding the cup of whisky out to him. He waved it away. He didn’t want a damned drink, he wanted her. “I know you want this. You need not fear your prefect Sir Galahad reputation will slip. I won’t tell anyone.”

He didn’t like when she called him that—even in jest. It reminded him too much of MacRuairi, who
hadn’t
said it in jest. Alex wasn’t moralistic, damn it. Was it so wrong to have honor? To have codes and ideals? To try to do what was right? To want sharing such intimacies to mean something?

“You’re wrong,” he said intently. “I don’t want this.” He held the door open. “I want you to leave.”

Maybe if his mouth wasn’t so white and his jaw so flexed Joan might have believed him. Clearly, he was furious at her for showing up in his room like this and wanted her to go. But just as clearly, he was fighting giving in with everything he had.

He just needed one more push.

She’d known it wouldn’t be as simple as just showing up to his room. Known that Alex’s honor would make things . . .
difficult
. She’d even realized what she might have to do. But she’d never been the seducer before, and the role didn’t sit well with her.

Could she really . . . ?

She didn’t finish the question. The answer was clear. Yes, she could. She would do whatever it took. Her cousin had been trying to help Bruce—help her—and she wouldn’t let her come to harm.

She set the cup down on the table for a moment, to do what she had to do.

This isn’t me
, she told herself.
It’s only a role. You are in control
.

But it felt very real as she leaned up against him and gave him that push, placing her hand on the part of him that could not lie. A part of him that from her experience thought very little about honor.

It was the first time she’d ever touched a man so boldly—so intimately—and the shock, the heat, the
size
of him would have made her yank her hand back if he hadn’t made a deep sound low in his throat that was half tortured, half pleasure, and all desire.

It was working, and it gave her courage. “Liar,” she murmured, the huskiness in her voice coming out all on its own.

He reached for her wrist to pull her hand away, but instinctively her fingers tightened around him. It was a good instinct. The hand that he’d wrapped around her wrist froze as he made another sound—this one deeper and more tortured than the last. For one long heartbeat he held her hand to him, maybe even pressing it a little harder against an almost imperceptible movement of his hips.

He liked it. Liked it a lot.

He was as hard as a column of marble. But instead of cold stone, he pulsed with heat. Heat that spread and enveloped her, as the realization of what she was doing and how much he liked it—how much
she
liked it—took hold. She wasn’t scared, she wasn’t nervous, she was undeniably, unexpectedly
aroused
. Very, very aroused. Her body felt as warm and melty as syrup.

This wasn’t supposed to happen to her.

Their eyes met, and all thoughts of pretense and roles fled. What was between them was there in the open, raw, hot, and honest.

Maybe Alex wasn’t the only one lying to himself. Maybe she wasn’t here just for her cousin. Maybe the thought of him leaving and never coming back mattered more than she wanted it to. Maybe she wanted something to hold on to.

One kiss. Was that so much to ask? One kiss with nothing between them, and then she would have him drink the whisky.

“Joan . . .” His voice was a hoarse, strangled plea for her to put a stop to this.

But she wasn’t going to do that. Not yet, at least. Leaning into him, she lifted her mouth to his. “Please, Alex, just kiss me.”

Every man had his breaking point, and Alex Seton had just found his. It had been hard enough to try to send her away when she appeared in his room like some erotic fantasy, standing one gentle push away from his bed in a chemise that revealed far more of her incredible body than it hid. But when she’d touched him, put her hand on his cock and squeezed, he lost whatever final vestiges of control he possessed.

It felt so good he didn’t want her to stop—ever.

It shouldn’t be that easy. He shouldn’t be that weak. But there was no way in hell he had the strength to push her away again, especially with her soft plea echoing in his ears.

But he wasn’t happy about it. She was manipulating him. He knew it, and she knew it. But it was working, damn it. He knew that if he sent her away, she wouldn’t be coming back. And that he couldn’t concede. He would hold on to her any way he could.

With a groan, he took what she offered and covered her sweet, red mouth in a hot, furious kiss. He’d never kissed her like this. He’d never kissed
anyone
like this. The bands of control, the chains of civility that had defined him had ripped free, revealing the fierce, primitive marauder underneath who wanted to plunder and conquer.

He took everything she offered and more, moving his mouth over hers in a wicked frenzy of lust and desire. He filled her mouth with his tongue, leaving no part of that sweet cavern unconquered and unplundered.

He kissed her until they both had lost their breath, until moans dissolved into pants that only increased the urgency. Until the fever that had taken hold of him inflamed them both. Everything seemed heightened—intensified. The smell of her hair was more floral, the honey taste of her mouth sweeter, the velvet of her skin softer. The passion between them hotter. The ache in his chest tighter.

This meant something. It had to mean something.

He was moving too fast, but he couldn’t hold back. She wouldn’t let him. She wrapped her hands around his neck, stretched against him, crushed her breasts to his chest, and returned the frenzied kiss with something akin to desperation.

He felt her urgency as powerfully as his. Her tongue circled and sparred, egging him on with every stroke. He couldn’t get enough—couldn’t go fast enough.

He touched her body as if it belonged to him. As if he had every right to cup her breast and run his thumb over the taut tip. As if his hands were meant to span the delicate circle of her waist. As if he’d held the taut curve of her bottom in his hand a thousand times to lift against him.

But pressing wasn’t enough for either of them. He started to circle his hips in a slow, hard grind and his head nearly exploded behind his eyes. He could feel her heat through the thin layers of cloth, hear her moans of pleasure, feel her dissolving against him, and it drove him wild.

Heat and passion engulfed him, took over, and possessed him with a madness he’d never experienced before. He didn’t recognize himself. The only thing that mattered, the only thing he could think about, was making her his.

He eased her back onto the bed and came down on top of her—or rather, half on top of her as his body stretched along the length of hers.

His mouth was on her lips, her throat, her breast. He didn’t take time to open her chemise—he didn’t have time—he just sucked and circled her nipple with his tongue through the fabric until he’d drawn her as tight as a bow. Until she was arching and straining and begging for his touch.

He gave it to her. Sliding his hand under the edge of her chemise, he found the soft place between her legs warm and slick with need.

The moan of pleasure she made when his finger slid inside her nearly undid him. He had to clench his teeth against the pressure pounding at the base of his spine. Pressure that had nowhere to go and wasn’t going to be able to wait much longer.

But he would give her pleasure before he took his own release, damn it. God knew, he wasn’t going to last long once he was inside her.

He stroked her. Soft and gently at first, and then with more urgency as her need intensified.

He stopped kissing her to watch as her lips parted with sharp, uneven little breaths, as color flooded her cheeks, as her back arched, and finally as her beautiful eyes fixed on his and widened with surprise right before she broke apart.
Surprise
, damn it. That had been new.

It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and the intensity of emotions swelling in his chest hurt.

But the cries of release were like a siren’s call to his own need. Whether this was wrong or right no longer mattered. He couldn’t have turned back if he wanted to—and he sure as hell didn’t want to.

He didn’t hesitate as he worked the ties of his braies.

The feel of him pushing between her legs brought Joan harshly back to reality. She jolted from the dreamlike haze with something akin to panic as Alex nudged the thick head of his manhood deeper and deeper inside her.

Wait! This isn’t . . . I didn’t mean . . .

It wasn’t supposed to get this far. She was supposed to be in control. But then he’d started kissing her, and she’d completely forgotten about the powder and the missive she needed to find. After he’d touched her, she’d lost the power to think at all.

The feel of his thick, callused finger sweeping over her—touching her—so intimately had made every inch of her body come alive. She’d never felt anything like it. The need, the frenzy, building inside her had been indescribable. When the sensations reached the apex and seemed to break apart . . . she thought she’d died and gone to heaven. Literally. She swore her heart stopped beating.