The Immortal Highlander (20 page)

A quiet satisfaction spread through Adam’s body.

That
was what he’d been waiting to hear; the only thing that had been keeping him out on a horse, too far away from his woman. And with that victory, his thoughts turned with sharp focus to Gabrielle.

He knew just what gifts he would give her tonight. Tonight he would finally see his
ka-lyrra
in something besides jeans. Then in nothing at all.

Now he had seven glorious days stretching from here to Lughnassadh that he could spend with her, on safe ground, with no pressing concerns. Only the concern of sealing his claim to her. Of winning her body, mind, and soul. His desire for her was no longer about getting to experience sex in human form, it was only and all about simply getting inside her. Making her his. Being the one to turn those green-gold eyes all dreamy-sexy, the one to make her whimper, the one to make her shudder with pleasure. Who cared what form he wore, so long as he had her in his bed?

“Or, rather, not do it,” Dageus was saying, when Adam tuned back in. “We’ll sit back and let the walls come down. And we’ll speak with our descendant Christopher and see to it he agrees.”

Adam inclined his head, meeting the Highlanders’ gazes with unspoken thanks.

“But hear this, Adam Black,” Drustan added, “if all hell is to break loose a sennight hence, we’ll be looking for you to fight at our side. We’ll be expecting you to have our backs, as we’ll be having yours.”

Adam inhaled sharply as an emotion unfamiliar to him expanded in his chest. Drustan was looking at him as if he were just another man, a warrior to wage battle with them, to stand and hold against whatever may come. And he realized that beside them and beside his petite
ka-lyrra
he would stand. Even, if need be, against his queen.

“You have my word,” he said quietly.

And when they both murmured swift acceptance of his pledge, that uncommon sensation, that strange pressure behind his sternum, expanded even more.

Gwen couldn’t have been more right, Gabby reflected later that afternoon as she stepped out of the shower—she’d definitely needed some girl talk.

They’d talked for hours, whiling away the morning and most of the afternoon. The three of them had hit it off like old friends. She hadn’t realized how desperately she’d needed to discuss things with someone. She’d been all alone with her thoughts since the moment Adam had burst into her life, and so much had happened so fast, and she’d not worked her way through any of it.

Gwen and Chloe had helped immensely. They were of the same age, and were a lot like her friend Elizabeth: smart (almost
too
smart), funny in a self-deprecating way, with big, generous hearts. And over the course of the day the three of them had curled lazily in the sunshine in the solar, talking nonstop.

Gwen and Chloe had taken turns telling their stories about how they’d met their husbands, and Gabby had listened, entranced.

Gwen had met Drustan first. She’d been on a holiday in Scotland when she’d fallen down a ravine and plunged through the bottom of the rocky crevice into a forgotten cave, only to land on an enchanted, slumbering Highlander from the sixteenth century (talk about
falling
for a guy). He’d sent her back in time to save him. But all hadn’t gone well, and Dageus had broken his oaths to save Drustan’s life so he and Gwen could be reunited.

And then Chloe had stumbled upon Dageus, or rather been stumbled upon by him, while he’d been holed up in a luxurious penthouse in Manhattan, searching ancient texts, trying to find a way to free himself from the thirteen evil souls possessing him.

Gwen had thought Drustan mentally unbalanced when she’d met him, with his talk of time travel and curses.

Chloe had thought Dageus a nefarious thief and hopeless womanizer. And she’d come to find out that he was possessed by purest evil.

Both had taken chances with their hearts, immense chances, against immense odds.

And both were deliriously in love, happily married, and living a dream. A dream that had tugged painfully at her heart when Gwen had brought her tiny, beautiful dark-haired twin daughters in to nurse, and Chloe had blushingly confided that she was expecting too.

And she’d not missed Adam’s part in Chloe’s happiness. Chloe had told her all that had happened in those dusty catacombs: about the showdown with the sect of the Draghar, how Dageus had taken a mortal wound in the process of defeating them and saving her. How she’d thought she’d lost her Highland love forever, and would have, if Adam hadn’t given of his own life force to bring him back from the brink of death and see him returned to her.

That
bore a lot of fascinated pondering in Gabby’s mind. Just what motives had he been driven by? What thoughts had been going on in that beautiful dark head, behind those timeless, ancient eyes? What deep, unspoken feelings? Why would he stir himself to return a human man to his human lover? And at such a price?

For Chloe had also told her that Dageus had confided (when he’d finally come to bed for a few hours early that morning) that the reason Adam had been punished by his queen was because of his intervention to save the MacKeltars.

It was yet another thing he’d not told her—refusing to answer when she’d asked him twice before—but she could hardly blame him, because she’d not have believed it then.

She believed it now. And that knowledge was doing crazy things to her heart.

Now more than ever she wanted to know—who was Adam Black? Who was this big, underdisclosing, intensely sexual, surprisingly gentle Fae who seemed to spend more time with humans than with his own race? This Fae eminently capable of force, who never forced? This Fae who’d taken a stand for humans against his own kind?

More important, was all that fierce, guarded emotion in him reachable by a mortal woman?

That
was the question that was making her feel shaky clear down to her toes. He was looking like every inch her fantasy prince. And it was scaring the hell out of her.

Before the afternoon was over, Gabby told her story in its entirety as well. It had been impossible not to. Gwen and Chloe were women who’d endured their own epidemics of otherworldly events; there’d been no need to hold anything back. Being a
Sidhe
-seer was only a moderately unusual thing from their perspective; it hardly even signified.

She’d told them how she’d been raised to fear the Fae, how her mom had left because she couldn’t deal with her having the vision, how Gram had raised her, taught her to conceal her “gift.” She’d told them what the O’Callaghan
Books
said about the Fae, and about how wrong she’d realized those books were—at least about Adam.

She’d told them how she’d given herself away that night she’d seen him, how he’d tracked her, and the many things he’d done since.

She’d finally admitted the fear she’d not, until that moment, admitted even to herself. That she would somehow survive all this, fall head over heels for him, only—unlike in her teenage fantasies—there would be no Happily-Ever-After. He would regain his immortality, secure her safety as he’d promised, then return to the Fae realm, and that would be that. After all, the universe would again be his oyster and, in the cosmic scheme of things, Gabby knew she was nobody’s pearl.

It would be Game Over. Time up. No extended play. Just the haunting taste of an all-too-brief fairy tale left on her tongue, ruining her appetite for reality forever.

Well, first of all,
Chloe had said gently,
I think it’s too late, sweetie; you’ve already fallen.

Gwen had nodded agreement.
But, second, and most important, Gabby,
she’d said softly,
the question you must ask yourself isn’t, will you get a Happily-Ever-After? The question you need to ask yourself is, will you be able to live with yourself if you don’t let yourself have a happy-now, and end up having had nothing at all?

19

Gabby took her time with her hair and makeup that evening, a luxury she’d not been able to indulge for days. While they’d been traveling and sifting about, on those rare occasions she’d glimpsed a mirror—usually during a quick duck into a public rest room—she hadn’t liked what she’d seen, so she’d not lingered. But tonight she had the assurance that they were on safe ground, there would be no unceremonious dips in lakes or falls from steeples, and she was determined to look good for a change.

Aspirin and a long hot shower had scalded away the last of her hangover. Chloe had invited her to drop by her chambers before dinner so they could find her something to wear, as they were nearly the same size. She was looking forward to wearing something besides jeans. Okay, she was looking forward to looking pretty around Adam; there, she’d admitted it. Really, a woman would have to be dead
not
to want to look good around him.

She brushed on lipstick and ran her fingers through her hair, letting it spill down her back, tugging a few long bangs to spike softly around her eyes. A smudge of smoky shadow at her eyes, a dab of mascara. A hint of shiny gloss on her mouth, enough to catch the light and do interesting things with it. Enough to draw a man’s notice.

And that, she decided, eyeing herself in the mirror, was as good as Gabby got. Clothes would have to do the rest; she just hoped Chloe had something ultrafeminine and a smidgen provocative that she could borrow.

Opening the bathroom door, she stepped out into the adjoining bedchamber.

And froze.

Impossible,
she thought, staring at the canopied bed.

Not that the velvet drapes were hung again or that the bed was neatly made—that was perfectly possible. A maid had obviously stopped in while she’d been in the shower, shaving her legs, smoothing on lotion, and fussing with cosmetics.

What
wasn’t
possible was the slinky black dress she’d spent long minutes sighing over so wistfully at Macy’s that was currently hanging between those drapes.

Nor, she thought, stunned, moving closer to the bed, the dainty heels she’d eyed so covetously.

Nor, she thought, eyes widening, that sinful bit of lacy bra and panties in her favorite shade of pale pink.

And, oh, my God,
she thought breathlessly,
is that a box from Tiffany’s?

Clutching the lapels of her bathrobe, she glanced around the room.

There was no sign of him.

But on the air, faint yet unmistakable, was just a hint of the exotic scent of jasmine and sandalwood and spicy, seductive man, and she realized he’d probably sifted out mere moments ago while she’d been finishing up her makeup.

She reached for the box with trembling hands, opened it, and gasped, so stunned that she fumbled and nearly dropped it.

Nestled on a bed of velvet was a diamond choker and matching earrings, and she knew exactly where she’d last seen them. It had been back in Cincinnati, the night he’d brought her dinner from Jean-Robert at Pigalls. She’d left the office late, taken her usual path past Tiffany’s to collect her car from the corner lot. There’d been a new window display up, and she’d been briefly captivated by the elegance of the simply set stones. She’d paused, gazing in the window at the matching pieces. Wondering, with feminine curiosity, what kind of man showered what kind of woman with such jewels. Wondering if she’d ever get so much as a diamond ring on her finger, or even a plain wedding band.

He must have been somewhere behind her, watching her.

Just as he must have been at Macy’s.

I take care of what is mine,
he’d told her when he’d handed her the keys to the BMW.

Indeed.

As she lifted the glittering strand of diamonds from the box, a small slip of paper fell out. She caught it as it wafted toward the floor.

Four words in ancient script, an arrogantly slanted scrawl.

Accept these, accept me.

Well, she thought, blinking, that was certainly direct and to the point.

She held the glittering stones in her hands for a long time, looking at them but not really seeing them. No longer really thinking but opening her heart, feeling, wondering. Hearing an echo of Gwen’s words:
Will you be able to live with yourself if you don’t let yourself have a happy-now, and end up having had nothing at all?

Eventually she placed the box back on the bed and slipped on the panties and bra.

Stepped into the clingy black dress, tugged it over her hips, and zipped the tiny side zipper.

Perched on the edge of the bed, she strapped on the dainty, sexy shoes.

Then she reached for the box, donned the earrings, and fastened the strand of cool stones around her throat.

Adam had just stepped out of the shower when he heard a soft tap on his bedchamber door.

He hoped like bloody hell it wasn’t another maid. When he’d returned from his ride, there’d been dozens of them loitering about in the great hall. While he was accustomed to women throwing themselves at him, he wasn’t accustomed to them staring with such unnerving intensity directly at his crotch. Hard. As if they were trying to see through the leather to what lay beneath, or rather, stood beneath, because the damn thing was never going to go down until he’d had Gabrielle beneath him at least a hundred times.

“Who is it?” he called warily.

When he heard the soft reply, his eyes flared, then narrowed. With a lazy smile and slow deliberation, he dropped the towel he’d just knotted loosely about his waist.

“No holds barred tonight,
ka-lyrra,
” he murmured, too soft for her to hear. He’d not thought to see her until dinner. But she was here, outside his door, outside his bedchamber. She might as well have strolled up to the lion’s lair, nicely basted in fresh, warm blood.

His mouth was suddenly fiercely dry, his breathing harsh and shallow.

Would she be wearing them? Was she ready to admit? To take him? This woman who’d been raised on the worst tales of him, some of which were completely true?

And she
knew
that. She knew he’d razed the Highlands after Morganna; he’d seen the look on her face when she’d asked him about the date Morganna had died. She knew that, for all the things that were inaccurate in her
Books,
there were some that weren’t. She knew that in nearly six thousand years he’d done a thing or two to merit some of the bad press he’d received. Gabrielle was no fool.

Had she seen past it? Had she seen
him
?

Would she have those damn diamonds on? He was almost afraid to open the door and see, so badly did he want her, given completely, without reservation, tonight, now, this moment. He needed it. Felt like he’d been waiting six thousand years for it. Christ, what was happening to him? Had he ever felt like this before?

He realized he was glaring at the door and had no idea how long he’d been doing it. He shook his head, muttering a curse at his idiocy. For Christ’s sake, he was Adam Black. Not some bumbling mortal lad.

“Come in,” he called, and if it came out a little more guttural than usual, he deigned not to notice. He stood at his full height of six feet four and a half inches, legs splayed, arms folded over his chest, wearing nothing but the ancient gold adornments of his royal house.

The door opened slowly—he felt like it was opening in slow frigging motion—but then there she was, and he felt as if someone had slammed a fist into his gut.

He was pleased to see she appeared to be suffering the same sensation.

She froze, her lovely green-gold eyes flying wide. “Y-y-you’re . . . n-n—” she sputtered. Tried again, “Oh. Heavens. My. Goodness.” Wet her lips. Took a deep breath. “
Holy shit, you’re naked.
And oh—OH!” Her gaze dipped then flew back up to his face, and her eyes went even wider.

A smile of pure masculine triumph curved his lips. “Ah, yes,” he purred. “And you, my sweet Gabrielle, are wearing my diamonds.”

Gabby stood in the doorway, her heart hammering wildly.

Two-hundred-pounds-plus of gorgeous naked man stood before her, and he was so savagely, intensely beautiful that she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Had to remind herself that oxygen was good for a girl,
so breathe, O’Callaghan
. She looked up and down, up and down again, little breaths slamming together in her throat.

Abruptly, she knew that after this night she was never going to be the same again. Nothing was ever going to be the same. Oh, yes, the man could define himself as the dawning of an epoch if he wanted to. There was, quite simply, before Adam and after Adam.

He stepped forward, moving with sleek animal grace, a predatory glint in his dark gaze. He was hunter and she was food. And from the look in his eyes he was going to devour her.

He stalked to her, towering over her, staring down, reaching out to lightly touch the choker at her neck with his fingertips. “You know what this means,” he said softly, intensely. “Mine. You accept it. You’re mine. No, shush.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t say a word. Just let me look at you. I’ve been waiting to see you in this dress.”

Circling behind her, he pushed the door gently closed, and she heard the metallic clicking of tumblers as he locked it. He padded slowly around her.

“Christ, you’re beautiful, Gabrielle. Do you know how badly I want you? Do you know what fantasies I’ve been playing through my mind about you? Do you know how many times I jacked off, trying to get rid of this bloody eternal hard-on? Knowing that the only thing that was going to help was you?”

He padded another slow naked circle around her. “And now here you are. In my chambers. Locked in. And you’re not getting out until I say you are. And I may never say it.”

He paused behind her, leaned close, front to her backside, rubbed his cock against her ass in that sexy dress. The dress looked every bit as good on her as he’d known it would, clinging to every lush curve. Felt good too. Breath hissed between his teeth at the contact; it was so excruciatingly pleasurable that it burned. He sucked in a sharp breath and yanked himself back, knowing that if he touched her again like that it would be all over.

“And those shoes,” he purred, his gaze dropping down over her ass, down the shapely curves of the backs of her thighs, to her slender ankles with those little dainty straps tied around them.

“I watched you looking at them in Macy’s. You’ve got the sweetest legs and ass, Gabrielle. When I first saw you in Cincinnati, you had on shorts and sandals on your feet. Even your painted little toes turned me on.”

He circled around in front of her. Her eyes were wide, deliciously unfocused. Her lips were parted and she was panting softly, her chest rising and falling gently.

He pressed the tip of his finger to her lips, pushed inside. She closed those lush lips on it, sucking, and such raw heat lanced through him that, for a moment, he couldn’t move. He finally managed to withdraw his finger, sliding it slowly from that luscious pucker, then traced a damp path over the shape of her mouth, across her jaw, down her neck, to the lush valley of her cleavage.

He should seduce her, he should woo her with kisses, he should gently entice, lead her slowly yet inexorably down the path to her ultimate and costly capitulation.

But it was too late; he’d waited too long, and there was a thing he could no longer deny himself. A thing he’d been thinking about too much while riding today. A thing he needed. Right now. And it pissed him off, the hold it had on him, how savagely he wanted it. To know the taste of her, to have her on his tongue, captured in his immortal memory. If somehow, for some reason, she managed to stop him this night, at least he’d have gotten this.

“For the record, Irish,” he informed her tightly, just in case she got the wrong idea, “I kneel to no one.” Then he dropped to his knees at her feet, shoved her dress up, gathered a fistful of silky material in each hand, and pushed her back against the door, pinning her to it by the fabric.

Gabby leaned weakly against the door, gasping for breath. The exotic scent of him was filling her nostrils, making her dizzy. Merely looking at him naked had gotten her so intensely aroused that she knew what he was about to find—she was wet; she was so wet she was almost embarrassed by it. She was ready right now; she didn’t even need a kiss, or any other foreplay, for that matter. She certainly didn’t know if she could survive what it looked like he was about to do. She just wanted him inside her. When he’d circled her like some big dark beast, talking to her, telling her how much he wanted her, she’d nearly begun begging.

And now he was on his knees between her legs, her dress rucked up to her waist, exposing her to him, naked but for a lacy scrap of silk slipping between her legs.

Oops, make that naked,
she amended with a half-laugh, half-sob, as he dragged that lacy bit of fabric from her body with his teeth, tugging it down, down, teeth grazing her lightly, pausing to nip, scattering tiny little love bites over her skin, sending waves of chills skittering up her spine.

She felt drugged, drunken, intoxicated on passion. She had no idea how she’d managed to put him off this long, or why, and was suddenly astounded at how much time she’d wasted.

“I’m going to taste every inch of you before this night is through,” he purred.

And then he began making good on that promise, with long, hot, velvety strokes of his tongue up the insides of her thighs. Lazy sweet nips on the plump inner parts of her legs, hot, openmouthed kisses on the delicate skin of her hips. He left no inch of her skin unkissed, unnibbled.

Then a hand was pushing her legs apart and his dark head was between them. When he flicked his tongue over the tiny bud nestled in soft folds, she grabbed great fistfuls of his silky, dark hair and shuddered, leaning weakly back against the door.

“Stay standing,
ka-lyrra
. If those sweet knees give out and you come down on the floor, I’ll fuck you right there.”

She let her knees buckle instantly, barely smothering a laugh.

“Aw, bloody
hell,
Gabrielle, I wanted this to
last,
” he cursed, rolling instantly with her, catching her, going down beneath her to absorb the impact of her tumble.