Highlander in Her Bed (19 page)

She should have known better than to look up.

Especially when she was lying between Hottie Scottie's widespread legs!

She gulped, unable to tear her gaze from the indecently endowed piece of manhood displayed so blatantly above her.

Thank God he wasn't wearing a kilt!

She'd have climaxed on the spot. As it was, those ballet tights he wore showed everything. And left no doubt as to what was on his mind.

And he wasn't just hard. His shaft was… twitching.

"You're—" she snapped her mouth shut, unable to blurt the obvious.

He already knew anyway.

Unless ghosts couldn't feel their own hard-ons?

Her cheeks flaming at the possibility, she ducked through his legs and scrambled to her feet. Dusting the dirt off her knees, she tried not to look at the bold ridge of his arousal.

"We'll ride back now," he said, the strain in his voice answering her unasked question.

"Yes, well… ah… I guess we should," Mara stammered. She shook back her hair, knew she must be crimson. "Thanks for bringing me up here."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad you enjoyed the view."

He said nothing else. Just looked at her with the most disconcerting stare, then turned and strode for the mare, leaving her to gape after him.

And she did. Mercy, she was sure her heart had stopped beating.
He knew
. She'd near swooned at the sight of his gorgeous sex, and he was taunting her.

Scalding embarrassment squeezed her chest. Maybe he really could read her mind?

Even knew her last boyfriend hadn't only been faster than a jackrabbit, but also barely larger than her thumb? Or that Lance the Lightning Bolt had never even bothered to touch a hand to her, much less rub her clit?

Hottie Scottie had done both. And now he was smirking at her.

Well, she'd just turn the tables on him.

Pull a Cairn Avenue shrew.

"Oh, yes, I did enjoy the view," she called, hurrying after him. "But I've seen larger."

He stopped in his tracks. "Indeed?"

She smiled. "Yes, of course."

He gave her one swift, scorching stare, then resumed walking.

"Larger seal colonies, that is," she huffed so soon as he was out of earshot.

She glared after him, finding the ease with which he swung up on the mare's back exceedingly annoying. He looked more at ease on a horse than any rodeo cowboy she'd ever seen on television. Wasn't there anything he couldn't do?

Sir Alexander Douglas oozed good looks, had more sex appeal in his little finger than most Hollywood stars in their entire bodies, and had a way with horses that was nothing less than magical.

He played a mean "Highland Laddie" on the pipes and could walk through walls.

What more could a girl want?

Mara sighed. Angry or not, her heart leapt as she watched him guide the mare through several steps that looked like they'd been choreographed by London's Royal Ballet.

He really was too perfect.

But there was one thing he wasn't: a flesh-and-blood man.

He was a spook. A shade.

The ghost of a medieval Scottish knight.

Mara took a deep breath and tried to fix an unimpressed look on her face. She failed miserably. Like it or not, if she'd still harbored any doubts about him, she couldn't anymore. Not after seeing him with the mare.

He was indeed what he claimed to be.

And she was falling for him.

It was written all over her.

And Alex was torn between shouting in triumph and roaring in outrage. Also a bit ashamed that he'd put on such a performance for her, but she'd pushed him too far with her doubts. Especially her fool comment about his man-parts.

He'd seen enough naked men to know how he measured against most. More than favorably!

"That was incredible," she said suddenly, the glow in her eyes making up for the ridiculous slur.

Alex started. How had she come so close without him noticing? The answer came as quickly as the rapid thundering of his heart.

She'd been able to sneak up on him because he'd been too busy mooning over her to notice.

It wouldn't happen again. He'd be on his guard from now on.

And he'd stop paying heed to such things as the way her puckered nipples drove him to such distraction. Or how the sea wind played with her hair, sending its fresh, flowery scent to tease his senses.

He especially wouldn't acknowledge the way her black breeches clung to her shapely legs. He squared his shoulders, ground his teeth against the lust surging through him. But, saints, garbed as she was, even a simpleton needed but one look to visualize the triangle of bronze curls between her thighs.

A beckoning treasure hidden by only a thin stretch of black cloth, and a temptation powerful enough to bring the strongest man to his knees.

Alex locked his jaw, drew a tight breath.

She had to be the devil's own to entice a man so boldly. In his day, her witchy ways would have landed her upside down in a pot of boiling tar.

After every man within rutting distance had had his way with her.

Quickly, before the ache in his own loins drove him to join their ranks, he leaned sideways and scooped her into the air, plunking her down in front of him.

"Oh!" she gasped, squirming like a basket of freshly caught eels.

"Be still," Alex warned. "Unless you wish to learn of a knight's
other
talents? Dinna test me, for I'm already burning to enlighten you."

The wiggling ceased.

Unfortunately, the throbbing at his groin didn't.

Scowling, he dug in his spurs and sent the mare into a wild canter. Then, his heels still digging, a bold, racing gallop. A folly he recognized at once. A grave tactical error that slammed the witch-woman's body hard against his own and caused her wild mane of flame-colored hair to fly about his face, near blinding him.

And that wasn't the worst of it.

Nay, the greatest torment was the exotic scent of dusky rose and jasmine clinging to those flying tresses. Where her scent had only teased him before, now the tossing strands of her hair whipped against his cheeks and slid across his lips. Each stinging, silken glide deluged him with her fragrance.

Intoxicating him.

Leaving him no choice but to jerk hard on the reins. So hard the mare reared up in protest, her forelegs pawing the air. The instant her flailing hooves plunged back to earth, Alex swung down, sweeping his witch-woman with him in one swift, furious motion.

"Another knightly feat," he flashed, pulling her into his arms. "But not near so satisfying as this!"

He seized her face with both hands and slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her long, hard, and deep. A devouring kiss meant to scorch her to her toes. His own blood flaming, he slid his hands down over her breasts and closed his fingers on her nipples, toying and teasing until she moaned a response. The wench fantasized about knights and he aimed to please her.

But she stole his thunder by pressing hotly against him, clutching fast and rubbing against his groin. She opened her mouth beneath his and their kisses turned savage. Wanton joinings of tongues, sighs and breath, and so heady, so potent, his knees nearly buckled.

Never had a lass pressed into him with such abandon, clinging so tight and trembling with sweet, reckless need. He groaned, pulling her even closer as the cliffs began to spin and the racing clouds became a whirling white blur against the tilting blue of sea and sky.

He groaned, certain he'd never known such stunning bliss. Awed by his need, he slowed his toyings with her nipples, now simply flicking his thumbs back and fore over the thrusting peaks, circling the tightly ruched rounds of her aureoles. He gloried in the feel of her, half feared he might die from the pleasure—if only he could!

"Kiss me deeper, let me feel your tongue," she begged then, breathing the plea into his mouth, her need and the shivery words nearly unmanning him.

"Lass, lass," he moaned, thrusting his tongue deeper indeed, sweeping it against hers. Again and again, each velvety glide undoing him, making his blood run hot and thick.

Her
blood was on fire, each touch of his fingers to her breasts stealing her control, every rapturous swirl of his tongue against hers catapulting her to shattering levels of passion she never would have believed existed.

"O-o-oh," she cried, indescribable need screaming inside her.

But when the rhythmic rocking of her hips grew frenzied and her hands stole beneath his tunic, her nails scoring the bare flesh of his back, Alex knew he could take no more.

Somewhere through the shimmering haze of passion, warning bells rang louder each time her tongue twirled hotly around his. The tighter she clung to him, the more each soulful sigh she breathed against his lips tolled his coming doom.

He'd lost control.

He, the seducer, was being seduced.

The minx's kiss more potent than the headiest Norman wine. He was intoxicated beyond redemption. Slaking his thirst for her body would never be enough. He wanted her heart and her soul as well. All of her. Her laughter and smiles. Even her sadness and heartaches. Every one of her mortal years.

Nothing else would satisfy him.

And the saints knew, he could never satisfy her. Not in the way she deserved.

"Enough," he gasped, breaking the kiss.

Revulsion swept him. But not because he'd kissed a MacDougall—because of what he was.

A ghost.

A creature. An abomination of nature.

Heaven only knew what quirk of nature allowed him to manifest as a solid man. He choked back a bark of bitter laughter. At the moment, he was a very solid man indeed!

And a despicable one.

The lass was melted against him, clinging and grasping, her hips still rocking against him in blatant invitation, her hitched breath begging him to continue what he'd so rudely interrupted.

"Sons of Hades," he swore, thrusting her from him. Although it ripped his soul, there was nothing he could offer her.

Nothing to commend himself to any flesh-and-blood woman.

Even the spawn of the bloody MacDougall bastards who'd cursed him deserved better than falling in love with a ghost. Phantom or no, he still possessed enough honor to cringe at damning any woman to such a fate.

His head clearing, he knew what he must do.

Gripping her arms, he looked deep into her eyes, steeling himself against the hurt he was about to inflict. "See here, wench, I willna be charmed," he lied, his voice as cold as he could make it. "I'll admit you tempted me, but the ruse is over. I've seen through your wickedness."

"Wh-what?" She blinked, her kiss-bruised lips forming a little O of surprise. "I don't understand. You kissed me! And it was… it was beautiful…"

She let the words trail off, clapped a hand to her cheek, all color draining from her face. But she recovered quickly, her amber eyes snapping with fury.

Her rapid, agitated breathing made her breasts rise in a way that nearly undid Alex's resolve, but the anger coursing through her and her searing glare pleased him. Outrage would keep her from hurting, maybe even send her into the arms of a
real
man.

One who could give her more than heated kisses and a few wind-felt pluckings to her nipples.

Alex scowled, this time not needing to feign his displeasure.

"You're a witch-woman," he provoked her, the heart he hadn't known he possessed imploding inside him. "Be glad I won't arrange to have you stoned. Or worse!"

She stared at him, her cheeks a livid red again. So much pain filled her eyes, he could hardly bear looking at her. "You bastard!" she raged, her anguish lancing him. "I didn't pull you off that horse!"

Her entire body shaking, she jabbed her fingers into his chest, emphasizing each word with a sharp poke. "You could've killed us, jerking that beast to a halt like that. Then you dragged me down and kissed me.
Plundered
my mouth and nearly broke my ribs squeezing me so tight. You! Not the other way around!"

Alex shuttered his face, simply stared at her. If he dared open his mouth, he'd recant every word. Drop to his knees and explain, begging her to forgive him and let them savor whatever bliss the heavens might grant them.

But he held his tongue. His damnable honor not letting him speak.

She backed away from him, swiped her hand over her mouth. "1 can't believe I let you touch me. You're not even real. A figment of my imagination!"

The words sliced Alex, wounding him in a way no arcing broadsword could ever harm him. The truth of her accusations damned him with an intensity that was nigh onto unbearable.

But he'd had to goad her, had to make her loathe him.

Only so would she find peace.

As for himself… it scarce mattered.

He had eternity to lick his wounds. She had but this one mortal life.

He had sacred vows to keep. He'd been a fool to think he could outrun a curse that had held him in its vise for so many centuries. And a greater fool not to realize how cruel his error of judgment would prove to her.

Seeing no other option, he moved with lightning speed, sweeping her into his arms and heaving her onto the mare's back before she could think to protest. "Stay put," he ordered, releasing her only long enough to swing up behind her. "And be still this time. Don't squirm."

And she didn't.

She sat before him as stiffly as a piece of wood, which was fine with him. And much better for her.

But as they pounded across the last stretch of open headlands, there where her damnable One Cairn Village would soon stand, she finally raised her voice.

"What are you going to do when we get back to the stables?" she demanded. "Someone might see you."

"No one sees me unless I wish it. And you have the tongue of a bell clapper. Be still," Alex snapped, hoping the insult would quiet her. Make her revile him enough not to care what he did when they reached the stables.

Above all, he wanted to vanish.

First they had to put her infernal project behind them, and the site curdled his blood. Shuddering, he brought his open palm down on the mare's flank and spurred across the naked, upturned earth, tried not to see the telltale signs of her dream.