Oh My Laird!: A Risqué Regency Romance (8 page)

“Ah hell. C’mon. Hot water for you.” He helped her stagger to the tub and rest her hands on the edge. “I have to leave you. Don’t drown. I’m only human, Amelia, and having you this close to naked is—well, you know damn well what it is. Take your bath and ease those muscles. I’ll round us up some food and drink. After that…we’ll talk.”

In spite of her pain, she shot him a seductive glance. The beneath-her-lashes one. “Just talk?”

He laughed and shook his head as he headed for the door. “Ye’re incorrigible,
wife
.”

“Of course. That’s why you married me,
husband
.” She yelled after him as the door closed.

It was funny. She was actually enjoying herself, in spite of her discomfort. She’d wanted an adventure and now it appeared that she was having one. With difficulty she slithered out of her chemise and gingerly moved first one leg and then the other in to the tub.

Easing down, taking her weight on her arms, and finally ending up submerged in hot water…well it was bliss, all right. Not quite as erotic as she’d hoped for, but then again, the night was young.

With that intriguing thought, she reached for the soap and began to wash.

The inn was overflowing as Ian reached the ground floor and turned in search of some food. The lad hadn’t lied—it was busy as could be with barely room to squeeze behind knots of people.

“What’s afoot then?” He asked a man standing by the fireplace. “Whole lot of folks here for something…”

“Aye.” The man nodded. “Big day at market tomorrow. Harvest’ll be in soon and prices have to be determined. Every local farmer will bring his anticipated yields and the Agricultural Committee will set the rates. So a lot depends on this market, every year. More wheat, lower prices. Less beans, higher prices. D’ye see?”

“I do.” Ian had run across a few such arrangements before. Mostly they worked well for farmers, averaging out the differences in farms and crops. “Where’s it to be then?”

“Right in town center, lad. You can’t miss it.”

Ian smiled his thanks and moved on. While his body thought of Amelia, naked upstairs in that tub, his mind had not lost complete touch with his mission. So he moved into the tap and over toward where there was food on the tables, correctly deducing that somewhere nearby were the kitchens.

Following his nose, he found himself in the very rear of the inn, surrounded by heat and noise and pots and pans. Not to mention the most delicious smell of fresh bread. His mouth watered as he moved to look at the loaves cooling on a cloth near the fire.

“Ian McPherson, as I live and breathe. What’re ye doin’ here, lad?”

He turned, stared and then grinned as he recognized Hetty Kincannon, a woman he’d known at Kilmalochan. “Hetty, you’re as pretty as ever.” He hugged her.

“Och, go on w’ ye.” She glowed. “I’d chat but it’s a right bustle we’re in.”

“I can see that,” he nodded. “Could ye spare a wee loaf and some o’ that stew that smells like the angels just made it?”

“Just you?”

Ian paused, knowing he was about to take a rather large step. “Nay. Me and ma wife.”

Hetty’s eyes widened. “Yer ne’er say…”

“I do indeed.”

“Well I ne’er dreamed…” She hurried to a cupboard and seized a tray, filling it with plates and pots and cutlery and then adding bread, a pat or two of butter and the stew. “If ye can manage all this, I’ll send along a bit of ma honey puddin’ fer ye.”

His mouth watered. “Hetty, you are a gift. I always said so.”

“You did that,” she hugged him. “’T’is so proud I am of ye. Ye’ll be takin’ the lass home to Kilmalochan then?”

“Soon, I hope.” The thought reminded him of something. “Hetty, if I were lookin’ for a wee bit o’ bauble for my lass, would I find anything at this market, tomorrow, d’ye think?”

“Hmm.” She frowned. “Well now, seems I’ve heard of a gentleman what likes to offer baubles at a good price. Too good if yer was to ask me.” She narrowed her eyes. “Would it be yersel’ that’s askin’ or the Runner?”

He held a finger to his lips. “Sshh. Would the answer be the same?”

“Aye, it would. Man by the name o’ Royce.”

“Then enough said, m’dearlin’. And I thank ye for the tray and the information.”

With much dexterity he negotiated his way back through the crowd and brought the tray to their door unscathed. He tapped, then walked in.

Amelia rose from the tub like Venus arising from the foam. It was all Ian could do to keep his tongue in his mouth, let alone a grip on the tray.

“For the sweet Lord’s sake, woman.” He slammed the tray on the bureau and shut the door behind him with a bang. “Are you trying to kill me or just show off that fine body to anyone passing our door?”

“I’m so sorry,” she looked down demurely. “But I couldn’t reach a cloth to dry myself.”

“You are going way too far overboard, Amelia.” He sighed and fetched the cloth, passing it to her as if she had the plague.

She pouted. “You’re not being very nice.”

“I’m not feeling very nice.” He took off his jacket and hung it behind the door on a handy peg. He also hung up her skirt and bodice, shaking them out before he did so.

“How
are
you feeling then?” She made an ineffective attempt to cover herself but it failed. She gave up and dried her legs, giving Ian a perfect view of just about everything.

And it
was
perfect.

Her skin was a wash of creamy silk, with one small beauty spot just below her left breast. Her nipples were deep rose, a little puckered now, hinting at those taut buds so ready to protrude.

As she moved, he caught tantalizing glimpses of her woman’s hair, tight dark curls hiding her sex, and contrasting with the smooth belly above.

Then she turned around, managing to get one foot dry and out of the tub. The view changed from magnificent to sublime.

Ian caught his breath at the sight of her bottom, rosy from the hot water, and full—just the way he liked a woman’s arse to be. His hands itched to caress those cheeks, and his mouth watered from the urge to nibble them and then delve down deeper into the secrets hidden from his gaze.

His shirt was off before he knew it, and his boots hit the floor with a resounding thud.

She kept her back to him, put the cloth aside, and reached up to unfasten her hair. As it tumbled down over the ivory of her skin, Ian surrendered. He couldn’t fight his instincts—and her desires—any more.

He stepped to her, cock hard, heart thundering, and placed his hands on her waist. “It’s time, Amelia. I canna wait longer.”

She turned, her breasts grazing his chest like tiny twin firebrands. “Neither can I.”

*~~*~~*

It was what the past weeks and months had been leading up to, ever since she’d first seen him at DeVere House in London.

He’d stayed in the back of her mind, haunted her in odd ways, behaved unlike any of the suitors she’d experienced and generally irritated her. He’d also aroused her on a level that put the rest of her lovers to shame.

And now, finally, after baring herself to him—by ‘accident’ of course—she’d finally achieved her goal. He was desperate for her. And that’s how she liked her men.

She slid her arms up around his neck and waited for his embrace.

And waited.

She coyly glanced upward.

He was watching her, his gaze roaming over her face and down over her shoulders. His hands traced an idle tickling pattern over her spine, but other than that, he didn’t touch her.

He was hard…he pressed into her belly, a cock of iron ready for action. So what was the delay?

“Ian?” She reached to pull his head to hers.

“Not yet.” He grasped her wrist, grabbed the other arm, and locked both her arms together with one of his. He had her helpless, hands behind her back, and although she tried to move a little, he’d have none of it.

“Not until we’re ready.” He leaned down and kissed her neck, following that with a nip to her earlobe.

“I’m ready,” she whispered.

“I know. But not ready enough.”

He tugged on her wrists, pulling her backward a little, arching her spine and letting her bend against him. This thrust her breasts out and upward and her loins pushed into his. He speared her with his cock and she sighed. It was so strong, and she could feel how well-endowed he was.

Then he bent to her breasts. And went to work. The laving of his tongue was wonderful—warm, tender, teasing and arousing. He took his time and she was glad of it, since it gave her a rare chance to experience each phase of her arousal one by one.

His tongue grew more demanding, suckling now, sometimes gently, sometimes roughly, forcing her to bend even further as he sucked as much of her breast as he could fit into his mouth.

His other hand rubbed a nipple, harshly, making her writhe and moan as pleasure and pain grew closer to each other.

Then he bit, not hard, but enough to shock her and send bolts of shock to her pussy. She staggered and he let her fall, wheeling her so that the bed was beneath her.

“God, Ian…” she whispered the words as she dropped, only to have him follow her and steal what was left of her breath with his mouth. He took her lips, tongue inside, teeth grazing teeth, a savage, lust-filled kiss that swept her up and into his passion.

He rubbed her body with his, abrading sensitive nipples with the planes of his chest, and forcing her legs apart with his leg. As he continued to plunge his tongue deeply into her mouth, his thigh found her sex and pressed into the tender folds, adding even more sensation to her exploding arousal.

She rode him, feeling the juices already leaking from her body to turn his skin slick with her silk. She moaned, low and deep, as the pressure to come grew more insistent and her hips followed his leg in a vain attempt to keep the pressure where she wanted it.

He pulled away.

“Not yet.”

“Ian,
fuck me…please
…”

“Not yet.”

She was going to have to kill him. If he didn’t fuck her soon, she would come, alone and empty. She did not want that. If he said
not yet
once more, she’d sink her teeth into his neck, tear his throat out—and probably come at the same moment.

He ripped his mouth from hers, rolled away from her body and gripped her, turning her onto her stomach. He straddled her, cock hard where it landed on her skin, and hands stroking down her sides, teasing already tormented breasts where they squashed out against the bedding.

“God, ye’re perfect, woman.”

His nails raked down her spine to her backside. He cupped her buttocks and she felt him move lower as he bent to lick from neck to tailbone and then nip her arse cheeks.

He followed that with a sharp slap.

“Ow…” She jumped, then moaned again as his tongue soothed the sting away. Again, and once more, a sharp slap preceded a heated caress…her head was swimming now, her body awash in her own arousal and her pussy aching for attention.

His weight disappeared and he lifted her to her hands and knees. She gasped, dizzy, her eyes closed as the feelings he was arousing overwhelmed her and her head sank into the pillows.

His cock touched her, rubbing through her hot honey, teasing the lips that wanted to part just for him. She spread her legs, a silent invitation, a sign of welcome he’d be hard pressed to miss.

She groaned as the tip pressed inward, finally stretching the opening to her body.

And then it stopped.

Her brain formed wordless oaths as this man, who had some kind of iron will and the patience to match, teased her shuddering pussy with the tip of his cock. Never going deep enough to please her, nor pulling out completely and leaving her bereft.

“
Aaargh
…Jesus…” The shattered sob of a plea failed to move him, but brought another stinging slap that nearly pushed her over the edge. She felt her orgasm tense her entire body…but then the bastard pulled out and everything slid to a stop.

Tingling, soaked, needy, ready to scream like the proverbial banshee and wake half of Scotland, Amelia finally opened her eyes as he rolled her onto her back. “Ian, I can’t…”

“You can.” He looked down at her. His cheeks were flushed, his eyelids heavy with passion. “You can,
and you will
.”

His hands slid beneath her legs and he pulled them wide as he knelt, sliding up between them and lifting her buttocks onto his thighs. She was open, vulnerable and so blind with desire that he could have hung her upside down and she wouldn’t have cared.

As long as he fucked her.

Now
.

At long last, with a soft sigh she barely heard, Amelia was pleased to receive the entire length of Ian McPherson in one massive thrust.

He was huge, harder than steel and shaped to fit her like a sword in its scabbard.

She exploded around him with a force that shook her back teeth. The world ended, collapsed in on itself, and turned into a maelstrom of tiny lights whirling behind her eyelids.

He moved and she cried out, coming again, or continuing to come, or something insanely incredible she’d never imagined. His thrusts became even more powerful, shifting her, throwing another sensation into the vortex, until finally he froze, his body rigid as the Scottish mountains, and his hands holding her so tightly she could do nothing else but fly with him. Again.

His long groan of pleasure rumbled through her bones, as the spasms still trembled and his cock throbbed, spurting his seed deep and strong, into the waiting emptiness within her.

And just like that, Amelia surfaced.

Oh dear God. What had they done
?