The Highlander (8 page)

Oh, he knew what he was about, and although she knew he was beginning to draw her under his powerful control with the innocent reassurance of his kiss and the gentle stroke of his hands, she was powerless to stop him, because deep, deep down she wanted this, and had wanted it almost from the first.

She was as ripe as a fig ready for the plucking, and she knew it the moment his hands touched her.

Faintly aware of the sound of rain tapping at the window, she responded passionately when his mouth came hungering, but this time he did not kiss her with the same intensely hot kiss as before, but a kiss that merely brushed her lips lightly, teasing and drawing her out to make her yearn for it, driving her to seek the heat, the searing heat that he had branded her with earlier.

She moaned her disenchantment and pulled his face down to hers, until their lips were touching.

This time, it was he who groaned, and the feeling of having this power over him returned, and with it the deep craving for more. As if sensing her frustration, he brought his fingers to her lips and with subdued pressure parted them, before replacing his fingers with his mouth, and reducing her to a molten lump of yearning.

She never knew there was more to kissing than simply bringing two sets of lips together. His kisses were plundering, consuming, and evoked all kinds of responses from her she never knew herself capable of making.

Oh, please, she thought. That cannot be me moaning again.

Why would anyone whimper when they kissed? And why did it make one's heart beat faster? Or their lips feel all swollen and hot? She remembered the women at court and the countless affairs that went on all around her. She called to mind the men who made it their profession to seduce women. And lastly, she recalled the way they would leave soon after the conquest, to seduce someone else.

"Please..." she whispered. "Oh, please stop."

Her words seemed to drive him onward with renewed vigor, and she was already dizzy from the rush of the last onslaught. She could feel the smooth hardness of his muscles beneath her hands, as his own hands slipped lingering over her torso and down the flat surface of her stomach. She could feel his prick hard against her hip again, and gasped when his hand slipped lower to the vee between her legs—although she had to admit that it fit so perfectly there—she wondered if it had been created for that specific purpose.

His hand began to emulate perfectly the thrust and rhythm of his tongue, and her body seemed to take over and do her thinking for her, which was all right, since she was completely incapable of thinking of anything at the moment save all the delicious things he was doing to her and the way her body seemed to blossom under the touch of his hand.

A booming clap of thunder saved her virginity.

At least that is what she thought later, for there was little doubt in her mind that if it had not ripped across the sky at that particular moment to rattle the panes of glass at the windows, she would have ended up flat on her back, legs spread wide, with Jamie Graham teaching her everything he knew about lovemaking, which would probably take eons.

Dizzy from the sudden jerk back to reality, she pulled back from him and brought her hands to her temples. She had come dangerously close to being completely absorbed by him, and on the verge of losing her common sense along with her virginity.

Did she not have enough troubles without giving in to more?

She had lost her country, her home and her family. A day ago she had almost died. She was living a lie and pretending to be something and someone she was not. Her very life was at stake, and what was she doing? Becoming awestruck and completely captivated by a man she had known only a few hours.

All she had was her virginity, and she had almost begged him to take that.

Kissing was one thing, becoming a
courtisane
was something else entirely. She would have to be very, very careful around him from now on.

She made the mistake of taking no more than a quick peek at him and saw those green eyes of his missed nothing, for he seemed to look into her very soul, probing for answers to questions only he knew. She did not understand why she kept having the same feeling around him that she had when she was being sucked under the waters of the North Sea, afraid she was drowning and incapable of saving herself.

"It's raining," she said, needing some diversion and time to regroup. She desperately needed to recover and plan her defenses for the onslaught of his next attack—which was surely to come.

"Aye, lass, I ken it is raining," he said, the drone of his Scots burr coming like a purr from deep in his throat. "You will become accustomed to it in time."

"It rains a great deal, does it not?"

"Only twice a year—October to May, and June to September."

She laughed, thankful for the gift of humor that was suddenly bestowed upon her. "Well, at least it is easy to predict the weather then."

"Aye, if ye can see the Grampians it is going to rain. If ye canna see the Grampians 'tis already raining."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, and completely captivated by his chiseled features. All this and humor, too, she thought.

He kept her under his scrutiny for a moment or two, then kissed her lightly on the nose before he stood and pulled her up with him.

"You should get dressed. I need to see to the horses and bring in more wood."

She pulled the plaid around her and gathered up his sister's clothes that he had brought down for her.

It felt strange to think about wearing another woman's undergarments as well as her clothes, but Sophie was thankful that Jamie's sister was about her size, and that her taste in clothing was very similar to hers. Considering the fact they were of very different nationalities, she found that one little tidbit made her feel optimistic. Perhaps they might have a few other things in common, as well.

As she made her way trudgingly up the stairs and down the hallway to her room, she could not help wondering about this strange, enigmatic Scot. Who was Jamie Graham really? One moment she felt as if she had known him forever and that she could practically see straight into his heart, only to find the next moment he had become a complete stranger—cold, aloof and distant.

Once in her room, she saw he had built up the fire and the room was much warmer than when she had left it earlier. The fire was warm and tranquilizing, and the bed so inviting she could not resist. She decided to lie down only for little a while, not to sleep, mind you, but simply to rest her eyes.

The moment her head touched the pillow, she was overcome with drowsiness.

When she awoke, she knew she must have slept longer than she should have, for the sun had dropped lower in the sky, and the fire that had burned so brightly before was now nothing more than smoldering ashes.

Although still plagued with a feeling of fatigue, she did feel a bit better. As she donned her borrowed gown and dressed her hair, she wondered how long she would continue to be exhausted of both strength and energy. She knew it was vanity on her part to long for a looking glass so she might see how the dress of gold brocade looked on her. And for a moment her weariness was forgotten.

Feeling like a woman for the first time since her ordeal, she went below stairs. Jamie was not in the kitchen, so she wandered about, looking in several of the rooms. Sophie ended up taking a rather lengthy tour of the beautiful rooms that made up the first floor of Danegaeld Hall, although she still did not find Jamie.

It was only when she returned to the kitchen that she found him standing in front of the window with his back to her.

She glanced at the table and saw two places set. A pot bubbled merrily over the fire. The kitchen was warm, she was clean and wearing a dress. She inhaled the delicious fragrance of food, unable to believe she was feeling famished again.
              

She would have felt the promise in the moment, but when she looked back at the black silhouette of him against the pale gray of the sky outside, he appeared touchingly solitary to her, and something about it reached out to her.

As if drawn to him by some unknown force, she crossed the room quietly, her slippers making no sound, and came within mere inches of his back.

She lifted her hand to touch him but stopped short of doing so. She had no idea why she'd come so brazenly to where he stood, or what she expected to happen now that she had been so bold. It was as if something or someone had taken control and was guiding her steps, and she was powerless to do anything but obey.

What was the commanding influence that gave him authority over her and seemingly negated her own will?

He did not hear her enter, but he sensed her presence.

Still, he did not turn toward her, for he preferred to wait and see what she would do. He had been thinking about her during her absence, and went so far as to go to her room to see about her when she did not return after so long a time.

When he'd opened her door, he saw immediately that she was sleeping, and upon closer inspection, he saw the dark circles beneath her eyes, the fatigue that went to her very center. Her ordeal had weakened her, and it would take some time for her to fully recover the loss of so much of her vitality. He thought of how close she had come to dying, and was thankful Tavish had found her when he did.

He wanted her. It was obvious to him the moment he returned below stairs, for the rooms seemed suddenly empty and cold without her. He did not understand it, for he could never remember being so preoccupied with a woman before.

He regretted he had allowed his desire for her to build into a driving need to copulate, just as he was sorry that it pushed him to the point of almost seducing her—when she was still weak of body, and inexperienced when it came to lovemaking. A woman like her deserved more, and yet, around her he was a predatory animal.

It was all pure lusting instinct and the need to possess. Yet, he knew once would never be enough, for she was the kind of woman a man kept beside him.

In the back of his mind, he kept asking himself if he frightened her. It had all happened so fast that he did not have''time to consider anything except making love to her. It had taken a bolt of thunder to bring them both to their senses, although he considered all the blame to be his.

Still standing behind him, Sophie lifted her hand to test the texture of his hair that was tied back with a leather thong.

He turned suddenly, and tried to understand what was happening here. This strength of feeling, this compelling desire, the tender emotion was both alien and strong, and it lodged like the sharpest lance in his heart.

She was wearing Arabella's dress, but his sister had never looked so good in it, for the deep gold color was not as becoming to her coloring. But on Sophie, it only served to draw out the golden tones of her skin and the warm brown tones of her chestnut hair. The light from the fire illuminated her with a pearly glow, and he found her so lovely he ached to take her in his arms.

The moment he turned, she dropped her hand and stood quietly before him. She seemed uncertain, and thoughtfully quiet, and he found this unsettling, for it was he who was so uncertain. "Ye fear me."

She did not answer him at first, and he was about to turn back to the window when she said, "I do not fear you, but who I am—what I become when I am with you."

"You are still the same person, in my presence or away from it. You have not changed. Only your circumstances have."

"No, you are wrong. I have changed a great deal, and there is no going back."

"What do you mean, 'changed'? How so?"

"I know things. I feel them. There is now awareness where there was nothing before."

"What kind of things?"

"Knowledge...the forbidden fruit. It is as if I have been locked out of my own world. I no longer know myself or my capabilities."

"Ahh, you feel..."

"Immoral."

He frowned.
Immoral?
That was not the word he was thinking of. "You aren't immoral, you are only awakening to your own wants and desires that have been dormant since you were born. Clear your mind of any prudish thoughts. There is a first time for all of us."

That brought a smile to her shapely, made-for-kissing lips. "Somehow I cannot believe there was ever a first time for you. I think you are superhuman, a being beyond ordinary understanding. I do not think you were ever an apprentice. You are like Athena, who leaped forth from the brain of Zeus, mature and wearing full amour. Oh, I do not know what I am saying. I rattle on like a babbling drunk. I keep having the compunction to speak, even when I have nothing to say. Perhaps I swallowed too much seawater. I hear it does strange things to the mind."