The Pleasure Master (14 page)

She had time to register only basic things. Ian, a strange woman, an incredible bed. The woman seated in a chair by the fire turned her head from Kathy. Ian rose from his chair and strode to the door.

“Ye'd better have good reason for interrupting so.” His body filled the doorway, blocking out the light from within, hiding the woman.

Kathy stared up at his shadowed face. His eyes
gleamed silver even in the dim light, and she felt his anger like a physical blow.

Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea. She'd been so worried about the creatures of the night outside the cave that she'd forgotten Ian Ross fell into the same category.

“I . . . I have to go.”

He frowned. “Ye've found a way to return to yer kingdom?”

“No, I mean I have to
go.
”

She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“I wouldna stop ye.”

“Um, I really don't want to use the chamber pot, so I thought maybe you'd walk outside with me and sort of stand guard while I . . .”

“Aye. Stand guard.” He turned his head back to the woman, and an unspoken agreement must have passed between them because Ian stepped out of the room.

Wordlessly, Kathy followed him out of the cave.

A few minutes later, Kathy emerged from the undergrowth. Damn and double damn. She'd never pass the bathroom tissue section of a supermarket again without expressing her heartfelt appreciation to the unknown inventor.

She pulled a twig from her hair, then brushed leaves from various parts of her body. She'd
never
adapt to this. Kathy Bartlett wasn't an adaptable kind of person. She didn't do the back-to-nature thing. Dad had learned that on their first camping trip. She wished Dad were here now to bundle her
into his car and drive her back to modern plumbing and electricity.

Okay, finished whining. Drawing a deep breath, she started back to where Ian waited.
Not
patiently.

Relieved, Kathy saw the woman standing beside him. He wouldn't yell at her in front of company, would he? Her relief disappeared when the woman walked away from him toward a grove of trees. A dark silhouette separated itself from the shadows to meet the woman, and they disappeared in the night.

Great. Just great. Alone with Mr. Dark-and-Furious.

He said nothing when she reached him, only led her back to the main chamber. She stopped. “Thanks a lot. I can sleep now.”

He kept walking. “Come.”

Kathy Bartlett didn't answer to one word commands. “I don't think so. I'm really tired.” She plunked herself on her furs.

Wordlessly, he returned to where she sat, scooped her up, carried her to his room, then set her on her feet. She was too shocked even to kick and threaten him with legal action.

“Okay, now that you've shown me how big and strong you are, I'll go back to sleep.” She tried unsuccessfully to control her voice's slight quaver.

“Ye willna.”

Well, that was pretty clear.

She tried pushing past him to the entrance, but it was like shoving against a wall. “What're you trying to prove, Ross?”

“Ye didna call out.”

Kathy sighed. “Okay, I didn't call out. I'm sorry.”

“Ye were curious.”

Truth time. “Yes.”

He reached for her wrist, then dragged her farther into the room. Uh-oh. Time to worry,
really
worry.

“Ye wish to know what the Pleasure Master does. 'Tis time ye learned.” Dropping her wrist, he moved past her, and she followed him with her gaze.

“Come to me, Kathy of Hair.”

Her eyes widened, her heart pounded, and she tried unsuccessfully to swallow as her gaze shifted from Ian to what stood beside him.

The Bed.

“You have a
gold
bed?” she whispered.

“'Tis gilded. This was the only thing besides Malin's ancestors that my great grandfather brought home wi' him.” Ian slid his hand down the post, which was carved into the shape of a writhing snake.

The bed glowed molten in the candle flame, its silk hangings a shimmering crimson flow of sensuality.

“Are those paintings on it?” She still couldn't force her voice above a whisper because the bed felt like . . .

“Aye. Come closer.”

She didn't want to, but the bed drew her,
he
drew her. She moved closer and peered at the many scenes painted in deep rich detail. She saw a man
who looked very much like Ian and a woman. They were . . . “Ohmigod. In every painting they're . . .”

“Enjoying each other's bodies. The woman who owned my great grandfather had this bed made to celebrate their joinings. Each time he pleased her more than the last, she had a scene painted on the bed.”

“Is this where you . . . ? ”

“Nay. I use the outer chamber, but ye were there, and I didna wish to disturb ye.”

Kathy watched, fascinated, as he ran his fingers across one of the painted scenes. She'd never known there were so many ways to . . . enjoy a man's body. “Why is there a blank space here near this post?” She pointed. No way would she touch.

“The woman died, and my great grandfather said there were none that came after her worthy of a scene.” He shrugged. “It has remained so since then.”

“He must have loved her very much.” She still couldn't speak above a hushed whisper.

Ian frowned. “'Twas not love. She gave him more pleasure than any other. She taught him the secrets of the Pleasure Master.”

“Sorry, didn't mean to mention the
L
word.”
What are those secrets?
No, she didn't want to know. Ian was as foreign to her as a man could be. A beautiful, sleek creature of the night. “Do you ever sleep in the bed?”

He shook his head, and his hair caught and held the candle-glow. “No one has slept on it since my
great grandfather. My father and grandfather said 'twas too strange and would make those that came to them uncomfortable. I have kept it because 'tis a symbol of what I am.”

“Will you ever sleep on it?”

His lips curved in a mocking smile. “I'll bed the lass I love on it.”

In other words, never.

“Why have ye been whispering? There are none to hear us.” He slid his hand over her hair, curled a strand around his finger, then pulled. He held the strand up to the light. “Yer hair shines gold like the bed.”

Like the bed? Maybe she needed a little more ash in her color. “Have I been whispering?” She forced her voice to a normal volume, but it sounded almost disrespectful in the presence of the bed.

The bed was of the night, just like its owner. Funny, but she'd always pictured a bed made for sex as being built of dark wood and velvet.

It wasn't. This golden bed with its erotic paintings, crimson silk hangings, and posts carved into sinuous snakes was sex, sin, and all that was carnal. It scared the hell out of her.

“Well, thanks for showing me the bed. I'll go back to sleep now.” She edged toward the entrance and held her breath, praying that he'd allow her to escape. She frowned. Escape didn't have a good sound to it.

He followed her, trapping her in an aura she knew must be as red as his bed hangings.

“Ye still dinna understand what I am.”

She glanced past him at the bed. “I get the general concept. Now can I leave?”

“Nay.”

He spoke the word softly, but he might as well have shouted it, because the force of his utterance flattened her against the wall. She held her hands stiffly at her sides, knowing that if she raised them to ward him off, she'd end up with her palms splayed across his wide chest, feeling the solidness of muscle and flesh, the strong pounding of his heart.

His lips curved up—secretive, sexual. “Ye may touch me, Kathy.”

With a distant part of her mind, she noted his abandonment of her title. “Touch you? I don't want to touch you. Why would I want to do that?” She clenched her fists to keep her hands at her sides.

“Ye dinna lie well, lass.” His gaze never wavered from her face. “I want to touch
ye.
I want to touch the fear in ye and change it to hunger.”

“I'm not afraid of you.” Which wasn't exactly true. Her senses were already gorging, but the excess baggage she'd toted behind her to this time would keep her on a strict diet. Fear of being hurt, of being a failure again, were strong appetite suppressers.

His smile widened as he reached past her and pulled the tapestry aside. The brush of his chest against her nipples dragged a gasp from her. “Go and sit by the fire while I tell ye more about the Pleasure Master.”

She heard only the word “Go” as she hurried
back to the main chamber, then sat down on her furs. Safe. He sat down beside her.
Maybe not so safe.

“The woman ye saw came only to speak of how to please a man. She is a widow who was married to one who wanted only compliance. She will soon marry a man who expects her to know much about pleasuring him.”

“What did you tell her?”
Did you give her a hands-on demonstration?

He acknowledged her unspoken question with a grin. “I told her of places to touch a man that would drive him mad wi' want of her and how to gain her own release when she held him deep inside her—”

“Okay, heard enough, don't want to hear anymore.”
Where
would you touch a man? She supposed he didn't mean the obvious places. But she wouldn't ask, didn't want to know.

“I don't understand why she'd come to you, though. She looked as though she'd traveled a long distance. Couldn't she have found someone closer to tell her those things?”

He studied her from under half-lowered lids, and she resisted the urge to squirm. “There are those who could tell her about the touching, but the touching comes last. She has wealth and can afford to travel to one who knows what comes before.”

“And that would be . . . ?”

“In time, lass.” His smile was full of wicked promise. “I'll teach ye of what comes before and the places ye may touch a man.” He stopped smiling. “And the places a man may touch
ye.
” He left
her. Left her to dream of his hard body, spread for her enjoyment. His hands, his mouth touching every part of her, wringing a response from her that she ached for,
feared.

She opened her eyes to morning light shining through the roof opening and Baby Born sitting whole on the shelf beside the hearth.

Shifting her gaze, she saw Ian seated by the fire. He was dressed, but his hair was still damp. He must have visited his cave pool. No pool for her this morning. She wanted warm water.

“You're up early, Ian.” She rose, thankful for the gown Mary had given her. It covered her from neck to toe, and after her conversation with Ian last night, plus her vivid dreams, she felt the need to hide behind an armor of cloth. As if that would make any difference to Ian.

“Aye. I was speaking wi' Peter. He has told me that life is like a box of chocolates and that I'll ne'er know what I'll get. 'Tis a wise thought.”

“But not totally original.” She sidled over to Ian and sat down beside him. First she'd lull him with ordinary conversation. “I noticed that you didn't take Baby Born apart.”

He glanced at the doll. “When I looked at her, I knew I wouldna be able to put her back together again. I dinna take things apart if 'twill destroy them.”

A deeper understanding arced between them. “Remember that, Ian. Please remember that.”

He nodded, then returned his attention to Peter. “Yon toy is stranger than the others.”

She wasn't interested in Peter right now; she was interested in a warm bath. “I don't know. Toy technology has really skyrocketed. You'd be surprised what toys can do.”

She glanced at Peter, but the toy's lights remained dark. “I was really desperate for toys, and I needed them fast. So I stopped at this strip mall with a bunch of stores that had only a few toys left. The store where I got Peter didn't even have a sign outside. But there he was, sitting on the shelf with a price underneath him. He was the only one left, and I didn't see any salespeople around, so I left the money on the counter and ran to the next store. I wasn't even sure what he did, but I couldn't be picky.”

“Mayhap he can do more than ye know.”

His gaze shifted to her, and she felt the shock as though it were the first time. How did he do that? “I've already asked him to send me home, and I'm still here.”

“Mayhap he doesna wish to send ye home.” His gaze slid the length of her gown as though it were invisible.

She didn't want to think about not going home.

“You mentioned yesterday that I could have a warm bath if I wanted.” After getting the warm water, she'd worry about getting Ian Ross out of the cave.

He smiled and his gaze heated. Uh-oh. She
wanted hot water, not hot gazes. “If it's too much trouble, don't bother.”

“'Tis no trouble.”

He rose, and before she could even close her gaping mouth, he'd stripped, then tied his shirt around his waist. “I dinna want to get my plaid wet when I draw yer bath. 'Tis verra uncomfortable traveling wi' wet clothing.”

“Sure. Uncomfortable.” The light from the hearth highlighted wide shoulders, muscled chest, powerful thighs, and strong legs. He oozed potent sensuality, and kick her if she ever asked for warm water again.

With unblinking intensity, she watched him carry water to the tub he'd placed in front of the fire. She noted the sweat from his exertion that made his body glisten, the smooth slide of muscles as he moved, the tantalizing view of firm buttocks as he bent over the tub.

When he'd finished, he stood in front of her, his feet planted wide. She slid her gaze up the long length of his body only to discover a knowing grin.

“Did ye see all that needed seeing?”