The Pleasure Master (23 page)

“Yes.”
It was the only word she could think of, the only one that expressed what she felt.

A fleeting thought. Amazing that the magic he was creating with his lips, tongue, and teeth canceled
out all other brain activity. Her whole sensory world narrowed to his touch.

He moved his hand to her other breast, rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then placed his whole hand over her breast, a subtle signal of possession she'd never thought she'd enjoy. Life would be perfect if he'd only do something about the heavy ache building between her legs. She clenched her thighs tightly, holding his hand hostage to her need.

When he raised his head, abandoning her breast, she found she could say one other word. “No.”

Cool air fanned across her breast, still damp from his mouth. Warm air touched her nipple as he chuckled softly.

“Ye must understand I have but one mouth, and I would put it to better use.” His husky murmur promised she'd enjoy any use to which he put his mouth.

He moved down, trailing hot kisses over her body. She should make it harder for him, she should. . . . Her body wasn't listening. Her legs spread wide, welcoming him, without her permission.

Moving between her legs, he put his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her to meet his bent head, his hungry lips. At some point he'd rid himself of his covering, and his erection was smooth velvet stretched tight over veins that throbbed with the blood feeding his need.

She wanted to touch,
needed
to touch him. But the thought was lost the moment he put his mouth
on her. The heat of his lips, the slide of his tongue across flesh already moist and ready for him brought her close to screaming.

She wanted. . . . She wanted. . . . Almost at the point where nothing would matter except the sensation of him thrusting into her, filling her,
completing
her, she had to let him know how much she needed to touch him.

“Ian, let me touch you.”
Let me slide my fingers across your flesh, feel you move beneath my hand, share my desire.

“Dinna fash yerself, lass.” His husky murmur invited her to sink back into the sensation. “Let me pleasure ye. Ye need do nothing but take joy from it.”

“Lie back and relax, Kathy. I know what'll turn you on. Let me do the work.”
Her husband's superior words and smile drifted through her mind. She stiffened.

Suddenly, Ian withdrew. Her pounding heart slowed, her breathing grew steady, the haze of sexual anticipation faded. Weakly, she pushed her nightgown down, then turned her head to look at him.

He stood, then wrapped the cloth around his waist again. His gaze was cool, detached. She shivered. How could he look as though he hadn't been a heartbeat away from thrusting into her? How could he turn cold so quickly?

At least she could still see the outline of his erection through the cloth. He wasn't
that
detached. “Why did you stop?”

“Ye said no.” He raked his fingers through his tangled hair, his only sign of agitation.

“I didn't say anything.”

“Ye did. I felt it.” His glance was merely curious. “But I would know why ye changed yer mind.”

“You wouldn't let me touch you. I needed to feel . . . involved.”
Weak, Bartlett.
She fiddled with the tie on her nightgown, any excuse not to meet his gaze. “My husband wanted to do it all, too. He thought I should just lie back and enjoy it.”

Ian looked puzzled. “From what ye've told me, yer husband didna give ye much to lie back and enjoy. He thought only of his pride, while I would give ye true pleasure.”

“And win the challenge. Don't forget the challenge.” Kathy was furious, angrier than she'd ever been with her husband, and that was a revelation since she'd only known Ian for a few days. “You know what, Ian Ross? You need to get in touch with your emotions. Until you do, I can't call you the Pleasure Master, because true pleasure for a woman includes
feelings.”

“I havena found it so.”

She tried to offer him a calm smile, but she was shaking inside. “How about if I call you the
Pleasant
Master, because that's all you'll ever be to me.”

He narrowed his eyes, and in the dim light he looked like the dangerous stranger he really was. Shadows turned his face into harsh angles, and his hair falling across his bare shoulders completed the picture of primitive anger. “The
Pleasant
Master? Many would argue wi' ye, Kathy of Hair. Mayhap
ye need to learn the real meaning of hunger for a man's body, a hunger that doesna care whether he loves or hates, whether he lets ye touch him or not.”

“You can't do it, Ian. I'm not one of the women who come to you in the night, all soft and do-itany-way-you-want compliant.”

His smile was easy, confident, but his eyes were still cold. “Are ye challenging me, Kathy of Hair?”

She smiled back. “Consider yourself challenged.” She shook her head in mock sorrow. “Looks like you're going to have challenges lined up all the way to town at the rate you're going.”

He shrugged. “I enjoy
some
challenges.” His gaze turned predatory. “Know this, Kathy. I willna touch ye wi' my body unless ye ask, but I
will
touch ye.”

She didn't like the sound of that. “What do you . . .”

She was talking to air, because he'd turned and strode from the cave.

Carefully, she drew the furs up to her neck. Feeling safe, she considered her mixed feelings about Ian Ross, and everything surrounding him.

Why had she tried so hard to protect him from the Mackays today? Simple. If anything happened to Ian, she'd be at the mercy of people like the village priest. Her reaction had been self-serving and didn't have anything to do with feelings for Ian as a man.

Okay, then why had she called Peter her friend and Malin her cat? She'd been in an emotional
frenzy and not responsible for ridiculous statements. There. All explained.

And she was truly safe from Ian, because if he couldn't touch her, then what could he do? She fell asleep with that satisfying thought.

The need to escape pushed at Ian. He strode from the cave, then stood drawing in deep breaths of the cold night air. But even here she followed him. Her laughter, her scent, the feel of her skin beneath his fingers. He suspected he'd take her memory into the very fires of Hell, if Father Gregory's prediction came true.

He needed to bed the lass, then send her on her way. After pleasuring her, he'd find she was like all others. Until then, he must fight this fascination she held for him. Since her arrival, he'd cared nothing for any who might seek him, had felt relief that none had desired to lie with him.

Ian lifted his gaze to the moon, half hidden by clouds. He must remember who he was, who he would always be.

“You use sex to express every emotion except love.”

Ian looked down to find that Peter had followed him. For once Malin wasn't draped across the toy's top. “I dinna need love. I want only sexual pleasure. Why would I want a woman's heart?”

“Never underestimate the power of denial.”

Ian smiled. “What are ye then, a wee match-maker, that ye would plead the cause of love?”

“It's the truth. From a certain point of view.”

“Ye waste yer time, Peter. I willna fall in love wi' Kathy. 'Twould mean the loss of who I am, and a man is nothing if he knows not who he is.” He must learn to guard himself from growing too close to the lass. No woman had ever stirred his anger, nor any strong feeling other than physical satisfaction, until Kathy arrived. “I dinna understand my promise not to touch her. 'Twill make the challenge more difficult. 'Twas my pride speaking, and my pride doesna always speak wisely.”

“She was a thief. You've got to believe me. She stole my heart and my cat.”

Ian leveled a hard stare at Peter. “Ye amuse me, but I still believe ye're responsible for Kathy's journey from her own land.” Something Kathy had said nudged at him. “Ye speak only lines from movies. Mayhap Kathy must think more on these lines.” He turned back to the cave, considering what he'd just said. It made little sense, but then nothing about Peter made much sense.

As he moved down the tunnel, he could hear Peter clattering behind him. “Ye're a wee evil demon,
to play wi' humans so.” Ian could find no anger to put into his comment; against all reason, he liked Peter.

“Evil will always win, because good is dumb.”

Something in Peter's tone gave Ian pause. This didn't sound like the mindless chatter he'd grown used to. Truth rang in Peter's voice, as though whatever controlled the toy was allowing him a glimpse into its soul. Ian's shudder had nothing to do with the chill air. He crossed himself.

When he entered the chamber, he forced his gaze from where Kathy lay beneath her furs, pushed aside thoughts of seducing her in that half-waking state when the will is weak and desire races unchecked.

Instead, he sat on his bed, then carefully took out the shells he'd collected that day. None had broken, and he decided to take them to Mad Mary. She would tell him how to make that which he wanted. Mayhap he would see how Colin fared.

Standing once more, he moved to blow out the candle.

“I loooove you.”

God's teeth, but he'd throttle that cursed flower before all was done.

Ian rose early the next morning. He'd not rested easily, plagued as he was with visions of Kathy spread naked beneath him, reaching for him with words of need, of hunger for what he could offer.

Several times he'd almost risen and gone to her,
but his promise stayed him. 'Twas a fool's promise and one he already regretted.

But he
had
promised, and so he must begin drawing her to him without touching her. He allowed himself a moment of anticipation as he stared at the rising sun before returning to the cave after bathing. He enjoyed a challenge, and no woman had ever challenged him before.

He found her in the chamber with the Pleasure Master's bed. She'd lit one candle and stood staring at the panel that had no painting. She'd dressed, but her hair still hung damp from her bathing. His gaze followed the line of shoulder, back, and hip, stripping away the layers of clothing in his mind. It would be so easy to move up behind her, wrap his arms around her, and pull her to him. Instead, he moved close, so close he knew she felt him, sensed his power as all women sensed it.

“Doesn't it bother you that this bed was never finished?” She still spoke in the hushed voice she'd used before when near the bed. “Don't you think the woman who had this bed made would want it finished? Don't you think the
bed
would want it?”

“'Tis only a bed. It isna human and canna feel.” He knew not why, but he turned his head to gaze at Peter, who was happily chattering to a bored-looking Malin.

Kathy's gaze followed his. “It has a very old soul.”

He wasn't sure whether she spoke of the bed or Peter. Maybe both. “'Tis foolish.”

She nodded and flushed. “I don't know where
that comment came from. Anyway, it's a wonderful bed. I'd love to . . .”

“Ye'd love to lie upon it wi' a man who'd do all the things painted upon it, fill ye as no other has filled ye?” He leaned close, letting his breath fan across her neck, inhaling an elusive scent that was rich with the promise of passion.

“Not really.”

She stepped away from him, and he smiled. She would never be able to move far enough from him.

What if she really had traveled from a distant time? He could not follow her there. He pushed the thought from his mind. To believe in such a thing, he would have to reach beyond everything he'd experienced or been told in his life, everything he'd ever thought possible, and trust only her. That kind of trust came only with love, and he would never love.

She ran her fingers lightly across one of the paintings, then pulled her fingers back as though burned. Her laughter was nervous. “I'd disgrace this bed if I lay on it. After looking at these paintings, I'd never be able to rise to the occasion. Hot doesn't even begin to describe what your great grandfather did on this bed. He must've been quite a man.”

“Aye, that he was.” He watched as she blew out the candle and walked back to sit beside the hearth.

“Thanks for carrying and heating water for my bath.” She hesitated. “And thanks for not staying to watch.”

Women softened to a man who thought of their
comfort. That was his only reason for having the water ready when she rose. He had
not
considered how she would ache after riding his horse.

“I stood outside and pictured ye as ye bathed, yer smooth body sliding into the water, the water flowing around ye, wrapping ye in warm arms, touching ye wi' soft fingers. I saw myself touching ye as the water touched ye, my mouth warm and moist on yer breast, yer nipple. My hands sliding across yer stomach, between yer legs. Did ye open yer thighs to the warmth, Kathy? Imagine the warmth was my mouth, my body?”

“Stop it, Ian.” She didn't meet his gaze.

“Ye willna have me touch ye wi' my fingers, so ye must bear the touch of my words.”

She sighed and met his gaze. “I don't understand you, Ian Ross. Being the Pleasure Master is the most important thing in your life, and yet you passed up a chance to win the challenge.”

“'Twould not have been won fairly.”

“Because you were using my fantasy against me?”

He nodded.

“You had other chances, but you didn't take advantage of those either. Why?” She wasn't sure where her questions were leading, but at least they gave her the chance to recover from the mental pictures he'd been painting. Pictures too graphic to ignore, too close to her own imaginings to be comfortable.

He moved close to her, using his heat, his scent, his body to overpower her. “There is a special time
and place for every woman. 'Tis that time and place I wait for.” He reached out and almost touched her. She held her breath, then let it out on a soft sigh of . . . What?