The Pleasure Master (7 page)

With her head pillowed on his bare thighs, she felt almost comfortable, safe.

Safe? With Ian Ross?
Never.
She was suddenly aware of the flex of hard muscle when he shifted his weight, of what lay beneath the edge of his shirt, of the scent of male, and the realization . . .
She was lying in the lap of a man who was more than 400 years old.

He offered no help, didn't try to stop her when she scrambled awkwardly to her feet. She'd shown him weakness not even old PMS had seen. Ian Ross wouldn't see it again.

She stared down the slope at the village, anywhere but at the man who now stood beside her. She tried desperately to think of something other than the truth. Blinking, she finally registered what she saw. “Aren't those your brothers? Why're they standing naked in that stream?”

His bark of laughter startled her. “Ye must truly have put the terror in them. They think 'tis an abomination before God to bathe more than twice a year. But 'tis preferable to having their manhoods drop off at an inconvenient moment.” He shrugged.

Suddenly, someone shouted and gazes turned up to where they stood. People poured from the cottages and Ian's brothers scrambled from the stream.

Kathy heard Ian's muttered curse.

“There's nothing for it. We must speak wi' them.” Grabbing her hand, he started down the hill with her in tow.

“Do you think that's wise? I mean, your brothers didn't seem to have well-developed senses of humor. Uh, can you explain to them that I don't have any witch genes anywhere in my family? Mom wouldn't even let Aunt Betsy bring her tarot cards into the house.” She could hear Peter clunking along behind her. Great. She might as well have a black cat slinking at her side.

The villagers met them halfway down the hill. The two naked giants had managed to wrap themselves in their plaids. Kathy noted that their love guns were well covered.

“'Tis the woman! The one who would steal our manhoods,” the one named Colin announced to the huddled masses behind him.

Why would any thinking woman want to do that? “Look, I'm not interested in men or their hoods. Definitely don't want any part of a man.”

“And she brings a demon wi' her,” Colin continued, unfazed.

Demon? Where? Kathy followed the horrified gazes down to . . .
Peter?
Uh-oh. Peter's amber lights blinked happily. He obviously didn't understand the situation.

The brother named Neil puffed out his chest and stepped forward. Cautiously. “We must destroy the woman and her wee spawn of hell.”

Wee spawn of hell?
Not in her wildest imagination
would she classify Peter as anything more than a little pain-in-the-butt. In fact, she . . . Hmm. What had come right before the spawn of hell bit? She widened her eyes.
Destroy the woman. Ohmigod! I'm outta here.

Her legs were already in running mode when someone lifted her from her feet and pulled her against a rock-hard body. “Calm yerself, lass. Ye'll come to no harm,” Ian Ross assured her in a low rumble.

Easy for him to say. No one was trying to turn him into a toasted marshmallow. The whole scruffy mob looked like it was just itching to have a witch burning. Okay, so the itching part probably came from all the freeloaders living on their infrequently washed bodies.

“Ye willna harm her. This is Kathy, Princess of Hair. She has traveled far to learn the secrets of the Pleasure Master so that she might find joy in a man's touch. Her father, King Clairol, has ruled that she must marry, but she canna abide a man's lovemaking. In return, she has brought strange and wonderful things from her kingdom to pay for my service. Ye'll welcome her as a guest to the Highlands.” Ian smiled, obviously pleased with himself.

What?
He'd said she was
what?
“Uh, I beg to differ with—”

“Hold yer tongue, lass, if ye expect to live through the day.”

Put that way, she supposed—

Colin stepped forward, a sly grin splitting his bearded face. “'Tis the woman we've waited long
for, Ian. A true challenge for the Pleasure Master. A woman who canna be wooed, and one who when angered carries deadly potions that may unman the bravest warrior.” He looked pleased by the thought. “If she willingly joins wi' ye, Neil and I willna argue yer right to be Pleasure Master. Ye owe the clan proof that ye be worthy.”

Ian's lips thinned, and his gaze narrowed to gray slits of danger. “And what proof will ye give the clan that Neil or ye are
more
worthy?”

Those in the crowd nodded their heads, acknowledging the fairness of Ian's question.

Ian's lips tipped up in a smile that never reached his eyes. “As ye have chosen for me, I will choose for ye. 'Tis fair.”

The mob mumbled its agreement. Colin and Neil looked worried.

“I must think for a while on who to choose for ye.” Ian's smile was pure evil.

Kathy had had enough. “You have to be kidding. This sounds like a script from the World Wrestling Federation. In this corner we have the Great Seducer, defending his Pleasure Master title against all comers.” She stood on tiptoe to glare at him. “Well, let me tell you, Ian Ross, you've just met Kathy the Unseduceable, so get ready to lose—”

She got no further. Lowering his head, he kissed her. There was no softness in the kiss, no tentative first touching of lips. It was a brand, pure and simple. Ian Ross's sold sign, like the one she'd plunked in her front yard two weeks after PMS and Joan had done their thing in her bed.

She wasn't sure at what point the kiss changed. She just knew his lips softened, tempted in a way she'd never thought a kiss could tempt. The tip of his tongue traced her lips and when she parted them, slid inside.

Opening to him, she explored his mouth as he did hers, wondered at the sudden rush of need, her pounding heart and a heat that had her wishing she could stop long enough to shed her coat and every other darn thing she wore. His kiss was liquid lightning, crackling along her nerve endings and exploding in white-hot desire.

When he finally released her, she stood staring blindly at him, knowing in her heart she'd never experience a kiss like that again. And wondering how he'd done it. How had he wrung a response from her in thirty seconds that her ex, who'd read every book ever written about women's sexuality, hadn't achieved in five years of marriage?

And Ian Ross had done it with just his lips and tongue. What greatness could he rise to if he used the rest of his body? The thought was frightening,
intriguing.

Suddenly, she grew aware of the silence. Glancing around, she met the avid stares of the villagers, who waited with bated breath to see whether the Pleasure Master had triumphed with just one kiss.

No way. She'd sat through every Mel Gibson and Brad Pitt movie, even a Ricky Martin concert, and lived to tell the tale. No Highlander from 1542 was going to reduce her to a whimpering puddle with just a kiss.

He was only a medieval copy of her ex, and she had more important things to think about. Like how to get back to New York by February 14 so she could destroy Peter Matthew Stone in court.

Appearance is everything.
She stepped away from Ian Ross. She yawned. “That was adequate. Not great, but adequate.”
That was a nuclear explosion, and I was standing at ground zero.

A loud “oooh” of admiration swept through the crowd. Colin and Neil looked gleeful.

Ian's expression of concern was belied by the amused glitter in his eyes. “'Tis a difficult task ye've set me, Colin. The lass must stay wi' me so I may give her my full attention.”

“Aye,” the crowd agreed.

Colin and Neil didn't look quite so pleased now.

Kathy wasn't pleased at all. “Hey, wait just a minute—”

Ian leaned close. “Do ye wish to stay wi' them, lass?”

“Umm.” She glanced at the villagers. One toothless old man grinned at her and winked. “Maybe not.”

Nodding, he turned and started walking back up the hill.

“'Tis a lucky woman ye be,” a female voice murmured.

“Aye,” another agreed.

Kathy thought it all depended on your perspective, but right now Ian Ross seemed the lesser of two evils. Turning, she hurried after him.

He was walking too fast again. Since she couldn't
get close enough to berate him, she made do with something closer. “This is all your fault, Peter.”

Peter clattered along beside her, still wearing Malin as a hat, totally oblivious to all the trouble he'd caused.

“If you hadn't followed me, I might've convinced those very strange people that I was just like them. Okay, maybe not. I've never seen so much bad hair gathered in one spot before.” She shuddered at the thought of all those sun-bleached split ends.

And that, of course, reminded her of home.
Don't think of that now.
Maybe tonight, in the comforting darkness where she could pretend nothing had happened, she'd take out today's horror and examine it.

She quickly shifted her thoughts back to Peter. “Now I have to live with Mr. Pleasure Master in his cave. And it's all your fault.” Good. She'd found a scapegoat.

Beside her, Rhett Butler drawled, “Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.”

Ian listened to the woman's restless movements in the darkness and waited. Silently. He'd learned the power of silence, whether lying in wait for an enemy when a sound could mean death, or beside a woman, touching her with quiet, allowing her desire to build. Seducing her in all the ways that needed no words, no glide of flesh against flesh. And there were many, as Kathy of Hair would soon know.

But tonight was not the time. Tonight she thought only of this New York she believed she came from.
And what if what she says is true?
He did not close his mind to all things different, but this seemed overmuch to believe.

No, even with her strange speech and the odd things she brought with her, he could lie beside her
now, run his fingers the length of her smooth body, touch her as he'd touched so many women, and she'd be like all other women.

She moved again, and he drew in an impatient breath. There was nothing for it. He must speak with her or neither of them would sleep this night.

Pulling his plaid around him, he rose and walked to where she lay. He sat beside her, letting her feel his presence.

“Ian?”

His aloneness, his oneness with all things physical, opened him to the things that other men could not see. The woman's fear and confusion broke over him in waves of tortured feeling. A canny hunter would strike while the prey was weak. He thought about it, then dismissed the idea. Not tonight.

“Ye canna sleep.”

“I never sleep well in a new place. And your bed isn't exactly floating-cloud quality. Besides, it's too quiet. I'm used to traffic, people.” The darkness softened her voice, rounded the sharp edges of her complaint.

She sighed. “I'm sorry, Ian. Forget the last whine. It's not the bed, it's . . .”

He could hear the tears in her voice, knew she'd cried in the darkness, muffling the sound so she wouldn't wake him. “'Tis the darkness that feeds yer fears. When ye canna see, ye turn yer thoughts inward.”

“But how did I get here? How will I get back?
Why
am I here?”

He had no answers, so instead he rose and used the still-hot remains of the hearth fire to light a candle, then returned to her side. In the flickering light, he searched for the truth.

“Hey, I've got it.” Her choked laughter held no happiness. “The Great-Hairdresser-in-the-Sky couldn't stand looking at dry split ends here for another century so She sent me.”

He sensed the silent scream behind her words.

He watched her turn onto her side, then prop herself up on one elbow. Listened to the rustle of her clothes. Caught his breath at the blue glitter of her eyes in the candlelight. Felt the first familiar stirrings.

“You know, that whole idea is funny. There was this . . . God, I'm already talking in the past tense.” The thought seemed to upset her. He could see it in the aimless patterns she traced on his fur, recognized it in her uneasy pause.

“I watched
Ghostbusters
on video last week. You have to understand, I'm a huge movie fan. Anyway, all through the movie they kept repeating, ‘Who you gonna call?' I guess that's me. No offense, but your friends have to have the worst hair in the universe.” She shrugged. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. So someone or something yanked me into your time to fix it.”

“Ye believe this?” What was a video? What was a ghostbuster?

“No.” Her voice was small, lost. “Look, I don't want to deal with my problem tonight. I don't know
how
to deal with it.”

“Aye, well since ye must stay here for a time, I could tell ye about the people, about—”

“Tell me about
you,
Ian.”

“What would ye know?”

“Everything.”

He smiled. “Ye dinna ask much, lass.” Without thinking, he pushed back a lock of her hair that had fallen across her forehead. Her sudden flinch made him wonder. “Ye're not comfortable wi' men.”

Her glance turned defiant. “I'm fine. I just don't want anyone touching me.”

Ye will, lass, ye will.

Her gaze dropped beneath his stare. “Anyway, we're not talking about me. Let's hear about you, about your family.”

Would ye have me speak of those who come to me in the night, of their secrets, their fears? Would ye know of the blood shed in the name of the Pleasure Master?

He smiled. He would tell her what she expected and let the darkness keep its secrets.

Shrugging, he stared into the shadowed corner where Malin slept peacefully atop Peter. “'Tis a short tale. Since I was the first-born, I was taken from my mother at nine years to begin learning my duties as Pleasure Master.”
'Twas pleased enough she was to rid herself of a bastard Ross.
“I fight for the clan when need be.” He narrowed his gaze. “And I spend overmuch time avoiding the Mackays.”