Karen Hawkins - MacLean 1 How to Abduct a Highland Lord

  Fiona thought she’d never be able to catch her breath, so hard was her heart pounding in her chest. But moment by moment, her heartbeat slowed, and she became aware of Jack’s broad chest against hers, the tickle of his breath in her hair, the deliciously sensual slide of his damp skin over hers.

  She slid her arms around his neck and held him there, unable to move, incapable of thinking. She closed her eyes and savored the feel of him, the scent of their lovemaking, the freshness of the sheets, and the warmth of his skin.

  Did Jack feel the same wonder? Had their passion surprised him as much as her? Or was it what he’d expected? Good God, what if sex wasalways like this for him—with every woman he’d been with?

  Some of the glow began to subside. Fiona could feel his heart beating more steadily now, feel his even breaths in her hair.

  She turned to look at him, at the way his lashes rested on the crests of his cheeks. Perhaps she should ask him, find out what he was thinking and feeling.

  But…what if he wasn’t thinking the same things she was thinking? Of how wonderful, how special it was? Worse, what if it hadn’t been that good for him at all?

  The uncertainty began to pinch at her. She had to ask him, had to know. She couldn’t just lie there and wonder. “Jack?”

  He did not answer.

  Oh, no, he had guessed what she was about to ask and was afraid to answer.

  Fiona gathered her nerve. “Jack?” she said a bit louder.

  A soft snore was her answer.

  Chapter Six

  The tale is a bit blurred on how MacLean came in contact with the White Witch. All we know for certain is that meet they did, and that neither of them would be the same afterward. Often that’s the way love is, sneaky and unrelenting.

  OLDWOMANNORA OFLOCHLOMOND

  TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT

  “Umhph!” A thump in Jack’s side awakened him. He blinked and struggled to focus on the face in front of him.

  Full, soft lips folded in a displeased line. A pert, upturned nose was splashed with dusky freckles across the bridge, barely noticeable in the light from the fireplace. Thickly lashed eyes glowed a lovely, mossy green.

  All of this surrounded by a cloud of sable hair so thick it dared a man to—

  Fiona.

  How did—Where had—

  Oh, yes.

  The scent of their recent lovemaking and the feel of her bared legs twined with his slowly stirred his memory, though his sated body struggled against the lethargic effects.

  “You were snoring.”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of the accusing tone of her voice.

  “Loudly.”

  He supposed it was annoying being awakened in such a way, especially if she had been as sound asleep as he had been. “Sorry, love.” He yawned. “After a good romp, I always sleep deeply.”

  Silence. “A good romp?”

  Normally, Jack would have recognized the outrage in her quiet voice. Unfortunately, he was deep in the euphoric grip of after-sex stupor.

  So he merely turned and spooned Fiona to him. She fit against him perfectly, her head tucked beneath his chin, her rounded ass pressing against him, her legs entwined with his.

  Her hair tickled his nose, and he smoothed it back with his cheek, enjoying the feel of her silky skin and the faint beat of her heart. “Let’s sleep a bit, shall we?”

  He closed his eyes and—

  She pushed herself out of his embrace, cold air touching his skin where she and the blankets had once been. He frowned, opening one eye. “Hm?”

  She had turned to face him, her expression serious. “Jack, we have things to discuss.”

  He sighed. “What things?”

  “Things like”—her lips tightened with distaste—“our ‘little romp.’”

  There was no missing the outrage this time. Jack passed a hand over his face, struggling to push his sleepiness aside.

  He had a “no talking after” rule which he zealously guarded. Any woman who didn’t adhere to the rule was never allowed back in his bed. So far, he’d been able to enjoy his after-tupping stupor luxuriously.

  Perhaps he should have explained this to Fiona before they fell into bed. The problem was, he had been too angry and far too intent on getting between her thighs to manage any discussion. Being with her so many hours in the carriage had fed his lust until he could barely keep his hands on the right side of her clothing in front of the servants.

  He wasn’t capable of speaking right now, either—not about anything of substance—and he had a feeling that was what she wished. He wanted to savor the repleteness of his body, enjoy the worry-freeing effects of passion, and sleep the deep sleep that always came after a particularly satisfying tumble.

  He slowly closed his eyes again, his thoughts melting behind images of their tryst, of her skin against his—

  “Jack!”

  Her insistent voice tugged his eyes back open. She was now leaning on one arm, her hair falling over it and pooling on the sheets in a thick swath of sable.

  Damn, but she was beautiful. And lush. And all too tempting. Suddenly, Jack wasn’t quite as sleepy. His body was even beginning to stir, much to his delight. Smiling a bit at his own randiness, he rolled up onto his elbow to face her. “Very well, love. What shall we talk about?”

  Jack kissed her heated cheek, trailing his lips to hers.

  “Jack,” she said, a bit breathlessly, “we may have very different expectations, and I don’t wish that to become a problem.”

  He slid his hand to her hair. It seemed to have its own energy, curling around his fingers as if to hold them there. “I agreed to get you with child, and once that is accomplished, you will go on your merry way and leave me in peace.” He shrugged. “What more is there to say?”

  “Well, it will be easier for us if we have the same thoughts about”—she gestured vaguely with one hand—“this.”

  What more did she want? If she was looking for some emotional promise, she was doomed to disappointment. He had no heart to give, and was glad for it.

  “Fiona, I think I’ve already proven my abilities to provide what I have promised. Haven’t I?” He grinned when her cheeks pinkened more. “You may rest assured that I will fulfill my part of the bargain. Then you can fulfill yours. Although,” he drawled, “had I known marriage would be so stimulating, I might have rethought my position on never marrying.”

  Her gaze was riveted on his face. “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. I would have done so several times, at least. Perhaps even once a month.”

  “That is not funny, Jack.”

  “I think it is.”

  She stirred restlessly, then sat up. “Goodness, I still have my boots on.”

  “So you do.” He sat up and slid a hand down her leg, pulling her foot into his lap. “Allow me.”

  “I can untie them.”

  “You already tried and made knots of them.” He deftly tugged on one knot, getting it undone fairly quickly, then tugged her foot from the boot. The warmth of the leather made him remember the feel of her boots upon his ass, an erotic moment he’d never forget.

  He dropped the boot over the edge of the bed and turned to the other, which soon joined its mate on the rug. “There.” He settled back onto his pillow, pulling her against him.

  She sighed, resting her cheek against his chest. “We always did well in bed.”

  “Yes, we did.” Somehow, over the years, he’d forgotten how well they’d matched. He slid his fingers over her cheek and buried his fingers in her hair.

  She lifted her face and met his gaze. “It was in other areas that we did not fare so well.”

  He paused, his fingers still in her curls. She was right. He had two very vivid memories of Fiona from long ago. One of her lying naked upon a blanket under a warm summer sun, her peach-hued skin flushed with passion, her hair curling wildly about her, a satisfied-woman smile on her lips. He’d been young and bursting with pride
that he’d been her first and had still managed to give her that glow.

  The other memory was not so pleasant. He was standing in the rain, the world scented with lilac, as he read her words on an ink-smeared scrap of paper, thunder roaring in the distance.

  Jack refused to remember the pain that day had caused him, the weeks and months of desolation. He’d learned his lesson well, though; he’d never again allowed himself to believe in love or anything else he couldn’t see. Since then, life had been much simpler and far less painful.

  He regarded her through half-closed eyes, glad his heart was now Fiona-proofed. It was a good thing he hadn’t realized how her brothers had interfered in their relationship by letting slip Jack had a mistress. He had, of course. He couldn’t remember the woman’s name now, for there had been too many, but he’d had a mistress since he was seventeen. It was his right as a man of independence, something his parents would have regarded with disapprobation, which had made him all the more determined to enjoy it.

  He’d been mad to think of marrying Fiona, a fact that had dawned on him within days of her jolting rejection. Mad to think that passion alone was enough to carry them across the bridal bridge.

  Oh, but what a passion it had been. Every moment had been consumed with thoughts of her, of her hair, of her scent, of the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed.

  Thank God he’d eventually gotten over that madness. He would make certain those old feelings—so strong and out of control—remained naught but the fantasies of the wild youth he’d once been.

  Suddenly, he realized that the worst thing he could do was stay where he was, snuggled in bed with Fiona. He could not allow the natural tenderness of the afterglow to soften his heart.

  Perhaps that was what she meant by “expectations.” It would be awkward if she began to expect more of him than he was prepared to give. It would be a good idea to set her expectations to a believable level right from the beginning, so she wouldn’t develop any unreasonable hopes.

  Frowning a bit, he sat up, allowing Fiona to move out of his way. “What time is it?”

  She glanced past him to the clock on the mantel. “It’s almost four.”

  “Ah. It’s still early, then.” He flicked back the covers and slid his feet over the side of the bed.

  Fiona watched in disbelief as Jack stood and began to gather his clothes. “You…you are leaving?”

  He didn’t look up from pulling on his breeches. “Of course. The gaming hells never close, and I’ve acquaintances I’ve yet to greet since my return to town.”

  Fiona’s heart sank. “You are leaving,” she repeated, disbelief in her voice.

  He sat on a chair to pull on his boots. “As you suggested, perhaps we should discuss our expectations.” He rose and crossed to a wardrobe, where he pulled out a fresh shirt. “I normally have my valet attend me, but I thought you might want more privacy. However, to make my comings and goings less disturbing, we can move you into one of the guest rooms and—”

  “No.” Fiona gathered the sheets and sat upright. “I will not be relegated to a guest room.”

  He shrugged. “As you wish. I just did not want to awaken you. I come in at varying times. So long as you are a sound sleeper—”

  “I sleep just fine,” she retorted. “But I cannot believe you are leaving.”

  “I cannot believe it, either,” he said, fastening his shirt. “I usually need a good hour’s sleep after a romp like that.”

  So that’s all it was to him.Of course it is, she told herself fiercely.This is not a real marriage. This is a marriage of convenience.

  Still, she could not help but feel slighted. It seemed wrong that he should jump out of bed and head to town. “Jack, I hope…I hope people think us a well-suited couple.”

  He opened the wardrobe again and removed a waistcoat. “Why does it matter what people think?”

  “If my brothers were to hear rumors that things between us weren’t as they should be, they might come to town.” It would take weeks for rumors to filter back to Scotland, but she hoped Jack did not think of that.

  He paused, his gaze resting on her for a moment. “I don’t wish to see your brothers ever again.”

  “And I don’t wish them to come to town. But if they thought I was unhappy or that you were carousing…” She shrugged.

  Jack’s face darkened. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “It’s not a threat,” she said defensively, though a twinge of guilt made her hug the sheets a bit closer. “It’s just the truth.”

  Jack finished buttoning his waistcoat, then came to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached over and threaded his fingers through her hair. “Your brothers will come anyway; you are their only sister, and they care for you.”

  She sighed. “I suppose they will.”

  “Once they get here, they will scrutinize our every move and annoy us to death.” He trailed his fingers over her cheek to her lips.

  She had to admit that his words rang true. She didn’t want her brothers to come to London, nor did she want them to become involved in her marriage. It would only complicate things. She also wished Jack would quit touching her; that complicated things as well. It distracted her and made it difficult to think.

  He wound a tendril of her hair around his fingers and lifted it to his lips.

  Fiona’s breath caught in her throat. Perhaps with time, she’d feel more settled with him. But right now, every nerve screamed for attention.

  She pulled back, her hair sliding free from his fingers. “This plan has become more complicated by the minute.”

  “Simple plans are often like that.” He recaptured a long strand of her hair and brushed the tip of it over her lips. Her entire body still quivered from their passion, and the light touch sent an answering flare through her.

  He smiled. “But I would expect no less. With you, nothing is as simple as it should be.”

  Fiona wasn’t sure that was a compliment. Her lips tingled; her skin danced with goose bumps; her breasts tightened in anticipation. Every bit of her was aware of the man who faced her.

  At least they stillhad passion; she hadn’t been sure after so many years apart. It had been the mainstay of their relationship—if you could call three jumbled weeks a relationship.

  Yet Fiona knew from bitter experience that passion would not solve their problems. At best, it would give them a respite from the cares of the world and a means to become closer. But that was all.

  Her heart ached, and she wished she could talk to Callum. He would know what to do; his innate ability to understand people was far greater than hers. But Callum would never again be able to give her advice. He’d never again be there when she needed him.

  “Fiona?” Jack’s soft voice cut through her thoughts.

  She looked at him, caught on the edge of tears.

  “You are thinking of Callum.”

  She swiped at her eyes with the back of one hand. “I’m sorry. I just wish I could talk to him.” She swallowed, trying to regain her composure. “I have not been able to discuss his death because my brothers have been so upset themselves.”

  Jack’s warm hand closed about her chin. He tilted her face until her gaze met his.

  “You may speak of Callum any time you wish.”

  Jack’s offer soothed her heart in a way she couldn’t explain. She grasped his hand between hers. “Thank you.” A shy smile touched her mouth. “I would take you up on your offer, but I don’t think you have enough shirts.”

  Jack looked at where she clasped his hand between hers, his expression frozen. Then, ever so carefully, he disengaged himself and stepped from the bed, saying in a rather clipped voice, “It will dry very quickly.”

  “I feel like a watering pot, tearing up so much.”

  “A lot has happened.”

  Hardening his heart, Jack crossed the room to find his coat.

  In silence, he dressed, catching a glimpse of Fiona from the corner of his eye. She sat pensively, the shee
t pulled up to cover her breasts, her arms wrapped around her knees, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

  The sight of her even white teeth set in the full, soft morsel of her bottom lip stirred him ruthlessly. He had the right to bed Fiona if he desired, the one woman he’d—

  No. She was no different from any other woman he’d bedded. It was just that they’d never been able to draw a satisfying conclusion to their relationship. The other women had stayed long enough that he’d grown tired of them. But his and Fiona’s relationship had abruptly ended before it had reached that natural end.That was why he still felt this odd stirring of frustrated lust.