“As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
She was perfectly fine, he decided, struggling hard to calm the blood thundering through his head. Nothing made sense right now. Not her actions. Not the happenings of the last few days. Not the way the sight of her, naked and slight under the spill of a silver moon, had inflamed him until he could barely speak.
Her slim, naked beauty infuriated him. Not because he thought her duplicitous, but because he’d been so unbelievably blind. He’d never really looked at her. Not once. Not the way he’d looked at her these last few days as startling revelation after startling revelation had been thrown upon him, not the least of which was the image of her from just moments ago. That image was burning through him now, the slope of her slender waist, the curves of her small breasts, the delicate hollows of her shoulders and neck—all of it indelibly etched into his mind until he wondered if he’d ever be able to look at her again without seeing her thus.
“Michael, please leave. I’m tired.” She pushed her hair back so she could see him more clearly, the damp strands clinging to her neck. As she moved, the sheet slipped and hung for one heartrending moment to her breast, curving about her erect nipple, before it fluttered down.
She gasped and caught it before it revealed the round areola, but not before Michael realized that he had to taste this woman and press his lips to every inch of her delicious body. She was seductress and mystery, sensuality and innocence. Her long hair—unbound now and damp and curling in the most damnably seductive way—clung to her skin as if mocking him.
“Michael, I know you have a lot of questions, but I’m so tired and—”
Michael crossed to the bed.
She clutched the sheet higher.
“Move over.”
She blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. “But—” She opened and closed her mouth, and finally managed to say, “But why?”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “Because I want to do this.” He kissed her. And not as if she were Miss Jane Smythe-Haughton, his loyal and enthusiastic assistant, but as if she were what he was only beginning to realize—a flesh-and-blood woman with silken skin, rosebud breasts, and more secrets than he knew what to do with.
Her eyes flew open, the deep velvety brown darkening with surprise, but only for a second. Her expression changed, as quicksilver as she was, into something more. She opened her lips beneath his, clutched his shirt, and tugged him closer.
God, he loved her enthusiasm. He loved that she didn’t stand still and wait for life to happen but was constantly surging forward to meet it, just as she was surging forward to meet him now.
He deepened the kiss, looking boldly at her. Her lashes fluttered and then fell as she gave herself to the kiss, letting go of the sheet in her excitement.
By Ra, but she was magnificent. He broke the kiss to nip at her lips, her chin, and her neck, tasting her silken skin. She gasped and writhed against him.
The sheet was forgotten, and she kicked at it. It had become an impediment, as had his own clothing. Her fingers fumbled at his loosely knotted neckcloth.
He laughed softly and kissed her nose. “Wait one moment.” He stood and quickly stripped.
Jane clutched her knees to her chest and watched, her body thrumming with excitement. Michael tugged his shirt over his head, the moonlight tracing every line of his muscled chest and stomach. Her breath quickened and she had to fight the urge to reach out and touch him.
He stripped out of his boots and breeches, kicking them impatiently to the side. She drank in the sight of him greedily. Every muscled sinew of him seemed both new and dearly familiar. He grinned at her perusal. “May I join you?”
She flipped back the sheets in answer.
He chuckled and came to join her in the bed.
Jane slid over and welcomed him.
He laughed at her obvious eagerness and slid in beside her, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him.
“Mmm, you’re so warm,” she said, twining her arms about his neck.
He felt so good and so right, his bare skin against hers, and she knew that no matter what happened that she would never regret this night.
She’d made mistakes in her past, one in particular that she should mention before things progressed further. She owed Michael honesty. As hard as it was, when he bent to kiss her neck, she placed a hand on his chest. “Michael, I . . . I’m not a—”
He placed a finger on her lips. “Jane, please. Just stop talking.”
“I don’t want you to be disappointed or—”
He kissed her shoulder, his lips warm against her skin and making her gasp. “Sweetheart, I don’t know how long your confession might be, but mine would take an hour, and I’d rather spend that time with you.”
She had to laugh. “You don’t mind that I’m not an innocent?”
“To be honest, I’m delighted.” His soft kisses moved to her collarbone, the sensations tingling up her spine.
“Oh . . . really?”
“Really.” He nipped at her neck, his warm breath making her breasts ache to be touched.
“So you won’t mind if I’m—”
He sighed and lifted his head. “You aren’t going to continue until I explain, are you?”
“No.”
He lifted himself up on his elbow. “Very well. I’ve had a virgin or two. That was enough. Then I fell in love with the great adventure.” He traced a finger up the slope of one of her breasts. “She is a demanding mistress, and as you’ve been in my employ for the last four years, you know that leaves very little time for other things. I want an adventure, and you, my love, are just that.” He paused, his finger hovering over her nipple, which peaked as if straining toward him. “And you?”
She lifted her brows, though she was panting from the tingle his near touch was causing her. “I thought you didn’t want to know.”
“I don’t. But I can see that you feel the urge to—”
She arched, pressing her breast into his hand.
He closed his eyes, as if soaking in the feel of her.
She slipped an arm about his neck and captured his warm lips with her own.
That was all it took. No more words were necessary as, to her complete delight, Michael once more took over the dance, touching and stroking and tasting until she was writhing beneath him.
Oh, she wanted this. Wanted him. And had for so long. She’d always known he’d be a passionate, focused lover. But she wasn’t prepared for the way her body reacted to his touch. How she became bold and demanding, even more than he was. He may have started this interlude, but somewhere along the way, she took control, teasing him until he gasped her name, reveling in the power of making this sensual, strong man reach for her with such desperation in his gaze.
When he finally pinned her to the bed and positioned himself between her thighs, she was more than ready, lifting her legs and locking them about his waist, pulling him inside her, the fullness plunging her into a maelstrom of passion.
Michael captured her lips as she gasped his name, moving with an urgency that matched her own. She lifted to meet him, pressing him to go further, urging him with soft words to take her, all of her. He did so with a flattering alacrity, arching his hips against hers, the excitement building until, with a joint cry, they flew over the edge of passion.
Afterward, he curled around her, his leg over hers, his arms about her. Jane savored the warmth as her breathing finally slowed so that she could once again think and see and hear. The sheets were damp about her, the blanket kicked off long ago, one pillow lodged at the foot of the bed, the other missing completely. But all around her was Michael—her cheek on his shoulder, his chest was pressed to her back, his legs entwined with hers. She’d never felt so peaceful or safe.
She listened as his breathing slowed, and then deepened as he fell asleep. But Jane was wide-awake. This was it, then. She and Michael would never return to their previous comfortable, effective relationship. She was both sa
d and amazingly sated. How could something that felt so right cause pain? But she knew where this path led. She knew because she’d walked it before, led there by youth and foolishness. This time, she had neither excuse. The bold truth was that she loved him. Had always loved him. And always would.
Her heart ached at the admission. She hadn’t been fighting his interest so much as her own, which she’d thought was under control. She sighed softly. What do I do now? If we continue in this vein, I’ll just care more and more. And if we stop—could I stand that, either? He’s only become interested in me since he discovered that my past isn’t what he’d thought. I know how he is with a mystery—he can’t leave it alone until he’s worked through all of its secrets. But once he has discovered all that there is to discover, he moves on. I have no reason to think this is any different.
She closed her eyes, trying not to care but unable to stop the pain her thoughts had caused. In his sleep, Michael sighed and stirred, pulling her closer to him, the gesture unconscious but precious all the same.
I think too much, she told herself. At this moment, warm in his embrace, the feel of him still lingering between her thighs, all she wanted to do was sleep within his arms. Tomorrow I’ll think. But not tonight.
With that, she put her troubling thoughts away, snuggled deeper in his arms, and immediately fell asleep.
CHAPTER 14
From the diary of Michael Hurst:
There are times when I surprise myself.
The morning sun tickled Michael’s nose. He reached up to brush it and heard the door open. Lifting up on one elbow, he was just in time to see Jane slip into the hallway beyond, holding her boots. She shut the door with a quiet click.
She obviously thought him still asleep. He turned onto his back and stretched, enjoying the replete feeling.
His cock stirred at the memory and he gazed down at it where it now strained against the sheet. “Insatiable,” he muttered. “Go back to sleep. She’s already up and about.”
He thought about calling for her to come back to bed—heaven knew the house was small enough that his voice could be heard if he raised it, but as he had the thought, he caught the murmur of voices—Mrs. Macpherson’s and a man’s voice. Who is that? Curiosity had him rising, washing, and dressing as fast as he could. When he was done, he picked up his boots, much as Jane had, and carried them to the top of the stairs.
The voices from the common room rang with perfect clarity. Michael leaned against the wall and listened.
“If ye’re certain Mr. Hurst dinna wish fer his breakfast now, I’ll put this pan upon a warming stone.”
“Thank you,” Jane said.
Her voice is tense. Too tense. Michael leaned forward.
Mrs. Macpherson continued. “Lord MacNeil, are ye certain ye dinna wish more eggs, fer I can make them.”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Macpherson. I just came to visit our island guest.”
“Verrah weel. I’ll be in the kitchen if ye need me.” Footsteps sounded as the housekeeper left.
“Well, well, well. Jennet.”
“Uncle.” Her voice was frosty cold.
Michael could imagine the abbreviated curtsy that accompanied it. What had she called her uncle? Ah, yes, David.
“Your cousin told me you’d been to visit him,” David said. “He also said you were using a false name.”
“Jaimie was never one to keep a secret.”
“Oh, I had to force it from him.”
“Then who told you— Ah. Elspeth.”
“He will not remain married long if he doesn’t begin to appreciate what he has.”
“I see. What do you want, Uncle David?”
Michael wished he could see her face to better gauge her reactions. He stared down the stairs for a moment. An honest man would reveal himself. But an honest man might, by intruding, end this very interesting conversation, and that was the last thing Michael wanted.
It might be rude to listen in on people’s conversations—some might call that spying. But he called it good investigative work. As rude as it was to listen in, it was ruder still to keep secrets.
Michael sat down on the top step, cautious not to make a sound, and then bent over to peer into the common chamber.
David MacNeil stood by the fireplace, tall and with broad shoulders, a streak of white at each temple, and a deeply lined face that still managed to look vigorous and healthy. He didn’t look as if he belonged on Barra, for he was wearing a multicaped coat left open to reveal a well-made waistcoat, a ruby glimmering in the folds of an intricately tied cravat. He dressed with an elegance that wouldn’t have been out of place in the sitting rooms of Edinburgh.
“David, if you’ve come to tell me that you wish me to leave, then you’ve wasted your trip. I came for one thing and one thing only. Once I have that, I’ll be gone.”
His mouth tightened, his smile false. “Ah, my one and only niece. I wish I could say it was nice to see you, but you know the truth of that too much for me to pretend otherwise.”
She tsked. “In a temper, are we?”
Michael grinned. Well done, Jane.
David’s smile slipped. “I’m not in a temper. I’m disappointed, yes. According to the agreement you made with my son—”
“And not with you.”
“Whoever you made it with, you weren’t supposed to return. Ever.”
“Actually, I told him I would return when I turned ninety, so technically, I’m just a little early.”
David’s smile was long gone.
Jane shrugged. “Fine. I didn’t plan to return, but things happened, and well, here I am. I know you won’t believe me, but when I left, I thought I’d taken care of things. I’d signed all of my rights to Jaimie and even spent time trying to explain the running of the estate to him, though that doesn’t seem to have helped.”
“Those documents weren’t worth the paper they were written on. You hadn’t been gone a day before rumors about your disappearance began to swirl. Jaimie’s lucky I was nearby to salvage the situation. Do you know what we went through, all those years ago, when you went blithely traipsing off—”
“I do nothing blithely. I didn’t wish to be married to Jaimie. You knew that.”
“Yes, I did. You made it quite plain.”
“And you locked me in the dungeon, too, without food or water.”
“Only for a few days. You were released.” He shrugged. “Besides, you could get out. I saw you myself.” A faint smile touched his mouth, the first real one since he’d arrived. “Your friend . . . what was her name? Ah, yes, Lindsee. She brought you food on at least two occasions. I saw her do it.”
“You saw . . . You knew I could leave?”
He nodded.
“Then why did you leave me there?”
“I was trying to make a point. I didn’t wish you harmed; I just wanted you married.”
“To Jaimie.”
“Who else should have Barra and Kisimul but a MacNeil? Your father’s dearest wish was that you marry Jaimie and keep the lands and castle in the clan.”
“He never mentioned that to me.”
“Why do you think he invited Jaimie to stay at Kisimul so often? He knew you too well, better than I did, and thought to tempt you into it. My way wasn’t as subtle and it failed. As soon as I told you that you were to marry Jaimie, you planted your feet in the dirt like a mule and refused to budge. You never reminded me more of your mother than at that moment.”
Michael watched as Jane pressed a hand to her forehead. “Father . . . he really wished me to marry Jaimie? I’ve always thought you were making that up, trying to trick me into accepting him.”
David made a disgusted noise. “Why would I care what you thought? The things Jaimie and I’ve had to do to cover your actions—”
“No one said you had to burn Kisimul!”
Michael sat up straighter.
David’s expression darkened. “The majority of it’s made of rock. It can be rebuilt.”
&
nbsp; “It’s over seven hundred years old and you toppled it!”
He threw his hand up. “Kisimul was a regrettable decision, but it served. People accepted that you’d died in a fire in the castle you were born in. But now, after all of that, you dare come traipsing back. I worked for years to quell rumors about your disappearance. Years. People are just now starting to accept Jaimie and Elspeth and then you show up.”
“Perhaps they’d accept them more if you weren’t bleeding the estate dry.”
Michael noted how David paused at that. “You’re talking about the licenses,” David said.
“What else?” she spat back. “You may wish to pretend that all you do is for the good of the clan, but I know better. Jaimie said he’d signed them over to you. He didn’t realize that’s where the revenues came from, did he?”
“The revenues are being spent wisely, as they should be. Jaimie’s too weak to handle the finances. It’s much better to leave them with me. Meanwhile, you have a responsibility to your family name—”
“Don’t you dare speak to me about my family name!” She stepped forward, anger tight in her entire body. “If my father had known you’d lock me away and try to force me to wed your son, and then steal the funds from the licenses, he would have run you through with his sword, and you know it.”
His lips thinned. “Don’t press your luck, niece. I had every right to that castle. It should have been mine—”
“My father left it to me.”
“He was foolish. To you, a mere female. What about me? The next male issue in line?” His mouth was etched in white. “That castle should have been mine, and yet my beloved cousin—one I dared call ‘brother’—made certain it never came my way.”
“He feared you’d bleed it dry the way you did the rest of your inheritance.”
“What I might or might not have done is of no consequence. The castle and lands should have been mine, damn it.” His left hand opened and closed in a fist, his eyes blazing. It was obvious he was struggling to hold his temper, and after a moment, he managed to say in a more normal tone, “But that’s all well and good, for I got what I wished for in the end.”