Highland Bachelor 02 - This Laird of Mine Read online

  Yet now she would drown, unless she did something. She kicked, but the heavy drag of her skirt tugged her down despite her efforts. Anger warmed her, fired her blood. She would not drown. She had far too much to live for—the girls, Jules, all the paintings she had yet to paint.

  She kicked fiercely at the water that surrounded her. Slowly she glided forward, broke free from the weight that dragged her down. At the surface, she drew in a breath of air, felt the bliss of warmth on her face, and something grabbed her hand. Something yanked her farther up. A man surrounded in light. Jules. His arms went around her waist. He pulled her close, his heart beat against her chest, and she drew comfort from it, from him as he swam toward the shore.

  They were on the grassy shoreline. She collapsed to her side and drew a deep breath of heather-scented air.

  Jules dragged her into his arms. They lay there, with his face pressed against her hair, entangled. Claire reached up and curled her fingers around his shoulder, feeling the soggy cloth of his shirt beneath her fingers, and a small smile tugged at her lips. He had come after her.

  After his heartbeat slowed, he pulled back to stare into her face. “Has anyone ever told you that you are trouble?”

  Her smile slipped. “Now why would you say that?”

  He sat up and dusted the bank’s dirt from his chest. “You sank my boat.”

  “I was trying to fish.” Claire shoved back her dripping hair. His gaze followed her movements.

  “Fishing is much easier when you are not submerged in water.” His voice was light, and something reckless flickered in his expression. His gaze wandered from her face to her breasts then down to her hips. The thin, wet fabric clung to her body, molded to every curve, and revealed the dusky peak of her nipples.

  The warmth of his gaze pulled her in. She shifted closer.

  “I had a net,” she said, in her own defense. “I just could not handle the boat and the net at the same time.”

  He reached up and captured a soggy tendril of her hair. He coiled it around his finger, and softly tugged her closer. “That boat was my great-grandfather’s. It was over sixty years old. Whatever made you think it was seaworthy?” His voice was gentle, tender.

  “I . . . I didn’t think. I just wanted to catch a fish for dinner.” For you. She swallowed roughly against a sudden tightness in her throat.

  “Come closer,” he challenged with a smile.

  “Why . . . why should I?”

  “Because you want to,” he said, his voice thick.

  “You don’t know what I want. You don’t know anything about me. Despite the fact that we are married, we are strangers.”

  “Yes, we are.” His smile faded and he looked out at the loch.

  Loneliness. There it was again, that shared emotion. She had the sudden feeling he was speaking not just about them any longer, but a constant state, and she felt an odd sense of kinship.

  “You never let me ask my three questions the other night, Jules. Tell me something about you now, something no one else knows.”

  He frowned. “Why? So you can use that information against me?”

  “No. So I can feel closer to you, even if it is just for this moment. One thing, that’s all I ask.”

  A frown creased his forehead. He wasn’t going to answer her. A heaviness descended over her in the silence that ensued until he said, “My favorite color is green. I once had a pet mouse. I named him Francis, after the saint. While in gaol, I used to imagine I was out fishing on the loch. And when my mother died, a part of me died along with her.”

  “Jules,” she said, her voice raw.

  He held up his hand, stalling her words. “I don’t know what it is about you. One minute I want to strangle you. The next minute I want to kiss you.”

  Before she could stop herself, she touched her lips to his. He hesitated for only a moment before he responded, kissing her back, pulling her closer, letting her in. Even though she had instigated the kiss, she was unprepared for its effect. A wild, indescribable sweetness mingled his breath with hers.

  With a groan, he shifted his lips to her cheek, her ear, trailing hot kisses down her neck, weaving a sensual spell, until his mouth locked on hers once more. His tongue traced a hot line between her lips, coaxing, urging them to part.

  The moment she yielded, his tongue plunged into her mouth, stroking and caressing. A tingling sensation spread from her arms and legs, gathering at her core, until a strange languid heat flowed through her entire being.

  She surrendered to the sensation and to the stormy splendor of his kiss. Her hands shifted restlessly over the damp fabric of his shirt. She could feel his heavily muscled shoulders and forearms beneath the sheer fabric. The sensation made her bold as her lips moved against his with increasing abandon.

  When he finally pulled his mouth from hers an eternity later, their breath came in mingled gasps as the powerful, sensual force surrounding them was abandoned. Feeling almost bereft at its loss, Claire surfaced from the blissful abandon where he had taken her, and forced her heavy eyelids to open so she could look at him. He stretched out beside her on the grassy beach, his face hard and dark with passion, his blue eyes smoldering.

  Lifting his hand, he tenderly brushed a copper lock of hair off her cheek, and he tried to smile, but his breathing was as ragged as hers. He fingered the locket about her neck. “You wear this always. Should I be jealous?”

  “No,” she said tenuously. “It was given to me a long time ago.” He let the topic slide as Claire let her gaze drop once more to his finely chiseled mouth.

  “Don’t look at me that way unless you want this to progress further,” he warned her in a husky, tender voice. “If you touch me again, I am not certain I will have the strength to stop.”

  Stunned into stillness by the harsh need in his voice, Claire met his gaze, saw the raw desire beating there. Wave after wave of heat washed over her, shimmering with sensuality. She lost herself in the scent of him, the planes of his face, the tension in his body. She took it all in and welcomed the glittering promise he offered.

  Taking her silence as acceptance, his fingers came down and brushed the upper swell of her breast.

  She shivered, and the muscles of her stomach contracted in response.

  “If we do this,” he said, his voice as heavy and sensual as his gaze, “it won’t mean anything.”

  She arched against him. That was the old Jules talking—the man who used to be a womanizer. Now, he was a married man. “It will mean everything,” she countered. It would mean the consummation of their previously unconsummated marriage, and more.

  He groaned and shifted away from the intimate press of their bodies.

  Instead of releasing him, Claire brushed her hand down his wet shirt, found the edge and teased it up.

  His hands came down on hers. “The shirt stays on.”

  The muscles of his stomach were clenched and locked beneath her palms. She met his gaze as she returned her hands to his chest, stroking the hardened muscles beneath. Some of his tension eased, yet passion still burned in his eyes.

  Surely it was not embarrassment that kept his body shielded to her. She had seen earlier today that he was strong and muscular when he had been cutting wood. What mysteries would she see up close that she had not seen from afar?

  In that moment, a warm breeze lifted his tawny hair from his forehead and molded the material of his shirt to his chest, the same wind that caressed her cheeks. She became acutely aware of the water lapping softly against the shore, the spongy grass beneath her bare feet. The air seemed suddenly thick and hard to breathe.

  “Your shirt matters not to me.”

  He drew a deep breath, as though he too were affected by the breeze and the moment.

  The heat of his gaze was a physical thing on her flesh. “I can take you, enjoy you, then walk away.”

  Shock tingled through her—shock at his words that so closely mirrored what she intended to do, and shock at the desire that still flared, causing
her breasts to swell, harden, and ripen beneath that gaze. He had barely touched her skin, but her body was preparing. “I would like to see you try.”

  His hands went to the hem of her wet gown. He tugged it up over her head, taking her chemise along with her dress, exposing her fully to the warmth of the sunshine and to his heated gaze. “That is a challenge I readily accept.” He tunneled his fingers through her hair and tipped back her head. But instead of lowering his mouth to hers, he dipped farther down and touched his tongue to her nipple.

  She arched her spine, welcoming the intimacy of his touch. Heat blazed through her, and she prayed the same was true for him. As much as she burned, she wanted to make certain she would become an elixir that was every bit as vital to him as the air he breathed.

  He lifted his head and smiled at her. “Do you find that pleasant?”

  “Very.”

  “And this?” His head bent, his tongue touched her other nipple, flicking it into a hardened nub.

  Need flared deep inside, as did the edge of panic. Her stomach clenched. She might have wanted to control this situation, but in carnal matters she was but a novice to his master. She brought her hands up to tunnel in his hair, holding him to her. The silky feel of his hair against her fingers sent a tingle of desire to her core. Her heart was beating so fast, she was certain he could hear it, that the world, as vast and wide as it was, had now shrunk to just Jules and herself.

  His hands cupped her breasts, trailed along her sides, until he reached her bare buttocks. His hands opened and closed on her, urging her into the cradle of his hips. Arousal. Stark, bold, and pulsing provocatively against her nakedness. Suddenly his clothing became a barrier to whatever awaited them both.

  With trembling fingers she reached down and released the ties of his breeches. She eased the fabric over his muscular hips and thighs. He pushed his clothing aside, leaving him gloriously naked from the waist down, and fully aroused. She needed him against her, skin to skin, more than she needed to breathe.

  He shifted over her, and she shivered in anticipation as he parted her thighs and moved between them. His hand fluttered across her abdomen, then rose slowly, with languid anticipation to close about her breast. Her breath caught, hitched as he kneaded, explored, and sent her heart racing.

  His other hand fluttered down her side, past her waist, then slid slowly over her bottom, pressing her upward to greet him with a promise that was both explicit and seductive. Unfettered desire shone in his eyes as he caressed her breast, stroked her bottom, and filled her mouth, the heavy thrust of his tongue mimicking what he intended, and what she urgently desired.

  Her senses reeled as she followed his lead into a void where only sensation existed. His hand left her breast to cup her womanhood, stroking, patting, until his fingers delved in her wet heat, stroked, then penetrated. He thrust forward, spreading her, preparing her.

  Her body arched as he pressed deeper. She moaned, the sound trapped in their kiss. She pressed upward, wanting more, needing more than his fingers offered. As if in response to her unspoken plea, his fingers moved away and the blunt head of his erection took their place. He entered her, then stopped, not moving. He looked down at her, his eyes wide. “A virgin?” he asked, his voice raw with need.

  “Of course,” she said through a haze of lust. “What did you expect?”

  “I didn’t think.” The pain of his restraint tugged at his features. “I should pull back . . .”

  Every nerve in her body was on fire as he hovered half in, half out of her. She couldn’t let him go. Not now. Their joining would mean something to him. It must. Claire brought her hips up and lunged forward.

  His eyes closed and a groan of ecstasy escaped him as her tightness closed around him. “Damnation.” He plunged hard and deep.

  Pain flared, subsided. Fullness came, then sensation after sensation stormed through her. It was then she became aware of another sensation, an emptiness that had to be filled.

  He moved slowly, back and forth, allowing her time to grow accustomed to him, but the pain on his face grew more harsh, more pinched, as though the effort to restrain himself was costing him greatly. She clutched his shoulders, desperately holding on to him to keep him inside.

  She had to have all of him. It was the only thing that would take away the emptiness that grew, sharpened with each slow thrust. She wanted more. “Jules,” she whispered. “Take me, all of me,” she sighed as she thrust her hips upward once more.

  He exploded into motion, thrusting short, hard, fast, and frantic.

  An unbearable hunger grew, raged, spiraled. She thrashed her head from side to side against a pillow of grass as a desperation she had never felt before grew mercilessly out of control. “Please make it—” She didn’t know what she was asking. All she knew was they were headed for something that was bigger than both of them, something she wanted to lose herself in forever.

  Every stroke drew them closer. Every heartbeat melded them as one. Their breathing mingled, merged, until a dark hunger exploded, splintered into a brilliance so overwhelming it was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

  “Damnation,” Jules whispered as he collapsed on top of her. They lay there joined, hearts pounding, breathing ragged, for what felt like an eternity, until finally he lifted his head and brushed his lips over hers. “You are not what I expected.” His voice was silken soft, as seductive as the summer breeze that whispered across their cooling flesh.

  “From the Claire you created, you expected nothing at all.”

  “You are not the Claire I created.” He looked down at her, his eyes so blue and clear she felt as if she were looking into forever. She wanted it to be forever. She wanted to continue to float on the magical plane where no one and nothing existed but them. He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose.

  “Perhaps, or perhaps I am the manifestation of that wish come true. You created me for a reason. What was it?” she asked, feeling the glow of their lovemaking ebb away. She wanted it to continue. She wanted him to kiss her again, for the heat to build once more.

  Instead he withdrew from her and turned onto his back, staring at the sky. “I did not think past trying to make Nicholas and Jane stop with their pleading letters, or their various attempts to introduce me to female friends of theirs. I wanted it all to stop.”

  “It has stopped,” she said softly, then at the flicker of tension that returned to his body, she stood and held out her hand. She was not ready for their truce to end. “Come with me.”

  He sat up and stared at her outstretched hand. “Where?” He gripped her hand and she tugged him forward, pulling him off balance until both of them landed with a splash in the water.

  The moment he reached for her, she swam away.

  He laughed and swam after her. “You know how to swim?”

  “Of course.” She darted to the left, out of his grasp.

  “Then why did you allow me to rescue you out there?” He changed course, following her.

  “You seemed so determined.” She waved her hand across the surface of the water, sending spray into his face.

  He laughed and made a lunge for her, pulling her into his arms once more. He held her close, treading water. “You are no damsel in distress.”

  She watched the water bead onto his shirt-covered shoulders from the wet ends of his hair. A lazy smile touched his lips, making him appear much younger than his twenty-two years. Something had changed between them today, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not. The barrier he had first erected to keep her at arm’s length was no longer there. “No, Jules, I am your wife.”

  The moment she said the words, she regretted them. The shadows returned to his eyes. And he turned them both toward the shore. He wrapped her in his arms and carried her back to the beach, setting her on the grass. He bent down and snagged her chemise, pressing the wet garment into her hands. “We should get dressed and return to the manor.” He turned away and snatched up his breeches.

  “What are
you doing?”

  “I am getting dressed.” He frowned. “Where are my boots?” He searched the area until he found the garments he had most likely discarded before coming out to rescue her from the boat.

  “No, Jules. You are running away.”

  He tensed, not looking at her. “I’m not running.”

  “You are running from what we shared here, from the realization that you do care, and that you want to do it again.”

  He turned to face her, his features hard. “I told you I would walk away. I warned you.”

  She fastened the edges of her gown, straightened the wet fabric, then slipped her feet into the shoes she’d left at the shoreline. “You might walk away, but I will be there with you in your thoughts and in your mind.” She moved toward him. “You are afraid. Why?”

  He took a step back as he finished securing his breeches, then slammed his feet into his boots. “Leave well enough alone, wench. Leave here, leave me while you still can.”

  “This is where I belong.”

  “No one belongs here, Claire. Not even me.” On those words he turned around and headed off toward the manor, alone.

  Damnation, what have I done? Jules pounded across the open field toward the manor house. He was running, and he would keep running until he could forget what had just happened between them, until he could forget her. He could still taste the lingering sweetness of her mouth on his tongue. He could still feel her velvet softness on his fingertips.

  He should have stayed away from her while the others were gone. But he’d been so confident in his ability to ignore her, or at least be his unpleasant self, to scare her, humiliate her, anything to make her go away.

  But he had done no such thing. Instead, he had prepared her a meal, and talked about things he never shared with anyone. And in that talking, she had exposed his weaknesses and worn down his resolve. He had spent years practicing self-control, and he’d lost it with a kiss.