Highland Temptation Page 10

  He blinked at her. “Neither did I.”

  Confusion drew her brows together. “What do you mean?”

  He looked back at the road. “It isna always like that,” he said softly.

  “It’s not?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then…it was special for you, too?” she asked awkwardly.

  He reined the horses to a halt, and turned fully to her, his expression fierce. “It was…” He shook his head. “Like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Special…Aye, it was special. It was…” He gathered her hands in his and pressed his lips to them, then his gaze rose to meet hers, golden in the afternoon light. “You are…I feel…I care about you, Emilia.” His voice was reduced to a husky whisper.

  “I care about you, too, Colin,” she whispered back.

  He still clutched her hands in his own. “I think I…” His thumbs rubbed over her knuckles. “I think…I care about you more than I have ever cared about any woman. And kissing you, touching you, having you come so hard for me…I’ve never experienced anything so fulfilling in my life.”

  She stared at him, her heart expanding and filling with something warm and heavy.

  “I have never felt anything so fulfilling, either,” she murmured. “It…surprised me. I thought what would happen would be merely physical, but…”

  He nodded knowingly. “Aye, for me as well. It was more.”

  “Yes. So much more.”

  They gazed at each other, then both looked up at a sudden sound on the road, a carriage bearing down on them that they should have heard much earlier.

  He took up the reins again, pulling them closer to the side of the road so the other carriage could pass. It was a stagecoach, she saw, moving at high speed, and nearly overflowing with passengers, who gave them curious looks from the top seat and from the carriage windows as they passed.

  Colin pulled back onto the road, and they rode on, ever closer to Scotland. She leaned comfortably against him, any earlier discomfort extinguished, and they talked, their conversation so lively that time passed quickly. Soon they had gone through the busy town of Berwick and were crossing the bridge over the River Tweed.

  North of Berwick, the carriage traffic thinned, and the sun glistened on the countryside. The trees were tall and lovely in the first bloom of spring, the ground thick with grass. “Let’s stop to eat,” Colin suggested as they crested a rise and the ocean came into view a few hundred feet away. Emilia nodded, liking the idea of stretching her legs.

  He pulled off the road and over to a clearing near the water’s edge, taking the horses beyond a small hill, well hidden from any other travelers who might pass on the main road.

  After she climbed down from the carriage, Emilia stretched, raising her arms high above her head and twisting her torso this way and that. When she lowered her arms, she saw Colin eyeing her appreciatively, and she smiled at him. “Where would you like to eat?”

  He retrieved a plaid and the bundle of food they’d asked the innkeeper’s wife to pack for them, and pointed toward the sea. “There.”

  They walked through a bit of tall grass to the shore, where boulders bracketed a long strip of sand. Colin laid out the plaid, and Emilia sat, her gaze taking in their surroundings. The ocean was placid and so clear she could see the sand and pebbles glistening beneath the surface. Tiny waves whooshed gently at the edge of the sand. “It’s so lovely here,” she murmured, taking off her bonnet in a sudden desire to feel the warmth of the sun on her head.

  Sitting beside her, Colin unwrapped the food, and she leaned against him as he hand-fed her bits of roasted fowl and bread.

  Had she ever felt so content? She didn’t think so.

  They took their time eating, and when Emilia was full, she opened the bottle of wine that the innkeeper’s wife had generously provided, and they traded sips straight from the bottle.

  Finally, Colin set the bottle down beside him, then touched her cheek, a gentle graze. When she turned to him, he kissed her.

  She sighed with pleasure, wrapping her arms around him. They kissed for long minutes. Colin tasted of wine, and that ever-so-masculine taste she was beginning to identify as belonging solely to him.

  Finally, he laid her on her back on the plaid, and when he loomed over her, she reached up, drawing him to her lips. He indulged her in another long kiss, then rose, his fingers going to the ties of her dress, a question in his eyes. She nodded.

  Yes, yes, and yes, she wanted to tell him, even more eager than she’d been this morning, knowing how powerful his touch could be.

  Deftly, he undid the ties of her round gown and the front tie of her chemise, then slowly drew off the sleeves, one by one, before peeling the gown and the chemise down her chest.

  Her nipples tightened instantly in the spring air, and she resisted the instinctual urge to cover herself. Colin stared down at her, appreciation darkening his eyes to golden brown, and she realized this was the first time he’d seen the front of her body. He cupped one of her breasts in his palm and brought his lips to it.

  If she’d thought the feeling of him kissing her breasts over her nightgown had been exquisite, this was…“Ooh,” she murmured.

  “You have the most bonny breasts,” he murmured, then tickled her nipple with his tongue. “So sweet and soft.”

  He kissed both her breasts, starting with gentle licks and nuzzles and then suckling her until sensation rocketed to her core, and need bloomed inside her.

  She desperately wanted this man to take her virginity.

  She moved her hands over him. He’d removed his coat earlier, and hadn’t worn a waistcoat or cravat today, so now he just had on his shirt, tucked into his kilt. She grabbed the shirt at his lower back and pulled it free of his waistband then pushed her hands underneath the fabric and stroked his warm, strong back, hesitating when she felt the raised slick lines of scars over his upper back. Different from her more jagged ones, but he’d definitely been whipped. Perhaps that was part of the strong connection she felt to this man. They were kindred spirits in more ways than she could count.

  She reached around to his front, pulling the shirt all the way out then fumbling with his belt buckle. He rose up to look at her. “What are you doing, lass?”

  “I want you.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, his chest heaving. Then he rose to his knees and unbuckled his belt. Staring at her, he unwrapped his kilt and laid it aside, but his shirt fell over him, hiding most of his body from her view.

  She wanted to see him. All of him. But he didn’t remove his shirt. Instead, he took her hand and put it between his legs, above his shirt, lifting his heavy manhood in her palm and pressing it against his belly. She curled her fingers around its thickness, and her heart began a strange pitter-patter against her ribs.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked, but his voice was more of a growl. Keeping his hand over hers, he moved up and down so she felt his long length from top to bottom.

  She squirmed as a cool breeze blew over her nipples, still damp from his kisses. “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s exactly what I want.”

  His lips tightened, his eyes narrow and dark as he stared at her, rhythmically moving their hands up and down his shaft.

  He ground his teeth and closed his eyes when she tightened her fingers over him, and his shoulders shuddered as he drew in a deep breath.

  “Emilia,” he rasped, eyes still shut tight. “I’m not sure I can…It’s been so long, and you…you…” He opened his eyes and they were bright as he stared at her. “I dinna ken if I can control it. Once I’m inside you…” His throat moved as he swallowed. She felt him under her palm, hard and thick and long. It would hurt, she knew, but only at the beginning. Then he would be buried deep inside her body, and it would feel…She didn’t know, exactly, but it would be better than his fingers, she was certain. And his fingers had given her far more pleasure than she’d ever dreamed possible.

  “That’s what I want,” she said, and her own voice was
raspy and deep with lust. “I want you to lose yourself inside me, Colin.”

  He made a low, very Scottish-sounding noise that was halfway between a hum and a growl, and then he was on top of her, kissing her deeply, his tongue tangling with hers, his body pressing down on her deliciously. He pushed her skirts up to her hips, nudged her legs apart, and his hand went to her center.

  “Mmm,” he said against her lips, “already wet for me, mo leannan.” His fingers slipped through her wetness, light and teasing, and her body pressed toward him, wanting more. Deeper.

  And then he shifted and removed his hand from between her legs. Something else pressed against her folds. The head of his shaft, warm and thick and prodding. She arched, trying to get closer to him as, gripping himself, he rubbed her with the blunt crown. He was hot and smooth, and the pressure of him against her made her mad for wanting him.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please, Colin.”

  He pushed into her, his thick tip breaching her, and she gasped. He froze, pulling back from their kiss, his body shaking hard, the muscles in his jaw working. Gripping his shoulders tightly, she gazed up at him. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

  “Do it,” she whispered, “please.”

  “I…I dinna want to…hurt you.” He couldn’t seem to form words. He clenched his teeth.

  “Please, Colin.”

  With a low groan, he squeezed his eyes shut, and surged deep into her.

  The pain was sharp and intense. She jerked and cried out before she could stop it.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, still shaking. “I’m sorry, mo leannan.”

  She panted through the pain. “No,” she commanded. “No sorrys.”

  “Emilia.” He said her name on a low groan. Wedged deep inside her, he didn’t move, but she could tell that every bit of his being wanted to.

  She breathed deep. “It’s all right,” she managed, gentling the death grip she had on his shoulders. “I’m all right.” Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him down to her, kissing him on the lips, for the first time tentatively reaching for him with her tongue. He met it with his, his kiss achingly desperate. She moved her hands over his back, bunching his shirt up until she was at the tight roundness of his buttocks. She flattened her palms over the hard cheeks and pushed him tight against her. He quivered in response, and she kissed him harder, wiggling beneath him, willing him to follow his instincts and move.

  He did, pulling back until he was nearly out of her, an exquisite glide of pleasure and pain that made her moan before he pushed into her again. He began a steady rhythm of strong thrusts, and her body began to adjust to the length and girth of him inside her.

  The sharp pain had already receded, leaving a duller ache that the pleasure had already begun to eclipse. Soon she was tilting her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust as his buttocks flexed beneath her hands.

  She could feel him everywhere. In her body and out of it. On her skin and in her blood. He pulled back from the kiss, and they gazed at each other as they moved in a rhythm as old as time, glorying in the closeness of it, in the intimacy, as the cool air brushed against their heated skin.

  Pleasure washed over her and through her. A tingle began in her core that Colin intensified with every stroke of his body into hers. It was a heavenly sensation, different from the feel of his fingers and mouth on her, but equally pleasurable. Soon, the tingles coalescing in her core seemed to burst and radiate outward through her limbs, and she cried out as they overtook her, her whole body shaking, saturated by bliss.

  Colin’s thrusts became more forceful, powerful, and he seemed to grow impossibly larger within her as aftershocks of the orgasm sparked through her, making her gasp with every one. His eyes had closed, and his face was tense and tight, and when she moved her hands upward, stroking over his shoulders and arms, she found that his muscles were like rocks under her touch.

  He began to speak in a litany of Gaelic, and she couldn’t tell if they were curses or endearments or some wicked combination of both, but she answered him anyhow, murmuring encouragement, telling him she loved how he felt inside her, that it was more than she ever thought it could be—because it was.

  He surged into her, deep and hard, and suddenly jerked out of her body entirely. He pressed himself onto her pelvis, a hot, hard, pulsing rod, as he spent on her skin, his body tight and his hips jerking uncontrollably.

  When it was over, he dropped his head beside hers, and she kissed his jaw softly. He rolled to his side, his chest sawing with heavy breaths.

  “Just…need a minute,” he said in a low voice.

  She turned to face him, registering the soreness between her legs and not caring about it. Because while she might be a bit sore, she’d never in her life felt so sated. So complete.

  Watching him, she moved a bit of the brown hair that had come out of his queue from where sweat glued it to his face. He blinked up at her, and she smiled at him.

  “God,” he said, “you’re so damn bonny.”

  So are you, she wanted to say. He was the bonniest thing she’d ever seen.

  He pulled her to him, her skirts crushed between them, and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I hurt you.”

  “Only for a moment,” she replied against the warmth of his lips. “After that it was…”

  “It was…” He hesitated, then murmured, “Perfect.”

  She sighed in contentment.

  Eventually, Colin rose. He used a strip of linen to wash her. She would normally have been terribly embarrassed about the blood, but Colin just cleaned it up, and then kissed her wet thighs, his every movement brimming with tenderness. He adjusted her skirts and helped her tie her gown back on. She fixed her hair and tied her straw bonnet under her chin as he refastened his kilt and donned his coat.

  In companionable silence, they cleaned up their picnic and returned to the carriage. He helped her onto her seat, then walked around and climbed up beside her. He touched her cheek—an intimate, loving gesture—before taking up the reins and turning them back to the road.

  Less than an hour later, Emilia was dozing on Colin’s shoulder when he woke her. “We just crossed the border. We’re in Scotland now.”

  Emilia had thought he would have been pleased by that, but there was tension in his shoulders and a crease between his brows.

  She sat up, scanning the environs with interest. If she thought Scotland’s Lowland terrain would magically look different from northern England’s, she had been wrong. There was nothing different about the green of the hills, about the blue of the sea they occasionally spotted in the distance. Still…Scotland, she thought with a chest-deep thrill. She’d considered herself trapped in London, had often wondered if she’d ever leave. And now she was hundreds of miles away, in Scotland, headed toward the great historic city of Edinburgh.

  “You look happy,” Colin commented sometime later.

  She turned to him. “I am happy.”

  He smiled at her, and she thought that might be the first time she’d seen him give everything to a smile. It lit up his face and his eyes, and rendered him handsomer than ever. “I’m glad,” he said.

  Colin slowed the horses as they rounded a sharp turn in the road. And then he pulled on the reins sharply, stopping them altogether.

  Ahead, a line of horses and men blocked the road, a large, shiny black carriage parked behind them.

  As Colin and Emilia had turned the corner, at least a half-dozen guns had been aimed in their direction.

  Chapter 14

  Colin’s mind worked furiously. Bloody hell.

  He’d worried that Mrs. Thomas from Markham Moor would talk. And since that stagecoach had passed them earlier, the occupants’ gazes all taking them in, he’d had an uneasy feeling in his gut. Those passengers had probably confirmed that Emilia and Colin were headed in this direction.

  A hundred or so feet ahead of them, Pinfield broke through the line of men—due to his large girth and cocksure stride, he was easy to recognize,
even at a distance.

  Emilia’s hand closed over Colin’s thigh. “Oh God,” she whispered, and he’d do anything, anything, to obliterate the tone of terror from her voice.

  The road was narrow here, lined on both sides by high bushes. He couldn’t turn them around. The only direction to go was forward.

  They were trapped.

  Beside him, Emilia’s body trembled in fear.

  “Halt!” Pinfield shouted imperiously—and stupidly, since they’d already halted.

  The men moved forward in a line. Colin’s pistol was in a pouch beside him, in case he needed it quickly, but one pistol wouldn’t do him any good against a half dozen.

  “You need to run,” he said in a low voice to Emilia as he slipped the gun from the pouch. “Head south. We passed an abandoned farmhouse—a crofter’s cottage—just after we crossed the border, do you remember it?”

  She nodded, her blue eyes wild with fear.

  “Wait for me there. If I dinna come, return to Berwick and send for the Knights.”

  “But…” she whispered, “…but…”

  “Go, Emilia,” he said from the side of his mouth. The men were coming toward them. She didn’t have a good head start, so she needed to go now if she was to have any chance of getting away. “Go!”

  She flew into motion. He didn’t have time to spare to watch her. Instead, as soon as she slipped from her seat, he loosened the reins and flicked them. The horses jumped forward. The men hadn’t expected that. There were shouts, and then a loud explosion of a gunshot just as Colin dove for the phaeton’s floor.

  The shot missed him. And it missed both horses, thank God. But it did incite them to surge forward. The line of men broke as they scattered out of the way. “Shoot him!” Colin heard Pinfield’s petulant cry. “Shoot him, I said!”

  Colin was going to get killed if he stayed here. Just as more ear-splitting gunshots rent the air, he leapt out of the carriage, hitting the ground hard and rolling so he didn’t break his neck.

  Men were yelling, but Colin couldn’t understand what they were saying—the ringing in his ears was too loud. He came up to his knees, saw a man running for him at full speed. Colin raised his gun and fired. The man fell to his knees and dropped his gun, but there was another man in his place almost instantly, running toward Colin and raising his weapon to aim. He was damn close. Colin jumped to his feet and lunged for him, head down, plowing into him. The man flew backward a good yard then went down like a sack of grain, emitting a loud grunt as his back slammed into the ground. On top of him, Colin hit him once across the skull with the butt of his pistol, and the man slumped back, instantly unconscious.