“My hero,” Julia said, between tonguing his mouth with relish and tightening her legs around his waist.
“’Tis good then that we won this battle today and the castle is safe,” he said, smiling, feeling much lighter-hearted now that they’d gotten through one battle scene without any difficulty between his men and Sutherland’s, and that Julia and Heather were both safe.
“Oh, aye, Ian,” she said, attempting to mimic his brogue, and he loved her effort. “’Tis time we are eating?”
“Afterward,” he promised, his hands squeezing her arse buried under the layers of cloth, which made him glad that women no longer wore so many articles of clothing. “You wear no stays, lady.” He said it in a teasing manner as if lightly scolding her for being so wanton.
She smiled brightly.
“Are you still wearing those skimpy scraps of lace I love so much?”
Her face flushed. “Are you wearing anything under your kilt?”
“You are without?” he asked, feeling higher to see if he could recognize a piece of fabric at her hips. He was already hard and wanting as her body rubbed against his while he walked.
“Only if you are without.”
“Traditional dress requires wearing the kilt and nothing underneath. While my brothers and cousins and I served in the Scottish Highland Regiments, we went commando. Although at Highland games and for dancers who perform high kicks and pipe bands who participate in high-stepping marches, participants often do wear undergarments as it’s required, lass. Breezy weather can be a wee bit of a problem also.” He shrugged. “Our long tunics or shirts protect us from chafing wool so we need not wear anything else while we participate in sword-fighting demonstrations.”
“From what I’ve heard, it’s a personal choice.”
“Aye. During all-male gatherings, we often don’t bother. With women present? Depends on the women.” He smiled.
“You are so bad.”
He chuckled and pressed his head against her breast. “Your chemise is damp, lass.”
“In the old days, women did whatever they could to catch the men’s eyes. To hell with restrictive fashions. About that betrothal contract, though…” Julia demurred as Ian tightened his hands on her arse.
“Hmm, lass?”
“Maybe we don’t have to find it.”
“Oh, we have to find it all right.”
She sighed.
He kissed her lips. “Just for historical reference.” And for whatever else was hidden in the box.
Her gaze met his. He gave a dark smile. “Whether you were mine, lass, or no’, once your da and mine contracted for us to be betrothed, it was taken out of our hands.”
“My father had nothing to do with this. Nor your father, either.”
He shook his head. “In your story where I’m your hero.”
She frowned. “How would you know—”
“Stands to reason you would view me in that way.” He reached the inner bailey, thinking his castle was too damned far from the woods.
She sighed. “Are you feeling better than you were this morning, Ian?”
He didn’t want to tell her how worried he’d been that something could go wrong in the fight scene today. Or that he still had his doubts about the box’s contents, or that he couldn’t help being concerned that Heather would sneak off with the human and get herself into some real trouble. He didn’t reply.
When he entered the keep, he quickened his pace as he made his way to the stairs and his chamber. After they reached it, he shut the door with his hip, stalked across the floor, and set her on his bed, with every intention of cleaning up before he ravished the delectable lass.
“I will join you in a moment after I wash up,” he said, removing his sword and setting it on the dresser.
“But… I don’t want to wait.” Seeing Ian in his sexy kilt had made Julia hot and bothered the whole day, between getting everything in place for the shoot and then shooting the picture. And wearing no undergarments underneath her layers of clothing, plus with dampening her chemise so it felt like she barely wore anything beneath the gown, she felt sexy and wanton and had envisioned ravishing the Highlander once he’d finished fighting his enemy.
She leaned back against the mattress and touched the brooch securing the arisaid at her bodice, but after trying to unfasten it, she found she couldn’t free it.
As he watched her, an almost imperceptible smile tugged at Ian’s mouth.
She frowned and tried to unlace the ties at the sides of the gown, instead, but couldn’t see what she was doing.
“Ye need a lady’s maid, aye, lass?” He moved in closer to her, his gaze dark and speculative. He leaned down to remove the brooch at her bodice, his fingers touching her breasts and making her whole body heat with anticipation.
How could his simple touch turn her into a burning inferno?
His darkened eyes focused on her as he pulled the brooch loose and then set the pin on the side table.
“No, Ian, I only need you.” The fact of the matter was that she’d been very capable when she’d dressed earlier. But now under Ian’s hot gaze, she couldn’t seem to unfasten anything.
She ran her hands up his thighs under his kilt, brushing her thumbs upward and feeling his hard muscles tighten. Heat reflected in his eyes, desire flaring, the craving for her revealed in his predatory gaze.
His voice thick with need, he said, “You know, lass, the danger you’re asking for?”
“With Sutherland?” She stroked Ian’s thighs in a seductive way. “Or with you?”
“Julia.” That simple declaration told her he wasn’t giving her up for anything. And she knew he loved her, even if he still didn’t say the words.
His hands felt solid on her shoulders, gently pushing her back. But as he leaned forward, she moved her fingers underneath his kilt and between his legs, soundly cupping him. She felt the fullness and hardness and incredible length of him. Heard the intake of his breath and the groan, and then he briefly closed his eyes. The thought of taking a shower forgotten, he opened his eyes, quickly removed the belt at her waist, and tossed it aside. How easy it was to change his mind, and she loved that he craved her so willingly that he could be swayed in that way.
She wanted him to untie her laces at the sides of her gown, but instead, he leaned over and cupped her breasts beneath the smock and chemise and fondled them in a loving way. He pushed the gown lower, exposing her nipples, which were only screened by the sheer, damp chemise. His thumb stroked over a nipple, grazing it, and making it grow and tingle and stir her craving for completion even more. His gaze focused on hers, glazed with lust. Then he ran his hand down her waist, so lightly it tickled her ribs.
She reached down to grab his kilt and push it up, to get this show on the road, but he thwarted her, roughly tugging at her laces to untie her gown. She slipped her fingers inside his open tunic, felt his muscles tense beneath her touch, and wanted him naked and joined with her.
He tugged the blue gown off and then worked on the smock and her hose and garters, until all that was left was the paper-thin chemise. He took stock of her, his eyes roaming all the way down the clinging fabric from her breasts to her ankles.
His heated gaze made her feel sexy and vulnerable and desired.
He ran his large capable hand over the soft fabric draping her legs and then, with his strong fingers molding to her calf, pushed the fabric upward. His voice raspy with need, he said, “This reminds me of when I first saw you.”
When she was soaking wet at the tavern. Only she hadn’t been quite this naked. And she’d felt his ravenous gaze then, too, only she’d been considering his wet clothes in the same interested manner.
He lowered his head and kissed her mouth as her hands caressed his hard muscled chest. She was having a difficult time concentrating on anything but the way he pulled up her gown, slowly, his hand brushing a sensuous stroke up her thigh. Every touch was loving and sexy, and she was thankful his dark mood had dissipated.
She tugged at his shirt to pull it free from his plaid, but it was too long. He yanked off his belt, and then his plaid and stood only in his long tunic, his legs bare, his look feral. She was reminded of the Scots of ancient times, how she was in a castle that was several centuries old and was living the fantasy with the Highlander of her dreams.
Then he hauled her chemise over her head and dropped it to the floor, and she gave a little pull upward on his tunic, which made him smile and wrench the fabric over his head. He was beautiful, every square inch of muscled man, the dark hair on his chest trailing down. And her gaze settled on the hefty size of him, primed just for her.
Fully naked now, she reached up, wanting to pull him down to join her, to fill the ache that was making her crave having him deep inside her.
But despite her being in a rush to make love, maddeningly, he seemed to be in no hurry whatsoever.
Ian stared at the beauty before him: the flush of her skin—which amused him because it seemed no matter how many times he made love to her, she wore that innocent blush whenever he viewed her—her darkened nipples tight and kissable, her fiery red hair splayed across his pillow, and the red thatch of curls between her legs, dewy with eagerness. He knew she was impatient to make love, but he wanted a moment to enjoy her naked splendor before that happened.
Then he pushed her knees apart with one leg, spreading her open so his fingers could plunge into the wet slickness between her folds. And she arched her leg pinned between his, pressing into his arousal. His control slipping, his touch greedy, he rubbed her in a lascivious manner. She responded with a sweet, sexy moan. He loved her, lusted for her, wanted her forever and knew she was the one he had needed to make him whole.
He kissed her breast, rubbed his whiskery cheek against the nipple, and licked and sucked and paid homage to one and then the other as his fingers continued to stroke her lower. She ran her hands through his hair, her heartbeat quickening, her body arching, restless and yearning, pushing to have him work her faster, and then she cried out his name in a sexually charged way. She sank against the mattress, her body quivering with orgasm, her mouth curved a little in a smile.