Chapter Twenty-One
In her twenty-six years of life, Evelyn had hungered for many things. As a wee child, she’d pleaded and cajoled her grandmother for a taste of persimmon pudding before the Christmas feast was served. Later, as a girl on the cusp of womanhood, she’d yearned for the attentions of a particularly handsome young buck who’d often visited her brother at their country home. She’d studied the angles of his youthful, clean-shaven face, and mentally traced the outline of his mouth, wondering at the taste and the feel of his lips against hers, never daring to confess the secret hunger that was so very new to her. And once, during a time that now seemed a lifetime ago, she’d longed to become Nigel’s bride. How she’d anticipated the day—and night—of her wedding, only to see her hopes and dreams dissolve into a hideous muck that, unlike the dirt in the garden, she could not ever wash away.
There were some desires that were best left unsated. Hadn’t she learned that lesson when Nigel had abandoned her at the altar, justifying his own betrayal with a nasty lie?
And yet, here she was, inches from the chamber in which Gerard waited, wearing his kilt—and heaven only knew what else. Her hand so close to the door, she could open the latch. A cautious little voice inside her urged her to turn away and hurry back to the guest room where she was supposed to be staying the night. She’d been burned before. Quite badly, really. Didn’t she know better? Did she have the strength to risk that kind of pain again?
Was it madness that made her crave Gerard with an intensity that pushed all of her doubts far out of reach?
Or was it an instinctive recognition of a man who would help her heart to heal—a man whose passion would sweep away the pain, if only for a few precious hours?
Suddenly nervous, she tugged her dressing gown tight around her and cinched it closed at the waist.
Do not be a ninny.
Stand tall. Shoulders back, Evelyn.
A fine specimen of the male species is waiting for you, most likely wearing a length of plaid…and nothing more.
She bit back a giggle. Why did her inner voice always sound like her stone-faced governess? How very ironic. Wouldn’t the oh-so-prim matron be stunned to know her nagging tones had taken on a scandalous bent in Evelyn’s imagination, providing the extra push she needed to pursue this scandalous, all-too-delicious madness?
Pulling in a fortifying breath, she opened the door and slipped inside. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the near darkness.
A dim lamp on a dresser chest cast a faint glow over the room, gilding Gerard in warm light.
Leaning his back against the headboard of a large, sturdy bed, he’d stretched out his long legs. He’d cast his shirt aside, draped over a chair. A kilt covered his hips. Cheeky devil, he’d gone and done it. He’d worn the garment she could not resist.
Watching her come to him, he did not move a muscle as she entered the room. He’d folded his arms behind his head, displaying his powerful biceps to good advantage. Somehow, the sight of him covered from the waist down, with the firm, sculpted muscles of his shoulders and chest bared to her eyes, was even more tempting than if he’d revealed every inch of his body.
Her gaze trailed the tantalizing line of dark hair over the sleek plane of his belly, a seductive path from his navel to the fabric covering his hips. The cloth strained against the ridge of his erection.
What a delectable sight.
She swallowed hard. Studying her with hooded eyes, he smiled, a slight, knowing tilt of his lips. Had he actually heard her soft gulp of air?
Her fingers toyed with the silk of her dressing gown, crushing the fabric nervously. Soon, she would sweep her fingertips over that tempting muscle, and bone, and flesh, exploring his body just as he would explore hers.
An intense craving filled her, infusing every fiber of her being. How she longed for him.
And only him.
That simple truth washed over her. She desired this night in Gerard’s arms. She hungered for the passion of his kiss and the tenderness of his touch.
But above all, she wanted him.
One night would never be enough.
A twinge of doubt rippled through her. She’d cast aside the shields around her heart. She’d let down her guard.
Would she be left craving what she could never have?
She would pay a price for permitting herself to be vulnerable to this man—and that price would be steep, indeed.
She pulled in a low breath, steadying her pulse. She held his heated gaze. When he looked at her like that, he made her feel beautiful. And treasured.
This felt so very right.
In her heart, she knew the truth. She belonged here. With Gerard.
They would have this night together.
He left the bed, coming to her with a stealthy sureness in each stride. If he held any doubts about them—about this—his carved features did not betray them.
Reaching for her, he drew her close. In his arms, she delighted in the steady thrum of his heart against her chest.
If only for these few precious moments in time, he was hers.
He kissed her, soothing away the nagging remnant of doubt. His tongue parted her lips, the most seductive of caresses. She surrendered to the heady delight of his kiss. Nesting her body against him, she drank in his heat and earthy masculine essence, so uniquely his. The melding of sensual pleasures intoxicated her, and when he peeled away her dressing gown, she smiled as it pooled on the floor at her feet.
“I want to see ye, love,” he whispered as his warm hands gently framed her face. “Every beautiful inch.”
She nodded, suddenly shy as his hands slid along the length of her body, catching the hem of her chemise between his fingers. With a quick, sure movement, he slipped the cotton over her head. The garment joined the dressing gown on the carpet.
“Ah, that’s better, Evie.”
Tenderness and passion infused his husky brogue as he spoke her name. Evie. On his lips, the diminutive seemed a term of endearment.
He swept her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. Once there, he placed her gently on the sheet.
He extinguished the lamp. Moonlight streamed in through a window, bathing them in soft, lustrous rays.
Her pulse raced. Not with fear. Far from it. Anticipation coursed through her veins. She wanted this so very badly. Gerard had driven her wild with his touch. The mere thought of making love with him, of lying in his arms and tasting the full measure of his passion, made her utterly breathless. She’d dreamed of a man like Gerard, a bold lover who’d strip away her inhibitions, who’d love her to the brink of madness. How wonderful that would be.
She was not an innocent. Not quite. She had been with a man—her betrothed had seduced her one night, soon after their engagement had been announced, an exceedingly quick, furtive coupling that had left her thoroughly unimpressed. On the eve of what was to have been her wedding day, when her mother had advised her to be brave and think of England, it had been all she could do not to giggle. She knew full well there was nothing to fear from the act, as Mama had put it. After all, one could not truly die of boredom. Her fantasies had proven far more wicked than the rather dull reality she’d found in her betrothed’s bed. Truly, she’d wondered what the fuss was all about.
Now, having tasted Gerard’s kiss and shattered in his touch, she knew.
Turning to her, he stripped off his kilt.
Evelyn’s breath caught at the sight. The man was magnificent, brash as a fierce Highland warrior of old. The silvery light drew shadows over the contours of his broad chest. How she longed to touch him, to learn the texture of his skin, to feel him react to the glide of her fingertips over his powerful body. Her gaze roamed to the dark hair at the apex of his muscular thighs. His erect shaft jutted from the patch of nearly black curls.
She gulped another breath, releasing it on a low sigh. Would he be a tender, gentle lover? Or would he allow his desire to spur an intense, wicked passion, a sensual, carnal coupling?
With a smile that melted her heart, he prowled over her, kissing her legs, her belly, her breasts. He cupped a breast against his slightly roughened palm, stirring her eager flesh to respond. Her nipple pebbled with the need for his touch. His lips closed around the sensitive bud, and she arched her back, surrendering to her hunger for his caress.
“Evie, I must know ye want me…” he murmured, passion infusing his raspy brogue. “As I want you, mo cridhe.”
“Want you? No, that’s far too mild.” She managed a breath, even as she drew him close. “I need you, Gerard.”
Coiling her arms around his back, she stroked the tense, lean muscles and whispered words of love against his mouth.
“I will take care…to prevent a babe,” he said, positioning his body over her. He brushed a soft kiss over her cheek. “But if…if God has other plans…I will honor ye. And my bairn.”
He’d uttered the words as a vow. The intensity in his voice sent a little shiver over her skin. Not of fear. But of emotion unlike any she’d ever felt. This man had given her his commitment. She’d been hurt by promises before. She should know better than to trust him.
But in her heart, she believed every word.
“Yes, I understand,” she whispered. “Now, Mr. MacMasters, I’ll ask you to kiss me and love me. For this night, I am yours.”
“And I am yers, my sweet lass.”
The length of his erection nested against her softness, and she canted her hips to cradle him. Supporting his weight on his forearms, the lean muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing, he held himself still. He wanted to take her, then and there. She knew that. She knew he wanted to lose control and bury himself within her. She felt the cost of his restraint, the sleek sinews of his back taut with strain, the granite set of his jaw as he kept his passion on a tight rein.
She pressed a kiss to his mouth. So very ready for him, she arched her back, urging him to take her. Urging him to take what she freely gave. She wanted his raw passion. She longed for him to hold nothing back, to claim her with no turning back.
“Oh, Gerard. I need you so.”
Hunger flavored her voice, spurring him on. With a passion-edged moan, he shifted his weight and positioned his lean hips between hers. Her hands glided along the length of him, clasping his powerful buttocks. With a stealthy touch, she slid one hand between their bodies. As her eyes met his, she curled her fingers around a perfect meld of steel and velvet. He dragged in a raw breath, emboldening her. She stroked him, exploring the feel of him, relishing the powerful evidence of his hunger for her.
His inhalations and exhalations grew more ragged with each deliberate touch of her hand, even as her own need intensified to a blaze. Soon, she would surrender to the wanting. How glorious it would be when he embedded himself to the hilt.
Gritting his teeth, he stilled her hand.
“Ah, lass, ye dinnae know what ye do to me.” Raw tones marked his low voice. Claiming her mouth, he kissed her deeply, and she drank him in.
The tip of his shaft parted her sex. Tenderly, he teased her, gentle strokes against her cleft, readying her body for him. He entered her, slow and easy. Her tight inner muscles stretched, sheathing his length and his thickness. Inch by inch, he filled her, stirring a sweet, hot ache only he could soothe.
And still, he kissed her, caressing her lips with an unrestrained passion.
His cock pulsed within her. When he began to move, each stroke deeper than the last, she thought she’d go mad with her hunger for him. Each motion grew more fevered, more desperate. Every muscle in his body grew rigid with the strain of his self-control.
“Give me yer pleasure, my sweet.” His breath was warm against her ear.
Their gazes met and held. His eyes had darkened. Heat flared in those smoky topaz irises.
Her heart swelled with joy. How she wanted this. How she wanted him.
“Come undone for me,” he whispered, his quiet brogue like a caress.
She tipped her hips, intensifying the exquisitely intimate contact.
A little moan escaped her lips, and he plunged deeper. Harder. Possessing her more completely with each deliberate thrust.
She met each stroke, taking and giving, treasuring every moment of pleasure.
Her fingers dug into his back, holding him tight. Bliss more intense than she’d ever known swept her toward an unknown precipice. She clung to him. Without trepidation. Without fear. Only trust that he would be there with her, surrounding her with his warmth and power as she hurtled over the edge.
Her breath caught. Primal cravings overtook her. Caught in a whirlwind of intense sensation, she moaned against his mouth.
Pleasure engulfed her. She came apart. Her hips bucked wildly against him.
Drinking in every drop of intoxicating sensation, she splintered in his arms.
A soft, keening cry escaped her lips. Her own sounds of pleasure, unrestrained and unashamed.
He kissed her, his caress velvet soft, muffling her whimpers of delight.
Clinging to him, she drifted in a sweet, sensual haze.
He went very still then. Fighting for control. She ran her hands along the length of his back, delighting in the granite-hard muscles.
“I want to feel your pleasure,” she whispered against his ear. “Here. Now.”
With a low, animalistic sound, nearly a growl, he acknowledged the power of her words. Slowly, he began to thrust his hips. Again. And again. His cock throbbed within her, intensifying the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through her. He drove deeper and deeper, each thrust faster, more desperate with raw, uncensored need.
Until the moment when he jerked his hips away from her, spilling his seed into a soft, linen handkerchief.
Without words, he drew her tight. His chest was hard and warm. She wove her fingers through the feathering of dark hair that marked the contours of muscle and sinew. He swept his lips over hers in a feather-soft kiss.
“Ah, my sweet Evie. Mo cridhe. My love.”
With a sigh, she nestled against him. Secure in his arms, lulled by his steady breaths, she felt her lids growing heavy. Surrendering to the pleasant temptation of slumber, she drifted off to sleep.
…
Gerard brushed his lips over Evelyn’s cheek. She’d given him her pleasure. She’d surrendered to her desire, had cast her inhibitions aside. Trusting him. What a rare and precious thing. Despite her flirtatious manner, Evie was not a woman who freely discarded the armor that guarded her. Her heart had suffered a grievous wound. But now, she lay peacefully against his chest, her soft puffs of breath marking her even inhalations and exhalations. With her eyes closed, her long lashes fanned over her cheeks, she might’ve been an angel who’d fallen into his arms, the answer to a prayer he hadn’t known he’d uttered.
What would he give to have her at his side every night? Loving him and being loved by him?
One hand splayed over her flat middle. He’d taken precautions to prevent a babe from rounding her belly. Someday, in another time, another place, perhaps she would be his. What would it be like to watch her body nurture a bairn…his child…their child…the product of their passion and their shared bliss?
Damnable shame such a thing could never be.
He had his duty.
He had to honor the legacy of service forged by generations of MacMasters.
Bah, he couldn’t fool himself. The truth of it was, he was a coward. He didn’t have the strength to face the loss of a woman like Evelyn…of a woman he might love.
He’d never again subject himself to the pain. He could not face the possibility of losing her. Just as he’d lost Abby.
Loving again was a risk he couldn’t take.
But he could hold her. He could pleasure her. He could protect her.
Damnable shame he’d have to let her go.