Chapter Twenty-Two
Lachlan had been leaving as Georgina approached the cottage. When he’d caught sight of her, he halted, and they watched each other warily. There’d been something new in his eyes, something hard, but tired, too.
In the end, he’d just nodded when she explained she needed to talk to Mal. “It’s all right,” he said. “You should see him.”
She’d turned to say something more—it didn’t seem right to leave things there, after everything that had happened—but he was already brushing past her, covering ground with long strides.
And as soon as Georgina saw Mal, her brief exchange with Lachlan was forgotten. Heart thrumming, she slipped past Mal, going to stand by the fire with her hands held out, even though she wasn’t very cold. Her hands trembled, and she balled them into fists.
“What are you doing here, lass?”
She turned slowly, vaguely taking note of the sparsely furnished but well-kept room. She took the most note of the narrow mattress along the wall.
“It’s nearly dusk,” she said, finding she was having trouble looking at Mal. She’d never thought of herself as a bashful person, and she certainly hadn’t been bashful only an hour before, but it was different like this. She felt more open, more vulnerable. She supposed that was the point. Finally, though, she reached deep within herself and found her strength. She met Mal’s gaze head-on. “You’ll need to light more candles.”
She lifted her hands to undo the hidden fastenings at the front of her dress. A plain dark-green one that she wore when she needed something serviceable. It was the same linen-wool blend as the one she’d burned because it had Mal’s blood on it.
He stepped forward, catching her hands. The rough, warm clasp of them made her shiver. “Are you sure?”
She pulled back, out of his reach, and nodded. “But you have to do as I say.” If this was surrender, she wouldn’t be doing it alone.
His lips curved, as if he would have expected no less of her. “Aye.”
“Light the candles,” she said, voice hoarse.
He went around with a spill, lighting a few tallow candles on the dining table, and then two more on a small stand by the bed.
By the time he’d turned back, her dress was pooled at her feet. She stood before him, only in her chemise and stays. His gaze flickered over her hungrily, and she wondered how much he could see of her body through the thin fabric.
“Unlace me,” she said.
He moved behind her, loosening the strings of her stays, but she hadn’t said he could touch her, and he didn’t. When the corset sagged, he stepped back, retaking his spot by the table, where he could watch her, unhindered.
She peeled out of the stays and lifted the chemise over her head. Cool air touched her breasts, her thighs. She felt like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.
Then she opened her hand, and the cotton fabric fluttered to the ground. Her arms fell to her sides. And though she wanted to cover herself, she didn’t. With her heart in her throat, she let Mal watch her.
He had his hip against the table. To anyone else he might have seemed almost bored, but she noticed the tension in his jaw, in the way his fingers curled against the table’s edge. And then, lower, a bulge against the fabric of his kilt.
He didn’t shift, or try to hide it, and Georgina felt the first stirring of desire, low in her abdomen.
“Well?”
“I already said you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. It hasn’t changed. It won’t change.”
She licked her lips. She wanted to believe him.
“Kiss me,” she said.
He crossed the room in two strides, took her into his arms, bent her head back with the force of his kiss. The wool of his kilt scratched against her bare thighs; the softer fabric of his shirt tickled her stomach and breasts.
It was an odd feeling, to be bare when he was clothed. To be open to him when he was closed.
She parted her lips and he licked into her mouth, deep and hot.
“Take this off,” she murmured against him, gripping his kilt.
Together, they unfurled him, and just as he’d looked at her, Georgina looked at him. He was broad-shouldered and wiry. Hair dusted his chest and a flat, toned abdomen, pointed down to caress his hard length. She felt a flutter of nervousness.
And then, somehow, she became fascinated by his feet. She realized she’d never seen them before, and it seemed an oddly intimate thing—the pale arches and stubby toes, usually hidden from sight.
“Feet are strange,” she said, out of the blue.
Mal cocked his head. “Do you mean my feet are strange?”
“No. It’s just…it’s like we’re walking around on misshapen hands.”
“Hmm.” He stared down at them. “They do look a bit like misshapen hands. You, however, have beautiful feet.”
She laughed. “I doubt that.”
He came toward her, an amused glint in his eye. And then, to her surprise, he went down on his knees in front of her. He touched her ankle until she crooked her leg, resting her foot atop his thigh.
“Perfectly shaped toes,” he said. He brushed his finger across each one. “Just the right amount of slope for an ankle.” His thumb ghosted across her skin. “And this arch—it’s beautiful enough to make me weep.”
He bent down to kiss that soft, tender spot on her foot, and she felt something tight in her throat. She swallowed past it.
“You are a ridiculous man.”
He peered up at her through his eyelashes. “Is that any way to treat the person who’s going to make you weep with pleasure?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “All of this weeping…are you quite sure you know what you’re doing?”
He grinned and smoothed his hand along her calf, forging a trail that burned like fire but made her shiver like ice. “I suppose we’ll find out.” He lowered her foot, bent forward and kissed her knee. “Are you nervous, lass?”
She was nervous. Not because of Mal; it was just…odd. They were naked, standing here talking like they might talk to each other in a drawing room. Like it was just a normal evening.
But she’d never let nervousness get in her way before. “Only a little,” she said.
His fingers lightly traced the sensitive skin at the back of her knee while he touched his lips to the front.
“Can I taste you?”
Her heart thrashed against her ribs like a caged bird. With him kneeling like this, there was no mistaking what he meant. She swallowed hard and gave one short nod. She thought he might suggest going to the bed first, but he nudged her legs a little wider and continued his path, leaving openmouthed kisses against the inside of her thigh.
When she felt the first puff of warm breath against her sex, she had to rest her hand on his head, fingers disappearing into thick, sandy hair.
And then he used his lips and she had to bite her tongue to keep from gasping. He kissed her there first, softly, reverently, then licked along her folds. His hands were gripping her thighs, digging into her flesh, and the bite of pain combined with the searing pleasure of his mouth on her sex was a potent combination.
She wasn’t weeping, but perhaps she could understand why one would.
“You’re trembling, lass.” His breath gusted against her wet folds, and something deep inside her clenched helplessly.
Her hand tightened in his hair. “I’m not used to this.” Her voice was thick, hoarse, unrecognizable.
“You should be,” he murmured. “Someone should worship you like this every single day, at sunrise and sunset and midnight, like a pagan before a goddess.”
She wanted to laugh, or tell him he was being sacrilegious, but all she could manage was a throaty “Someone? Anyone?”
His fingers dug into her thighs possessively. “Me,” he said. He kissed her again. “Me.” He licked deep. “Only me.” He pressed his tongue flat against the spot that brought her the most pleasure.
And just like that, like he’d struck flint to steel, her release roared through her. She arched her back, riding the wave of pleasure, hand clenching and unclenching helplessly in Mal’s hair.
When she sagged against him, wrung out and sated, he was already on his feet. He lifted her, sweeping her into his arms like she was a fainting debutante, and carried her to the bed.
“You truly do have a flair for drama,” she said, amused.
He looked down at her, smiling. “And you don’t? I remember how you charged into our camp.”
She shook her head. “I needed to impress you so you’d let me stay. You simply do it because you want to. You are a romantic, Malcolm Stewart.”
“No, I’m not. I’m a very practical person.” He settled her gently on the bed.
“Because leading a group of livestock bandits in some tribute to the halcyon days of the Highlands is practical?”
He paused. “Well, when you put it like that…”
He kissed her, and she could taste the faintest trace of her own musk on his lips. It didn’t take long before she was arching against him again, devouring his kisses, pressing her body to his warm length.
When he settled between her legs, she didn’t stop him.
She was carried away in the moment, carried away by the feeling of his weight holding her down, and she thought maybe the doctor had been wrong. Maybe he had no idea what he was talking about.
So when Mal paused to look at her, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her mouth to his ear.
“Go on.”
It was a mistake.
As soon as he started to press into her, which he didn’t do particularly quickly or roughly, pain stabbed through her. It was like she was being split in two.
Her hands scrabbled at his shoulders as she arched away from him. Tears stung her eyes. Not only because of the pain, but because of the disappointment.
“Georgina?” Mal, wide-eyed and bewildered, pulled back, and she finally felt like she could breathe again.
That was until his thumb traced her cheekbone, swiping away a spilled tear, and he looked down at her with concern in his eyes. And then it felt like there was a great pressure on her chest, and she didn’t know if she’d ever be out from under it.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
No. No, it wasn’t Mal’s fault.
She’d hurt herself, by wanting something she couldn’t have.