It Happened in the Highlands(34)

Jo took some deep breaths, trying to recover from her earlier breakdown.

"My reaction tonight . . ." She shook her head.

"I was telling Cuffe last night that part of knowing who you are is  knowing where you came from." He tucked a curl behind her ear. "Your  search has been about finding your history. Histories have a beginning.  Today you made a fine start. But I understand your sense of loss and I  am sorry for it."

He was so loving, so perceptive. Years ago this was the way it had been  between them. Their minds and hearts were so open, so much in harmony.  She could tell him anything. Pour out her heart. Share with him her  struggle to belong and feel connected to a society that kept her at  arm's length. He always understood. He always made her feel complete.

A weight had been lifted from her chest. She could breathe again.                       
       
           



       

"I am sorry I've behaved so badly."

"You haven't." He raised her chin, and his gaze caught and held hers  before placing a kiss on her brow. "But you're allowed if you choose  to."

"I must look a fright."

"You look beautiful," he whispered, his lips kissing the wetness from  her cheeks as his fingers combed the loose tendrils of her hair.

Jo studied the line of his jaw, the sensual shape of his lips, the deep  blue of his eyes as they caressed her face before focusing on her lips. A  reckless hunger pounded through her. She wanted him. She needed his  kisses. Where sadness had ruled before, hunger now reigned.

She stood up and moved between his knees, looking down at his surprised expression.

"Kiss me."

He smiled, closing his eyes for a moment and shaking his head. "Jo . . .  this room. The two of us alone. This might not be the best . . ."

She recognized the change in his voice. He wanted her too.

"Very well. Then I'll have to kiss you." She pressed her lips to his.

Wynne's mouth immediately took hers, and sparks exploded within her. The  kiss was scorching. So different from those they'd exchanged in the  garden. Coaxing, shaping, exploring. He was now a man with all the time  and all the patience in the world.

She was aroused and welcomed the light touch on her spine as he reached  for her. She pressed closer and his mouth became possessive. Lost in the  kiss, Jo moved her hands over his shirt, feeling his chest and broad  shoulders, and then slipped her arms around his neck.

The moment she molded herself to him, his mouth opened further, his  tongue becoming more demanding. His hand slid along her waist and ribs,  caressing her breast through the bodice of her gown. Their tongues  played a seductive dance until they were both shaking with need.

Then, he abruptly ended the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. They were both breathing heavily.

Jo wanted more. "I don't want you to stop."

He pulled her arms down from around his neck.

"Jo," he whispered raggedly. "You don't know what you're doing. We should wait."

She'd waited long enough. No more, she thought. She was thirty-seven  years old. Wynne was the only man she'd loved for her entire life. And  for sixteen years, he had been the only man in all those dreams from  which she'd awakened aroused.

Why should she wait?

"No," she said, pushing him back onto the bed. "No waiting. I want you now."





Chapter 18


He'd died and gone to heaven.

After he'd proposed to her today, Wynne's plan had been to do everything  right. He was committed to following all the well-established rules of  courtship, engagement, and marriage. He'd robbed her of the joys and  celebrations of each stage when he broke off their engagement. He would  make it up to her this time. But his plans and good intentions went out  the door-and took the bloody door, hinges and all, with them-when she  pushed her shoes off, climbed onto the bed, and straddled him.

Wynne was happy that Jo had plans of her own.

Jo's hair was a tousled mass of dark curls, and she pulled out the  remaining pins, shaking it loose until it cascaded around her shoulders.  Her beautiful face was flushed, her eyes puffy, and her lips swollen  from his kisses. Her dress . . . his eyes moved down the row of buttons  in the front, and the urge to pull every piece of clothing off her body  took on religious significance.

She shifted her weight on top of him, and he groaned involuntarily.

She ignored his suffering and began to pull his shirt from his pants.

"Do you know what you're doing?"

Jo had always been passionate. Even when they were young, he'd seen it,  felt it. But this exceeded his wildest expectations and dreams.

"You very well know I do." She frowned. "You might be a gentleman and help me remove this shirt of yours."

He held onto Jo's waist firmly to stop her from moving. Any more of this  and his cock would punch a hole in his breeches. Then she'd know what  kind of gentlemen he really was.

Every fiber of his body ached with desire for her. At the same time, he  recalled her sadness, her feeling of loss, the river of tears that had  stopped only moments ago. She'd had a dreadfully emotional day. He'd be a  rogue and a rakehell to take advantage of her and make love to her when  she was so vulnerable.                       
       
           



       

"If you don't take this off, I'll tear it off," she said with remarkable serenity.

Wynne wanted her to feel better. He wanted to see a smile on her face.  He told himself he'd go only so far, but he'd remain strong, in control.  Yanking his shirt over his head, he tossed it across the room.

He immediately regretted his decision as her shining brown eyes immediately focused on the ugly scar just above his heart.

"So close. He almost killed you."

With a feathery touch, her fingers traced the outline of the place  Hugh's bullet had entered his chest. He saw fresh tears spring to her  eyes.

"But he didn't," Wynne told her. "There's a matching hole in the back  where the bullet came out. I survived. I'm alive and well and yours. All  yours."

For today and tomorrow and forever, he thought, reaching and wiping away a teardrop from her silky cheek.

For a long moment she sat still, her magical eyes studying the scar, his  shoulders, his chest. He never imagined a look could be so powerful  that it could make his body react as it was right now. When her gaze  finally returned to his face, he was a lost man. She wanted him.

She sat back and slowly, ever so slowly, began to undo the buttons of her dress.

"Jo," he whispered, reaching up and trying to take over. Her fingers  wrapped around his wrists and she pushed them back to the mattress.

Leaning over him, silky locks of hair trailing across his chest and  belly, she turned her attention to his scar again, pressing a kiss on  it. From there, her lips followed a meandering path across his burning  skin, kissing, tasting, breathing gently, and gradually driving him  insane. Her hips moved against the rising bulge of his erection. He  wanted to dive beneath those layers of skirts. He wanted to touch her,  taste the sweetness of her delicate sex.

He fought to retain some degree of control on his imagination, for his  thoughts only worsened his condition. She was driving him mad with  desire.

His hand reached for the bunched hems of her skirts, but she caught his  wrist and pushed it away. "Don't move, Captain Melfort. I'll do it."

Another half-dozen buttons came apart and the front of her dress opened  to reveal the curve of her breast above the top of her shift. A moment  later, her lips were back on him.

His skin sizzled with her touch as her hand trailed downward across his stomach.

Wynne reached deep, commanding himself that these pleasures must have  their limits. He tried to think of sea battles he'd fought, of bloody  boardings, of rough seas, broadsides, and burning ships. Anything but  the softness and beauty of the woman sitting on top of him. His muscles  were flexed, rock hard, and he ached with the primal need of a male.

He didn't realize he was holding his breath until her mouth returned to his.

"You're killing me, you know," he murmured raggedly. "But this game of yours has dire consequences, so perhaps we should stop."

* * *

Stopping was not an option.

Jo's kisses silenced him once again. She teased him, running her tongue  across his flesh. And as she'd asked, he didn't move. Waiting. This  position of control was arousing. She let her lips move to his neck and  kiss their way to his ear. She bit at his earlobe. He growled in  response. Smiling and feeling bolder, she kissed a path back to his  lips. She let her tongue play across their fullness again, and this time  they opened for her and her tongue delved in and began its voyage of  discovery.

The unrestrained desire to do as she wished, the power of being in  charge, having decided that neither of them would walk away from this  night unscathed, was thrilling.