It Happened in the Highlands(43)

"You went to Garloch after her," Wynne said.

"I couldn't let her go. I had to bring her back. Not to Leana. But to  protect her until you returned. I knew perfectly well we'd received no  word of Charles being dead. It was all a lie. I had to find her." Graham  ran a trembling hand down his face, and his eyes showed the ghosts were  still haunting him. "I came into Garloch right after the flood. I  looked everywhere for her. The place was a near ruin. Houses in the  village wrecked and scattered everywhere. The bridge washed out. Water  still lay deep in the fields. I found out she'd never made it to her old  house. So many people were killed by the storm. So many bodies laid out  on the hill by the kirk . . ." His words were choked out under the  pressure of his grief.

"Why identify and bury someone else?" Jo asked.

"It wasn't about taking over what was hers. Not at all." He shook his  head. "I waited for days. I searched myself. She wasn't anywhere to be  found. And then more bodies were discovered downriver as the water  dropped. There was no telling one from the other. I had only one thing I  could use to identify her."

Graham's black eyes glistened with tears.

"The woman that I buried in that grave was in a family way. That was  enough for me. I told myself it was Josephine. I made myself believe it.  God forgive me, I . . . I wanted to believe it was her."





Chapter 24


The following night Wynne returned late from Aberdeen and knocked on her door a few minutes after midnight.

Jo opened the door and threw herself into his arms. Lifting her off her feet, he stepped inside and closed the door behind them.

"Dash me if I haven't missed you." he growled, his arms gathering her close.

The message had arrived last night from the constable in Aberdeen that  Abram had been taken into custody. Wynne left early in the morning, and  there was so much he wanted to share with Jo about what he'd learned.  But seeing her soft, sleepy face, the thin shift exposing a bare  shoulder, he was distracted from the real reason he'd come this late to  her door.

His lips glided over hers, tasting, sampling, delving into her yielding  mouth as her hands eagerly pushed the coat off his shoulders.

"Make love to me," she whispered, pressing her body against his.

They'd stayed out of each other's bedrooms since the night in Garloch.  Time had been precious with all that was happening at Tilmory Castle and  at the Abbey. While Cuffe was shadowing Dermot more and more, Jo was  spending a great many hours looking after her father and getting him  settled. But Wynne had spoken to the vicar. Banns or no banns, he was  willing to marry them Saturday if they wished it, and no bribing with  golf equipment was required. Revealing their news to Dermot had gone  easier than he'd expected. As his friend said, he'd known it was to be  from the start, and they owed their happiness to him for playing the  rival. Wynne had been in too good a mood to argue.

"As desirable as you look at this moment, Jo," he said, "We're to be married on Saturday. Perhaps we should wait until then."

A single tie bound the neckline of the shift just above her breasts, and  she pulled the knot and slipping the garment down her arms.

"Are you certain you'd like to wait?" she asked, coyness mixed with challenge.

Wynne's lips were ravenous as they settled on hers. Her breast filled  his hand, and his loins caught fire. She ignited a passion inside him  that was inextinguishable.

She tore her mouth away as she unbuttoned his waistcoat and went to work on his cravat.                       
       
           



       

"Saturday is such a long way off, Captain." She pulled his shirt out of  his pants and reached her hands under it, running her palms over his  burning skin. "But if you insist, we can wait."

"Perhaps we should assess our situation." He took one of her hands from  beneath his shirt and guided it to his groin. "What do you think? Can I  wait?"

Her fingers scraped his manhood through the fall of his breeches, and he heard a low moan sound deep in his own throat.

"No, I don't believe you can." She smiled saucily, looking down at the bulge. "But perhaps I can wait."

The playfulness in her tone drove him mad with desire to make love to  her right now. Wrapping her legs around him and burying himself inside  her against the door had a certain appeal. But that would be only the  beginning. There was no question in his mind that she'd want to make  love again on the dresser and the chair and on the table by the window .  . . and eventually in her bed. This was what their first night together  had been like. They were both insatiable in their desire for one  another.

"Then perhaps you'll let me try to change your mind."

He slipped his hands over her perfect bottom, picked her up, and set her down on the edge of the bed.

Without waiting, he peeled away her shift and threw it aside. Then he  stepped back and took his time undressing as she lay back on an elbow  and watched.

As he disrobed, his eyes feasted on the fullness of her breasts, rising  and falling with the uneven pace of her breathing. On the pale skin of  her stomach and the curves of her belly that he planned to run his  tongue over en route to the dark triangle of hair. She was truly  breathtaking. And she was his.

"You're taking unfair advantage of me," she whispered, lying back on the sheets. "It's exciting to watch you undress."

Wynne took hold of her knees and pulled her to the edge of the bed. Her  eyes were smoky with passion and a low moan escaped her lips as his  thumb played lightly over the rosy hardness of her nipples. Pushing open  her legs, he stepped between them. His hand moved slowly downward over  her stomach and he heard the sharp intake of breath.

"Watching me undress is the only thing that excites you?" he asked, feeling her shiver beneath his touch.

"We'll need to assess that, as well."

He leaned over her and kissed her, his tongue sliding into her soft  mouth. He moved to her neck, and then to the tops of her breasts. As he  took one nipple into his mouth, her fingers threaded into his hair.

"You're getting closer to an answer," she whispered, breathlessly guiding his mouth to her other nipple.

He slid a finger into her wet folds and watched her eyes open wide. She raised her hips to his touch, rocking gently against it.

The urgent desire to drive his throbbing shaft into her was beginning to  madden him. She was perfection. Softness as in a dream. And more  willing than he'd ever conceived in his most carnal imaginings.

He was about to put his mouth where his fingers were, but she stopped  him, wrapping her hand around his cock and sliding her fingers along the  length of him.

"Have you assessed the situation?" he said, trying to stay sane.

"I believe I have." She shifted on the bed, positioning herself. "And I'm proposing a contest."

"A contest?" he asked, looking at the temptress on the bed.

"Who will make the other fall apart first," she said, inching closer to  tempt him. "In Garloch, you were certainly the winner. Tonight . . . I'm  challenging you."

He had no doubt he'd be a winner in this game, regardless of her enthusiasm or the outcome.

"And no putting your lovely mouth on me or using your magical fingers to drive me over the edge. At least not the first time."

"The same goes with you," he told her, reluctantly removing her fingers from his manhood. "I accept your challenge."

She lay back on the bed, inviting him. This was a vision of his private  life with Jo, he thought, his heart soaring. He was the luckiest man  alive.

Wynne took hold of her hand and brushed it against her own sex.

"Does this count?" he asked.

She arched her back involuntarily and then pulled her hand away. "You're bending the rules."                       
       
           



       

"Well, we can't be bending rules now, can we?"

He moved closer until the blunt head of his cock pressed at the slick juncture of her legs. She was ready for him.

"En garde," he growled.

"Allez," she murmured.

He pushed slowly into her opening, pausing, waiting, allowing the  anticipation to amplify the pleasure. For his part, Wynne was going  insane, but he held back even as Jo lifted her hips. Every inch of her  body seemed aware, craving his next move.

Madness. Lunacy. He wanted to drive deep into her. But instead, Wynne's  hands held onto her hips, his skin beading in perspiration as he  summoned his control.

With their bodies connected, their eyes met. They were both burning.  Ever so slowly, Jo lifted her hips farther, drawing him halfway into  her. He moved slowly, in and out, still not embedding himself fully.