Mackenzie Family Christmas (The Perfect Gift)(16)

As she kissed him, Isabella let her other hand travel along the cool wall, walking with her fingers until she found the key in the door's lock.





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Chapter Six





A strong grip seized her and yanked the key out of her grasp. Mac took a step back, holding up the key, his smile triumphant.

"No, ye don't, Sassenach."

Isabella put her hands on her hips and let out an exasperated breath. "I went inside yesterday."

"I was ready for ye then." Mac backed away, holding the key out of her reach. "I'll let you in again when I'm done."

Her curiosity grew. "What is it, Mac? What are you hiding?"

"It's a surprise."

"You know I love surprises. Tell me now."

Mac laughed, the velvety sound she'd fallen in love with. "If I tell ye, it won't be a surprise, will it? You'll find out. Come Christmas."

"A Christmas present, is it?"

She walked toward him, hands behind her back, swaying a little. Mac studied her as she came, gaze raking from her pushed-forward breasts to her moving hips.

"Aye. The perfect gift, I'm thinking."

"What is it?"

"Can't tell you."

Isabella lunged for him. Mac whirled away, still clutching the key. He ran down the stairs, Isabella after him, then he made for a tall window on the landing and tucked the key on top of the cloth-covered cornice, well out of Isabella's reach.

She halted, her breath coming fast. "You know I can always ask Mrs. Desmond for the key."

"But you won't." Mac stepped to her again, slipping one hand around her waist and pulling her against him. "You'll save it for Christmas."

"I'll consider it."

"You will." Mac's face was an inch from hers, soft in the shadows. He gave her a slow kiss, full of desire.

"You're highhanded."

"I am, wife."

His mouth came to hers again, brushing fire. Isabella opened her lips for his, seeking him, wanting him. Mac had been able to make her crazed with need since the night she'd met him, when he'd strode so casually through the crowd at the ball in her honor, where he'd not been invited. Wild, daring Mac had turned her world upside down from that night to this.

He slid his hand to the nape of her neck, holding her, while he thoroughly kissed her mouth. He stepped into her, boot nudging between her high-heeled lace-up shoes.

Isabella hung on to him, her body pliant, knowing he'd never let her fall. Never. Even when they'd been apart, those horrible years when they didn't speak to each other, Mac had been there, from afar, making sure she was all right.

He broke the kiss, his breath heating her skin. Isabella laced her fingers through his and tugged him along the hall to their bedchamber. She kissed him again as they nearly fell inside the door to the warm and welcoming room and its wide, embracing bed.

*** *** ***

Ainsley rested her hand on Gavina's back, the bassinet on its stand pulled near the big bed. She leaned her hip against the bed's mattress, unable to move from her daughter to get into the bed as Cameron had ordered her to.

Her daughter, her beautiful daughter, had nearly been lost. Gavina lay on her tummy in the bassinet, her head turned toward her mother, eyes closed in exhausted sleep. Ainsley reached out and smoothed one of the golden curls that tumbled over Gavina's cheek.

Cameron strode into the bedchamber with his usual energy, but he closed the door softly, not waking Gavina. Cameron's hair was damp, and he smelled of soap and also warmth under the dressing gown that covered him from neck to slippers.

"Ainsley." The mattress sagged as Cameron leaned on it next to her, his arm stealing around her, smoothing her nightgown. "Let Nanny Westlock take her. You need your sleep, little mouse."

"I should have been watching her," Ainsley said, the pain of that welling like a fresh cut. "I shouldn't have taken my eyes off her for one moment."

Cameron was silent. His large body gave her comfort even through her sickening fear. He was the man who'd gone into the night and brought Gavina home.

"I had my hands full with this stupid Christmas celebration," Ainsley said. "Not noticing that my own daughter had gone missing, until it was too late."

"I was the one at the pub," Cameron said, his words heavy. "Throwing back a pint at the local was more important than looking after my family."

Ainsley gave him a surprised look. "This wasn't your fault."

"Why? Because fathers are supposed to be downing ale while the womenfolk carry on at home? Balls to that. I raised Danny on my own--I should know better than anyone that babies need your eyes on them all the time."

Ainsley heard the pain in his voice, the self-reproach. "I was arguing with Mrs. Desmond about the color of the tablecloths, when Nanny Westlock sent down word she didn't have Gavina. The color of the tablecloths. When my daughter . . ." Ainsley broke off, pressing a trembling hand to her mouth.