With a cry of need, she kissed him, slamming her lips into his, pressing herself against the wet length of his naked body.
Alec caught her lips against his. Her body was warm against his loch-chilled skin, and he molded the length of her body to his, devouring her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, reveling in the taste of her. She was everything he remembered she was, everything he’d dreamed of for weeks. More. He broke the kiss, pressing gently on her shoulders.
“God, Caroline. This time I’ll give you the chance to say no, to refuse me. Go—run—back to the castle and lock your door,” he muttered against her ear, kissing the shell of it.
“No,” she said.
“I can’t ask you to stay ...” His hand dipped into the low bodice of her gown to cup her breast, the soft weight filling his palm, the nipple peaking at his touch.
“I’m leaving,” she murmured, kissing his cheek, his chin, his mouth.
“This is the last time,” he said against her lips.
“The very last time,” she agreed, her voice husky.
He couldn’t think anymore, didn’t want to consider what the morning would bring, or what it would be like at Glenlorne without her. She nipped at his earlobe and he groaned.
He pressed his back against a tree, spread his legs, drew her between them, and she arched her hips against him, rubbing, soft little gasps of need escaping from her. There was no need to tell her what he wanted. She already knew. She reached down and grasped his cock and he groaned.
His hands fumbled at the buttons on the back of her gown, lust making him clumsy. Her gentle exploration of his body was driving him wild, making it difficult to concentrate. He abandoned the buttons and slid his fingers down the warm slopes of her breast to scoop them out of the low bodice. Her nipples peaked instantly under his thumbs, and she gasped and threw her head back, thrusting herself into his hands, wordlessly demanding more.
He grasped her hand, took her the few steps to where his discarded plaid lay, and fell back, drawing her down on top of him. Long locks of hair fell over him, tickling his face and his chest. He could feel the heat of her as she straddled his hips, and he fumbled to raise her skirts, sliding his hand up over the silken thighs, dipping between her legs until he brushed the curls at her center. He inserted a finger into her, felt her tremble and sigh. She was wet, ready for him, and he stroked the soft petals of her flesh, making her wetter still. He caught her cry, kissing her hard, using his tongue in his mouth as he used his fingers below, driving her release higher.
“Now,” he commanded, grasping her hips, positioning her. She plunged down onto him, and shivered in renewed climax almost at once. He thrust into her, hard and fast, overcome with need, holding her buttocks in his palms, feeling the flex of the warm globes of feminine flesh as she moved with him, strove for pleasure in time with him. In the dappled darkness, he could see her exposed breasts above him, the nipples round and dark, saw her lip caught in white teeth.
“Again, love,” he murmured, holding back his own release, It was like trying to hold back a team of runaway horses. He was on the edge, buried deep in the tight paradise of her body. She gave a soft cry, swiveling her hips, trying to drive him deeper still. He stopped thinking about anything but how good she felt, how right. He gritted his teeth and thrust into her until she cried out, and he pressed into her as far as he could go, and let the molten waves of release claim him.
He clasped her to his chest. Still inside her, caressing the smooth planes of her back, listening to her breath singing through her body. He kissed her neck, and she raised her head to kiss his lips again. He stroked her back, memorized the curves of her figure, the softness of her thighs and buttocks, the smell of her skin.
“When will you go?” he asked.
“A few days. Once arrangements are made,” she said, and rose, slipping off his body. He felt the chill night air rush in. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and turned away, rising to straighten her gown shyly. He leaned on his elbow.
“Come and sleep for a while,” he said, holding out his hand. “My plaid will cover us both.”
She stayed where she was. “I know. But it’s almost dawn. Someone might see, and we have to get up in a few hours for the hunt.”
He’d forgotten that. “Of course,” he said, rising. “I’ll walk back with you, at least as far as the bottom of the hill.” He pulled his shirt over his head, and shook out his plaid, folded it, wrapped it around his hips, and fastened his belt. She walked ahead of him along the narrow path, ferns and flowers brushing against her skirt.
They reached the spot where the woods ended and the lawn began, and she stopped, turning to him in the shadows. He touched her face.
“I wish—” he began, but she lowered her head, pulled back.
“You are betrothed to Sophie.”
“Yes. It would it be dishonorable to break the betrothal, it would—” He groaned. “I’ve never done the honorable thing in my life, so why does it matter so much now?”
She smiled in the half light. “Because you are the Laird of Glenlorne. Your clan needs a leader, Alec,” she said softly. “This is what matters.”
“I’ve hardly been honorable toward you.”
“I don’t blame you for any of this. Nor do I regret it.”
“You are a remarkable woman, Caroline. Where will you go when you leave?”
She shook her head, remained mute.
“At least let me help you find a place,” he offered.
