Men in Kilts, Page 3

  “Um… well, yes, I think I probably do.” It was a miracle I could string the words together, really, since my brain had shut down once it realized what he was hinting at.

  Iain smiled and waited. I didn’t know he was waiting for me to invite him up to my room. I didn’t know that his idea of the gentlemanly code of conduct did not allow for a man to invite himself up to a lady’s room when he had a particular goal in mind. All I knew was that I was going to die of humiliation if I had misinterpreted his statement.

  “So… um.” Heat flared in my cheeks as I tried to think of a way to invite him to my room without appearing like a wanton woman. “It’s been a lovely evening. Thank you for dinner. I really enjoyed it. It was nice.” Nice? Nice ? Is that all I could say? I wanted to strangle myself on the spot for spouting such asinine words. I was blowing my big chance with Iain! Where was my creative writer’s skill when I needed it? My mind ran around in a frenzied circle, searching desperately for something witty and intelligent to say to him—something that would so bowl him over that he would be helpless against the powerful attraction between us, driven by his desire into scooping me up and carrying me off to bed, where he would spend the entire night making mad, passionate love to me.

  “ ‘Twas my pleasure.” He smiled, the look in his eyes doing things to personal parts of me that raised the volume of my blush. Still he waited.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but all that came out was a pathetic little squeak. Eventually Iain figured out that I wasn’t being coy or unreceptive, just naive, and suggested that we might continue our conversation in private. I nodded and quickly calculated how many days I had known him. Three .

  “Floor?” He had his hand poised over the elevator buttons.

  “Three.”

  Three days. Not within my official Required Length of Time Acquainted Before Sexual Intimacy rule. Damn.

  I had a lovely room, but I have to admit never having noticed until then just how much space was consumed by the bed. It was huge, a veritable behemoth of a bed, filling the entire room, drawing the eye and not allowing you to look anywhere else. I think you could have fried an egg on the blush I was now maintaining at a steady rate.

  I invited Iain to sit. He took the chair; I took one look at the bed, cranked the blush up to boiling point, and perched gingerly on the edge. I tried desperately to remember my detailed and well thought out planned seduction, but my mind drew a blank. I stared at my shoes and tried to remember why I wanted so badly to seduce him. I tried to remember my own name.

  “Kathie?”

  Yes, that was it. Kathie . I was Kathie, a basket case of nerves sitting on a bed so big it could qualify for its own time zone, staring at a man who melted my bones with just a glance. Kathie . I was Kathie. I clung to that fact with the tenacity of a drowning man to a life preserver.

  “Teh” Iain said, shaking his head. I noticed he had a few gray hairs mixed in with the dark brown. It looked good on him. “I think perhaps this is a wee bit too soon for you, love, so I’ll say good evening.” Iain stood up and held a hand out for me.

  Oh, yes, a bit too soon. Much sooner than I planned. My seduction scenario involved days of casually meeting and passing by his house, not immediately giving in to the admittedly nigh on overwhelming desire to jump his bones.

  Too soon. It was much, much too soon.

  Until he kissed me good night.

  Until he got close enough for me to drown in his wonderful manly scent.

  “Oh,” I said as his lips brushed lightly across mine. I wobbled under the impact of that touch, and melted effortlessly into him when he wrapped his arms around me, bending his head down to kiss me again. I didn’t say anything after that; I was too busy trying to remember everything I had learned regarding the art of tongue-play from Joey Marcuzzi, French-kissing champion of North Seattle Junior High. I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t put into practice any of the techniques Joey taught the entire seventh grade female class of 1975 because I was too busy trying to respond to Iain without actually swooning.

  “Holy cow,” I gasped as soon as he pulled away just enough to allow air to enter our lungs. “That was one hell of a kiss! Do you always kiss like that, or was it a fluke of nature, never to be duplicated?”

  Iain smiled in response, his lovely laugh lines crinkling alongside those gorgeous eyes. “It was nice, wasn’t it? Would you be liking me to leave now?” I touched a finger to his delicious lower lip. I thought about my rules regarding men and sex. I thought about the folly of starting something that had no future. I thought about how foolish it was to fall in love with a man I’d known for forty-eight hours.

  “No,” I whispered, and leaned up to suck his lip into my mouth. “I’d like you to stay.”

  “Ah, good,” he said, sighing as I nipped his lip gently. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me, Kathie.”

  Famous last words, those. It’s just a shame I didn’t hear them, occupied as I was with allowing him to inventory my teeth while simultaneously trying to catch my breath. I felt like it had permanently been squeezed out of me, leaving me lightheaded and gasping whenever Iain’s mouth left mine— which wasn’t often, but I wasn’t complaining.

  Until I felt cool air on my back and knew he’d pulled down the zipper of my dress.

  That’s when it hit me, the huge wave of embarrassment. I wanted Iain more than I’d wanted any other man, and I knew that given the proper precautions, there was no reason why we shouldn’t go full steam ahead with any and all plans dancing around behind those wickedly devilish peaty brown eyes, but at the same time I could feel another blush starting with the realization of exactly how the evening was going to end, with parts of him visiting parts of me that I’d never even seen.

  “Um…” I said as he slipped both hands down the curve of my hips, tugging my dress with them. I tingled, positively tingled wherever those long fingers touched me, and they touched me in a lot of places.

  “Um…” I gasped as his mouth found the sweet spot behind my ear and starting doing things there that made other parts of me—secret, dark, hidden parts—stand up and yell their approval.

  “Um…” I moaned as those fiery fingers divested my upper story of its restraining garment, his hands working some sort of magic on my breasts that suddenly transformed them from rather tiresome bits of flesh hanging off my chest into an extremely wonderful place for him to put his hands.

  “Um?” he asked, his breath feathering across my collarbone as he set out along a path burning down toward my breasts. “Ah, love, you’re so soft—just like satin, you are, and you taste like wildflowers.”

  I clutched his shoulders as he kissed and nibbled along the undersides of my breasts, avoiding the two spots I was desperate for him to touch, making my breasts swell and ache for the fire of his mouth to claim them properly.

  “Wildflowers?” I asked, arching my back and tugging his head to where I wanted it. His mouth closed over the ache that disguised itself as a nipple and I rose up on my toes in ecstasy. “Wildflowers? I taste like wildflowers? You think I taste like… aaaaiiiiiieeeeee!”

  He lifted his head from my left breast, my bones turning to mush as the fingers of one hand went exploring in my southern hemisphere just as he bent over my right breast. “Aye, wildflowers,” he breathed on that nipple before closing his teeth over it so gently it felt like velvet brushing against me.

  I wanted to do all sorts of wonderfully naughty things to him while he was tormenting me with his fingers and mouth, but I couldn’t get my hands to detach their clutch on his shoulders. Somewhere deep inside me I knew if I did, I would fall and never be caught again.

  “Do you… oh, mercy!… do you eat a lot of wild-flowers?” I toppled slowly backward onto the edge of the bed as his hands swept downward over my hips, down my legs, pushing my underwear and shoes off. I was half-reclined, propped up on my elbows, my legs dangling over the edge of the bed, utterly, completely, totally stark naked before him.

  “Do
I eat wildflowers?” He sank to his knees before me, hooking my legs up over his shoulders. The dark, promising look he shot me stripped all coherent thought from what was left of my brain. “Aye, love, I eat wildflowers.”

  “Um… Iain,” I said as he leaned his head over me, his fingers stroking a serpentine path up my thigh that made every square inch of me tighten in anticipation. “Um… I seem to be completely naked.”

  “Aye, love, you are,” he answered, blowing on those parts of me his dancing fingers had uncovered. I shivered in delight and let my arms give way bonelessly under me until the coolness of the comforter was beneath my back.

  “You… oh, lord, are you going to… you are!… merciful heaven, no one’s ever done that… Iain!”

  I tugged on his hair until he looked up.

  “Iain, I’m naked!”

  He grinned, and any solid particles within me that had hitherto remained whole and unaffected by him gave up the ghost and dissolved into goo. “That you are.”

  I tugged again as he started to return to his previous actions. “But you’re not!” He grinned again—a wicked, sinful, torrid grin that sizzled straight through me. “Aye. It adds a bit of spice, doesn’t it?”

  He sank one long finger into my waiting depths and I gave up any thought of protest. I had no choice. I couldn’t have formed words then if my life depended on it. Luckily, once Iain had me squirming and writhing beneath his hands and mouth, my body licked with flames of desire so strong I’m surprised the smoke alarm didn’t go off, once he had me screaming his name in supplication, then he gave in and peeled off his clothes before joining me on the bed. I wanted to push him over onto his back and do to him all of the things he’d done to me, but I was too weak, still quivering in the aftermath of the pinnacle of my entire sexual experience to that date.

  I mentioned that to Iain as he stripped off his clothes.

  “Granted my sex life hasn’t been extensive by any stretch of the imagination,” I said a bit shakily as my gaze devoured those bits of him that were being uncovered. My mouth went dry at the sight of that big chest, all muscle and manly chest hair and two impudent nipples that needed badly to be taught a lesson. “But still, that… uh… wildflower thing you did was the most amazing experience I’ve ever had. I just thought you’d like to know that before you—” My eyes drifted downward as he shucked his pants.

  “Glorioski!” I breathed, staring. Iain tried to look modest. He failed.

  I summoned up enough strength to roll over onto my side as he slid into bed next to me.

  “Geez, I hope you brought along a shoehorn,” I said, then leaned in for a closer look, trailing one finger along a vein that ran on the underside. “Hooo!” Iain laughed and pulled me up across that lovely expanse of chest, nipping my lower lip before kissing the astonished look off my face. “Ah, love, we’re just getting started. I’m looking forward to broadening your experience.”

  “Amongst other things,” I added, peering over my shoulder at the bit of him that was standing up and waving at me. I waved back. He laughed again and set about introducing me to what bliss felt like.

  It was… broadening .

  Chapter Three

  The last day of Murder in Manchester dawned to gray, overcast skies, the tired eyes of weary conference-goers, and moments of… well… embarrassment. The last was pertinent only to me. I’m just not worldly enough to wake up to a new man sharing my bed without bursting into unseemly giggles.

  I woke up to find myself draped over Iain. Not just part of him, all of him. I was terribly comfortable, but it’s a wonder he could breathe. I worried about that for a minute, visions of flashy newspaper headlines dancing around my head—yank mystery author crushes lover in hotel love nest—but his chest rose and fell beneath me in a reassuringly steady rhythm, so I assumed he was hale and hearty. I tried to wiggle off him without waking him up, the giggles building even as I thought about it, but that odd skin-bonding thing had happened at some point, and I couldn’t slide off.

  You know what I’m talking about—when two layers of flesh meet and one compresses the other. Sweat and moisture and all sorts of other things I don’t want to think about build up and work to form a bonding agent that would be guaranteed to keep heat tiles securely on the Space Shuttle. From belly to breast I was glued to Iain, unable to remove myself. I desperately wanted to peel myself off him so I could adopt a sophisticated, woman-about-town pose when he woke. No giggles from me, no siree. I was going to greet the man poised and dignified. Maturity would be my byword.

  I felt someone watching me as I was mentally picturing myself as the personification of elegance, and immediately the blush I had draught long dead fired up and over every square inch of my body, the bonded areas excluded.

  Iain was awake. I could feel him looking down on the top of my head.

  It rose up. I couldn’t help it. I tried hard not to give in. I fought it, oh, how I fought it, but as soon as I tipped my head back to look up at him, it burst forth.

  “Weel, I’m glad to see you so happy this morning, although I thought you had finished that blush last night.”

  The giggles changed into full-fledged whoops of laughter. Honestly, how much more ridiculous a situation could a thirty-seven-year-old woman find herself in? Stuck to her bedmate, giggling and blushing like a virgin. So much for poise and sophistication.

  “We’re stuck,” I finally managed to say, wiping back the tears of hilarity. Iain’s eyes opened a bit wider.

  “See?” I said, and gave an experimental push backward. With a noise reminiscent of hot baloney peeling off Naugahyde, my skin separated from his, and I toppled over backward.

  “Aye, I do see,” he leered at me. All of me. All of me lying there exposed, wearing nothing but a blush.

  I couldn’t help it. I giggled at him. Giggled until I realized I was looking at him, and he was smiling at me, and we were both in bed together without a stitch of clothing on. The Good lord, where do I look now ? problem immediately raised its head.

  I looked up. Oh, no, there were his eyes, his lovely peaty brown eyes that were giving me a definitely roguish look. I couldn’t possibly meet that look. My eyes dropped lower, down to his… whoa ! Too low, it wouldn’t do to look there, peeking aside, although I did make a mental note to the effect that Iain woke up in a very happy state of mind. I pulled my gaze up a notch to his chest. A big, broad, muscular chest covered in soft brown curls; a nice chest, a sexy chest. A chest meant to have fingers run over it, through the hair, circling the adorable little nubs of nipples. My Fingers itched to… nope! Up went the eyes.

  Aha, an Adam’s apple. That had to be safe, right? Yes. Adam’s apple, located below a square chin with stubble from a day’s growth of beard. There was red mixed in with those brown whiskers, I noticed, but it was his Adam’s apple that intrigued me. I just wanted to nibble it around the edges…

  “Is it shy you are, or just ogling my manly form? I sincerely hope it’s the latter, love.”

  A little moan slipped past my lips. He could drop me at ten paces with that voice. Maybe if I were to just look at one corner of his eye… surely an eye corner couldn’t possibly hurt.

  “It’s… ah… a little bit of morning jitters, thank you. I’m sure there’s some sort of Scottish ritual you do on the morning after you’ve… uh… but I’m equally sure it involves tea, and since I loathe tea, I’ll just have to wing it.” He chuckled. I discovered that you can’t avoid someone’s eye when they are chuckling at you, especially when the only alternatives are to stare at that person’s earlobes (you’d be surprised at just how sexy an earlobe can be), or out the window at Manchester.

  “I’m just a bit… shy,” I explained.

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “Shy? After last night? You’re thinking you’re shy?”

  I thought of one or two of the more creative things we’d done the night before.

  My blush started its climb up my cheeks again.

  “There is a difference,”
I pointed out with great dignity, “between actions taken in the heat of the moment, and the sight of bared flesh in the cold light of morning. I can’t help it. I’m just a little shy about these things come the dawn.”

  “Shy?” Iain repeated in a half snort, his lips curling into a grin ripe with suggestion. My body responded immediately with suggestions of its own. “So it’s shy you were when you yelled your pleasure so loud it woke the people in the next room?”

  I glared at him, bared flesh or no bared flesh. “That wasn’t me,” I argued, thumping him on his chest to emphasize the point. The feel of all that heat beneath my hand distracted me for a moment, urging me to investigate further.

  I dragged my mind back from the lure of his chest and wondered what it was I had been saying. “That… uh… that was you making too much noise last night.

  I don’t make noise during… you know. I never have.”

  “Love,” Iain’s hand closed over mine as it stroked along the curve of his chest. I curled my fingers into the hair beneath them and smiled to myself at the change in his breathing. “Love, I hate to disappoint you, but it was you making the neighbors pound on the wall. You’re a moaner, Kathie, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m of a mind it’s a compliment.” I pulled my hand out from underneath his and closed my fingers around one of his nipples. “I am not! I am not a moaner! I might make occasional noises of encouragement but that’s it, and if you want to see this nipple again, you’ll stop shaking your head and admit that it was you making all the noise.” I tightened my hold and was gratified when he conceded the point with another of his sexy chuckles.

  “You, sir, need to be punished for such foul slander,” I declared, merciless in my victory. I slid down along his chest, enjoying the feeling of his skin burning a path down me as I trapped his thighs between mine.