“Somewhere on the floors where the bedchambers are.”
“Aye, well, before we go looking for this secret niche, had you anything else in mind?” He hoped that the way she’d been touching him, she had, and not just to get his mind off questioning her about sneaking into the castle.
She rubbed her thigh against his, and he slipped his hand down to pull her thigh higher, spreading her legs farther apart. She moved her mouth to his nipple and licked, and that was all the answer he needed.
Chapter 16
It was insanity, Ian knew, but the sweet torture was too much to resist as he squeezed Julia’s arse, the thong she wore riding high and exposing her lovely globes, while she caressed his nipple with her tongue. He groaned with need and slid her sweater up her back, snagged her bra, and struggled to unfasten it. No matter how much he’d tried to deny it in the beginning, the chemistry between them sizzled.
To think if all the lass had said was true, which he didn’t believe for a moment, Julia was his for the taking. Betrothed to him. His.
Even though the situation would be similar to that in the past—instead of his da’s choice of mate for Ian, it would have been his great-uncle’s—Ian didn’t feel the circumstances were that alike. For one, Julia was a wolf. And there was no way he could deny his attraction for her any more than she could deny hers for him. For another, she didn’t seem to despise his kin like Ghleanna had done, nor did Julia act in any way like he was a social outcast as his former bride-to-be had.
Still, he and Julia were worlds apart in many ways. She was a werewolf romance writer from America, and hell, he didn’t even know if her interest in him had only to do with finding the elusive box and writing the background for her novel.
Cowboys, right.
Before he could unfasten her bra, she slipped her warm fingers into the open fly of his boxers and touched him. That made him struggle faster with the clasp on her bra, cursing in Gaelic under his breath when he couldn’t unhook the fastener, to which she softly chuckled.
Pressing breasts still covered in the soft sweater against his chest, she reached back to unhook the bra. When it was free, he pulled the sweater over her head, the bra going the way of the sweater, somewhere on the floor.
Sunlight poured into the chamber through two narrow windows, and Ian assumed the supper hour was nearly upon them. He pressed Julia gently against the mattress and took his fill of her, her red curls splayed upon his black cotton-covered pillow, her green eyes filled with heat. Her lips parted, and her tongue slipped out to wet them, inviting him in, her breasts full, the nipples rosy and fully extended, welcoming. Now all she wore was the red lace thong and nothing else. Except for the bandage on her shin.
He ran his hands on either side of the bandage, softly, gently, feeling her muscle tense. He kissed her knee above the injury. “How is it?”
“Tingling. Tickling. Healing.”
“Your ankle?” he asked, trailing a kiss down her leg until he reached her ankle and examined it. The swelling had abated again.
“It’s fine.”
“No more walking or running on it today. Tomorrow, it should be well healed.”
“I want to search for the box.”
“Forget it,” he said, gruffly. “If we look, I’m sure we’ll find a copy of the contract in the vault. One way to outwit the blackmailer—I’ll just make you mine.”
Her lips parted, but he didn’t wait for her to object. Right at this moment, if he didn’t have to worry about anything else, he wanted to brand her as his own, like a cowboy would. Let her write that in her story. He wanted to claim her so that no other man could ever do so.
With that damning thought in mind, he captured her mouth and silenced any objection she might have made. But she quickly matched his fiery display of affection, tonguing him in return, her hands sweeping down his back and then slipping under the waistband of his boxers. Her fingers dug into his arse, squeezing and tracing, making his blood feverish with desire. He yanked the boxers off and tossed them on the floor with the rest of their clothes.
His mouth was on hers again, his hand fully on her breast, weighing the feel of it, the soft voluptuous handful as the rigid peak poked at his palm. Her eyes were half shuttered with desire, her breathing hard as she kept up with his searing kisses. He wanted her. He wanted all of her. Yet he told himself it was just sexual frenzy that they were caught up in and nothing more. But he knew better. He’d never had anyone like this, never craved a woman like he did her. Never had lost sleep over a woman before.
He slipped off the scrap of lace she wore and tossed it aside. Grasping one knee, he pushed her apart for him, her short, red curly thatch just as tantalizing as the rest of her. Plunging his fingers into her delicious heat, he drove as deep as he could and then began to stroke her swollen nub. She arched against his fingers, her soft moans nearly undoing him. And then she reached around to touch the length of him, but he groaned his refusal. He couldn’t allow her to touch him, not until he’d had his way with her. He’d never last.
Lifting one leg over his hip, opening her wider to him, he continued to ply her with his strokes, his mouth silencing her cry as she came with his fingers deep inside of her and measuring the hard internal shudders. For a moment, her breath came quickly, and then she reached up to give him his due. But he still wanted to be inside her, thrusting into her tight sheath, slick and hot with pleasure.
He was so close to climaxing, just from the way her tongue had probed his mouth and lips and tongue, the way her hands had taken charge of his erection, and the sweet, sexy smell of her that he couldn’t extend the eroticism a minute more. With her deftly firm strokes, she brought him to a desperate fevered pitch. And he came, the bliss of her touch turning his world into an explosion of gratification. Sinking down next to her, he pulled her against his body, her own—soft, supple, and boneless.
They’d be late for the meal, again.
After unlocking Baird Cottage with his lock picks, Cearnach strode inside to search for Julia’s journal but stopped dead just inside the entryway.
He sniffed the air and listened for any sign of anyone in the place, although he had assumed no one would be here but the two women, and both were at Argent Castle. But other than smelling the scent of the women and that of Duncan and Ian’s presence here earlier, he caught a whiff of someone else.
If he ventured a guess, and he didn’t like where this was heading, their staunchest enemy, Basil Sutherland, had been here. Cearnach hurried into the first bedroom, where the bed was neatly made, but the fragrance was Maria’s. Then he checked out the other bedroom. The bedcovers were half crumpled on the bed and half hanging on the floor, and when he drew closer, he smelled both Julia’s scent and Basil’s on the sheets. Worse, the musky smell of sex. Hell.
He knew Ian was taken with the little red wolf, and this would kill him.
Considering how Ian had reacted after Flynn had met with Ian’s betrothed in the woods and had his way with her based on their mutual consent, Cearnach didn’t even want to see the black mood Ian would be in once he learned of this new deception over a woman he cared about.
Cearnach lifted Julia’s journal from her bedside chest, and then feeling sick about this whole mess, he hurried back to Argent Castle. He checked on the progress of the filming of the movie, which, as he was afraid it would be, was noisy, the castle grounds overrun with humans, and enough to make him want to join his mum in London to get away from it all.
When he glanced up at Ian’s chamber, he took a long, deep breath. How could he break the news to Ian about Julia and Basil without shattering Ian’s world again—despite the fact Ian always claimed he’d been better off without his betrothed? Cearnach knew better. Since then, Ian had lived with ponderous regret over having sent their cousin away and feeling responsible for getting him killed.
With his teeth set, Cearnach stalked toward the castle, only to be stopped when Duncan waylaid him. “You found the lass’s journal?”
“Aye. Was Maria any trouble?”
“Some. Guthrie’s watching her.” Duncan frowned at Cearnach and folded his arms. “You seem troubled.”
Cearnach dismissed his concern. “I can see why Ian didn’t want this production here. What a mess.”
Duncan nodded. “Is something else the matter? I don’t think I’ve seen you this worried since Flynn got himself into trouble with Ian.”
Cearnach didn’t say anything. The problem was that no matter the situation, he was always able to make light of it. Not that time. No matter how many years had passed, he could never see that disaster in a lighthearted way. “If nothing’s the matter, I’ll see you in a bit.”
Duncan said, “Aye.”
But Cearnach knew from the dark arch of Duncan’s brows that his brother didn’t believe nothing was the matter.
Trying to learn anything useful about the woman who was still with Ian in his chamber, Cearnach settled in Ian’s solar to read all that Julia had written, not sure what he’d learn and hoping he wouldn’t find anything damning. Any more so than he’d already found. But something was saving a place in the journal, and he opened to that page. A picture of Ian wearing his kilt stared back at him. It looked to be taken at the Celtic fest. Turning it over, Cearnach didn’t find anything on the back. Hell. What was the lass up to? Ian never allowed his picture to be taken. And it made Cearnach believe she had to have confederates working with her. Ian would be sick about this.
In the journal, she had described Cearnach as carefree and happy-go-lucky, but she hadn’t seen him when Ian left him in charge. Business came first, fun and pleasure second. He had thought he was just like Ian in that regard, until now. Ian seemed to be dabbling in both business and pleasure at the same time with the lass when he normally was much more serious. Had to be as pack leader and clan chief.
Supper had come, and the brothers and their cousins had eaten, and still Ian and Julia had not emerged from Ian’s bedchamber even to partake in the meal. After what he’d discovered at the cottage, Cearnach knew nothing good could come of this.
