To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)
"Oh, yes. You've a backside like two halves of a melon, sweet and firm and tasting of nectar."
"Ha!" She laughed at his words but glanced back as if to weigh their truth.
"Do ye no' believe me?" He growled playfully and stood. Her eyes fell to take in his reaction.
"I suppose I must."
"Trobhad, caitein"
"Oh, my tutelage begins with Gaelic. What does that mean? lCaitein,T
"It means cat, kitten. That's what you remind me of, sleek and small and canny."
"I like that." Her eyes roamed over him, warm with approval at the sight he provided. Collin stood before her and let her look. "And what's that called?"
Collin looked down. "Coileach. Cock."
Alexandra slid toward him, touched one finger to the tip. He hissed and grasped her wrist.
"I want you more than life itself, caitein, but you're surely too tender."
"Mm. I will admit to a certain soreness."
He held her wrist, but couldn't summon the will to move her hand. Her finger stroked, circled the ridge of his head.
"But I was not raised in a nunnery, if you'll recall. And I've heard tell that men enjoy any number of pleasures." Her fingers danced a sizzling path up his shaft.
"As do women," Collin growled, letting go his hold. Those fingers wrapped around him, cool against his heat, and firmed with the barest pressure.
Alexandra leaned close, rubbed her cheek against his chest as if she were the cat he'd named her. Her breath touched his nipple. "I am obedient in all things, my lord."
* * *
Collin shifted in a dark haze of sleep, tried to move away from the heat that seared his side. Sweat dampened the bedsheets, and he kicked them away, twisting to lie on his stomach.
Better. Fresh air settled over him, cooling the damp. His mind stirred a touch, waking him to frown into the pillow. He was missing something.
Ah. His woman.
The sheet wrapped persistently around his arm when he pulled. He untangled himself with a grumble and reached blindly for some part of her. His hand touched fire.
"Shit," he croaked and jerked away to push himself up to his elbows. Blinking around, he tried to orient his eyes to the moonlight. There was Alex, sprawled in all her glory across the other side of the bed. He stared, afraid. His brain roused itself another notch and told him to stop acting a fool.
Collin pushed one hand forward through the fog of his anxiety to lay a hand on her arm.
"My God," he breathed at the feel of her skin. She burned. She burned so hot it brought his heart to his throat. "Alex?" Her name did not rouse her, even loud and edged with panic as it was. -
His body froze, half-raised. If he didn't move, didn't rise to light a lamp, perhaps he could just go back to sleep and leave this dream to the night. He took his fingers from the hot iron of her skin and trailed them through her hair.
"Caitein, wake up. Please." Not even a whimper touched the dark room. "Christ."
Collin sprang from the bed, ran to her side to set match to lamp. Even as the wick sputtered, he clasped her burning face between his hands. Her skin gleamed white, grew whiter as the flame caught and grew. Even her freckles seemed gone, burned off by the heat. Two streaks of crimson scalded her cheeks, mocking the flush of good health and turning her ghastly.
Collin held his breath and cupped her cheeks in his palms. "Oh, Alex." No one could burn like this and survive, certainly not this slip of a woman. She would die.
He surged to his feet and rushed about the room, scrambling into clothes and boots. He wet a towel in the basin and approached her again, not wanting to, hating to see her slack face. When he stroked the water over her skin, she stirred a tiny bit, moaning against his wrist.
"Caitein, listen to me." Her eyes rolled behind their lids. "Listen. You must be strong. Please? I'll get you to a doctor." The water seemed to dry before he'd even moved the towel away. It had taken some of the heat from her though; the linen steamed in his hand. "Alex?"