Spell of the Highlander

Page 40

She had no idea how they ended up on the floor.
One moment she was in his arms, being kissed senseless—literally, apparently—and the next she was flat on her back beneath his still shower-damp, big, powerful body, her nipples so hard they were poking through both her bra and sweater against his bare chest, with the steely bar of his erection jammed against her stomach.
And she wasn’t entirely certain, but she didn’t think she was feeling a towel between them anymore. And holy cow, the man was huge.
Dazedly, she wondered what in the world she thought she was doing—even as she buried her fingers in the wet tangle of his hair.
More kisses, soft and slow, hot and hard. She was drowning in man, in the taste and scent and feel of him. Her hands slipped of their own accord down the thick column of his neck, over the muscled ridges of his shoulders.
She barely noticed when he shifted position so that his legs were straddling hers, until he fit himself snugly in the vee of her thighs, and his thick ridge nudged the inseam of her jeans against her clitoris with delicious friction. She jerked at the raw intimacy of it.
When he cupped a hand beneath her bottom, tilted her hips, and began a slow, erotic bump-and-grind that was as old as Mankind itself, a distant part of her mind began sounding a clamorous alarm. But with each slow, powerful thrust of his cock, that inner alarm grew fainter and fainter, as Jessi slipped irresistibly deeper beneath Cian MacKeltar’s seductive spell.
When he rucked her sweater up to her ribs and began tracing a path from her bottom to her breasts, slowly, lingeringly, as if committing the subtle shape of each dip and turn to memory, she whimpered into his mouth, hungry to feel those big hands all over her bare body. Everywhere he was touching her, she felt as if a low-voltage electrical current was pulsing beneath her skin, jolting each nerve ending to delicious, tingling awareness. When he closed a hand over one of her breasts, heat shot straight down to her belly and lower still, and she dug her nails into his shoulders, arching hungrily up to meet his next thrust.
He sucked in a shallow hiss of a breath, and suddenly he was working at the fly of her jeans, and then the air was cool on her bare skin as he pushed her jeans and panties down. That faint alarm was sounding again, more loudly, but he was kissing her so heatedly, so passionately and—
—abruptly she was sucking air like a fish out of water.
Alone on the floor.
She blinked. Heavens, but the man could move fast! She sat up, looking dazedly around. “Where did you go?” she said breathlessly.
“Behind you, woman,” came the tight, furious reply.
She glanced over her shoulder. He was inside the mirror, propped in the corner, breathing hard, like he’d been running a race. She was panting herself, she realized. Her lips were swollen, she had the sting of a rug burn beginning on her spine, and her nipples throbbed.
Why was he in the mirror? For that matter, how had he gotten in the mirror? She gaped at him, bewildered.
“It reclaims me after a time,” he said flatly.
She continued gaping. “W-without preamble?” she stammered. “Just like that?”
“Aye. ’Twas not my choice to leave you in such a fashion.” His gaze dropped sharply and fixed there. “Och, Jessica, you’ve a beautiful ass. Nigh worth living a thousand years to see.”
His words drew her awareness to the fact that she was sitting on the floor, between the TV armoire and the bed, facing the entry door, her bare bottom pointed at the mirror, glancing over her shoulder at him, her sweater rucked up, jeans and panties down around her knees.
The cold reality of reason returned.
Oh, God, what had she almost just done? She gaped at the mirror, stunned.
In a matter of mere minutes, she’d been down on the floor, with her jeans and panties around her knees! A few heated kisses—and she’d been about to have sex with a man she barely knew. An arrogant, throwback of a man, at that. Who lived in a mirror. And in the midst of such dire straits, to boot!
This wasn’t like her at all. Was she freaking nuts?
Shocked and appalled at herself, Jessi stumbled to her feet, tugging at her jeans. Her panties got twisted and her jeans got stuck partway up, just beneath her butt. She yanked but they didn’t yield. Only her butt did— she felt it jiggle.
He made a choking sound. “Sweet Christ, woman, you’re killing me!”
Cheeks flaming, she shot a scowl over her shoulder at him as she bunny-hopped, bare-bottomed, into the bathroom.
A groan followed her.
“Stop looking at my butt,” she hissed fiercely.
She could hear his laughter, even through the closed door.