She spent the next morning obsessing about Eoin. She’d watched him spar with his men in the bailey, his sister at her side until the teen had gotten bored and went off with the MacLeod servants.
The laird was a beast with a sword in his hand, but graceful, too, in a way Ashlyn never would’ve attached to hand-to hand combat.
When the men had worked up enough sweat to shed their shirts despite the chilly morning, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Eoin. The play of his muscles as he moved like a dancer, thrusting his huge weapon, rushing forward and back. He parried and clashed the sword against the men’s over and over, sometimes even taking on more than one at a time.
Eoin was better than any romance hero she’d ever come up with.
So hot. That she’d already known, Ashlyn had eyes—and hands—after all, but to see him interact with his men, some of them no doubt family, warmed her from the inside out. He laughed with them, showed open affection with arms over shoulders and shared playful punches and shoves, like friends in a locker room.
He was a fierce fighter, a good leader, a good laird, and the other guys obviously adored him.
A good man.
My fate?
How?
It was hard to breathe. She couldn’t help but remember last night, sleeping in his bed. In his arms.
Ashlyn was a fool for rejecting him, yet she equally foolish to consider sex with a stranger from the eighteenth century. Especially since there weren’t condoms or her birth control pills handy.
Eoin doesn’t feel like a stranger.
“Lass, I’ve been lookin’ fer ye everawhere!” Angus’ yell made her jump—and look away from the object of her desire.
“Coming!” She made her way to the elderly man, away from the small area of tiers set up along the fence in the bailey.
He regaled her with tales of winged men, Fae Warriors, and incredible magic as soon as they’d gotten to his rooms. Angus even spoke of pink and purple trees, blue and orange grass in the Fae Realm.
He’d been delighted when she’d asked if he’d be willing to help her research for future books. Although he hadn’t looked all that surprised. The laird had probably talked to him about it.
Eoin had come through with his promise and had presented Angus with supplies for Ashlyn; a stack of parchment and as much ink as she wanted. Even three different quills to write with.
She’d been able to take notes when she talked to the elderly man.
Listening to Angus speak was as enthralling as his subject matter, like a spell. Not only because of his brogue, but that was part of her fascination. However, the man was a hell of a storyteller, and she hung on his every word. A walking, talking history book, and he loved to share anything Clan MacLeod, and his knowledge in general, as well as all the magic stuff.
But Ashlyn missed Eoin.
Was he avoiding her?
He’d been gone from his bed before she’d woken, and disappointment had washed over her. She wanted to see him, speak with him.
Kiss him again.
Oh. Stop. You rejected him last night.
Afternoon rolled into evening, and she’d at least gotten to see him at supper. She’d been seated next to him up on the dais, and he was attentive. Somewhat talkative, but it left her needing more. Eoin had been too polite and proper, seeming to ensure he didn’t touch her.
When they’d retired, she’d climbed into his bed without much conversation.
He hadn’t reached for her, and hurt settled low in her belly. He’d bid her a whispered goodnight, then presented her with his back.
Ashlyn had tried not to cry, and sleep was fleeting that night; despite his presence beside her, she’d felt alone for the first time since he’d brought her to 1755. Calling herself names didn’t fix her mixed feelings, either.
The next three days passed with the same routine, leaving her aching for more of the laird than the few words exchanged over meals and sleeping next to him in the big bed.
She’d woken in his arms the night before and watched the rise and fall of his bare muscled chest. She hadn’t had the guts to kiss him, but had burned to do so. He must’ve reached for her in his sleep.
Ashlyn rolled over and opened her eyes, groaning and cursing the stupid thoughts running on a pathetic loop in her head. Like a bad dream.
Night four in the past. She couldn’t sleep.
Warmth bled into her side through her nightgown. It was good, because it was Eoin, but he still hadn’t touched her on purpose. Being against his body again was almost as good as the first night at Dunvegan, but he’d obviously retreated for a reason.
She propped herself up over his chest and gnawed her bottom lip. Ashlyn stared. Hurting. Even though that was stupid. “How can I miss you when you’re right here?”
Eoin stirred and blinked. “Lass?” The whisper was thick with sleep.
She cursed herself and embarrassment kissed her cheeks. Couldn’t feign sleep, either, since she was hanging over him like some sort of stalker.
Dammit.
Ashlyn hadn’t meant to wake him.
He yawned and pushed himself to a sitting position, taking her with him. Eoin slipped his arm around her shoulders. It was the first time he’d initiated physical contact since that first night.
Her heart missed a beat. “Why have you pushed me away?” she blurted, then winced.
“What, lass?”
“You…you’ve been avoiding me. I spend the days with Angus, missing you, despite all the interesting things he tells me. I…want to spend time with you, too.”
He didn’t answer, but his gaze raked her face, as if he was trying to process her accusation/confession.
Mortification made words rush out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“Ashlyn.” Eoin cupped her cheeks, tugged her chin up to make her look at him. His Adam’s apple jumped.
He was completely awake now, and she wanted to melt into the bed.
Idiot.
“I didna mean ta hurt ye, Ash.” His voice was low, sincere.
Use of her nickname didn’t stop the rush of honesty. “Well, you did. You were all hot and heavy, kissing me all over the place, holding me, then nothing. Pushing me away like a leper.” She shrugged. Tears welled against her will, and Ashlyn called herself every name in the book. Again.
She’d rejected him; she had no right to accuse him of the reverse. He was going to think she was fickle. Or worse, unstable.
“Oh, lass.” He sounded pained, and his expression was a mix of surprise and regret. Eoin’s eyes bored into hers. He didn’t release his hold on her face, and thumbed away her tears as they were born. “I thought ‘twas wha’ ye wanted.”
“It was. Then it wasn’t.” Oh, God, he’s really going to think I lost it. “Eoin, I…” Ashlyn’s words dried up. She swallowed, but it didn’t help.
He caressed her cheek, and she couldn’t pull away. “I didna mean ta hurt ye,” he repeated.
Their gazes collided.
If her mouth was dry before, it was a desert now. Her body thrummed for him, begging in ways she couldn’t voice.
Eoin seemed to get it. His eyes went from sapphire to stormy, to midnight-at-sea.
Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. She tried not to fidget away from that unwavering, yet impossibly gentle touch still against her cheeks. It wasn’t a tight grip; why couldn’t she move?
His lips parted and Ashlyn felt her own answer that call. She tilted her chin up, asking.
His mouth came down, claiming hers.
She moved into him, slipping her arms around him and pressing her breasts to his bare chest. The soft fabric of the sleeping gown didn’t let her get close enough.
Ashlyn wanted it gone. Wanted to be naked in his arms. She shifted; the chemise restricted the movement, made her more aware of the separation between them, and she burned. Her sex throbbed. She ordered her brain to shut off. No matter what happened, she needed this right now. Needed him.
Maybe she had from the first time he’d kissed her outside the pub in Inverness.
He groaned and buried his hand in the hair at the back of her neck, pulling her closer still. Eoin shoved his tongue in her mouth, rubbing it against hers, tasting her in a tangle of nips and licks as they both fought to kiss harder, deeper. “Lass,” he breathed against her lips. “I wan’ ye. I need ye. I need ye, Ash.”
She leaned back. He’d called her Ash again, but it was still delicious in the way it rolled off his brogue. “I kinda thought that’s what this was about. What I was trying to tell you.”
He stilled. Studied her, but Ashlyn did the same, scanning his gorgeous face, stubbled cheeks. The roughness against her skin made her want him more. His lips were swollen from hers, his complexion ruddy, and his massive chest heaved with his attempts to get control of himself.
She didn’t want him controlled. She wanted all of Eoin MacLeod.
“Ye…ye…need ta be certain, lass. I willna let ye go easily.”
I don’t want you to. Ashlyn couldn’t say that aloud.
It wasn’t true. Was it?
How could she have become so fond of this big Highlander in just a few days?
Fate? Like Angus said?
“I’m sure I want you,” she whispered.
Eoin’s answer was another searing kiss and he started tugging at the nightgown, moving his lower body into hers. His erection hit her in the right place, but there was still material separating them.
When the fabric covering her body was around her waist, his hot hands branded her hips and thighs.
She moaned. He was so close to where she needed his fingers.
“Off. This needs off ye,” he breathed, pulling harder on the chemise.
“Don’t rip it. I’ll take it off.” Ashlyn regretted having to sever their physical contact, even if it was only for a few seconds.
He took the same moment to rid himself of the shorts, and she couldn’t help but stare at his erection. She’d seen it before, felt it against her more times than that, but this time…it was going to be hers.
Eoin was going to be hers.
Tremors started in her spine and spread to her limbs; even her hands shook.
“Lass,” he breathed. “Doona make me wait. I canna wait fer ye.” His gaze ate her up.
She’d always been self-conscious, like any normal woman, but she couldn’t be right then. His gaze called her a goddess. Ashlyn’s nerve endings responded to the visual call, and she tingled all over. The way he was looking at her was as good as a caress, but it wasn’t enough. She needed his hands and mouth on her. All over her.
“No. Waiting,” she breathed.
He made a guttural noise in his throat, and grabbed her shoulders, then possessed her mouth again. He kissed her into oblivion, leaving her a writhing, begging mess in his arms.
Eoin gently pushed her to the mattress, covering her body with his. His heated skin against hers revved her even higher. There was nothing between them, and feeling all of him against her was glorious.
Ashlyn cried out when he spread kisses downward, tracing her areolas with his tongue. Her nipples ached, they were so tight, and her sex throbbed in time with his teases.
His hands followed, cupping her before journeying on, and when he crossed the soft part of her belly with seeking fingers, she trembled. Wanted to shove him away from the part of her body she didn’t like in the mirror. But then he went lower, and pressed his thumb into her clit.
She screamed his name and threw her head back into the pillows, crushing her eyes shut as Eoin worked magic at her core. Her head thrashed but she couldn’t stop; the sensations assailing her took all of her attention. Coherent thought fled.
He trailed kissed from one hip to another, before licking his way down her pelvis. “I need ta taste ye, Ash,” he whispered.
The words enflamed Ashlyn and her thighs vibrated of their own accord even before he laved her sex from top to bottom. “Oh, God,” she moaned.
He tormented her, kissing and nibbling everywhere but where she needed his mouth. She whimpered, then he chuckled and did it again.
“You…tease.”
Eoin flashed a wicked grin, and nipped her inner thigh. “So wet fer me, already. An’ ye taste like honey.”
She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out when he probed her opening with a gentle fingertip. Then he drove forward to his knuckles, and sucked her clit into his mouth.
Ashlyn hollered his name and buried her hands in his hair. Her hips lifted of their own accord and she came hard, panting to stave off blackened vision. She chanted his name and shook from head to foot. Pleasure washed over her with every stroke of his fingers and tongue, until she was almost too sensitive.
But then he was there, pulling her into his arms and holding her close, kissing her tenderly. She could taste her essence, and it zinged renewed desire over her limbs.
“More, Eoin. I need you inside me,” she begged, rocking her hips into his.
“Aye, lass.” His voice was so deep it was almost unrecognizable. He grunted, and guided his erection to her core.
Eoin surged back to her, joining them in a hard thrust that pulled a long moan from her.
She tugged his hair when he stilled above her.
“Did I hurt ye?” The veins in his neck stood out, as if he was holding himself back by the barest thread.
Ashlyn shook her head. “No. No. Kiss me and move. I need you to move.”
“Gladly.” He pushed his pelvis against hers as he did her bidding, sealing his mouth over hers.
Every thrust made her soar higher. She clung to him, first with her arms around his neck, then gripping his biceps when his pistoning lost rhythm and she could only hold on. Sweat blanketed them both, but she didn’t care.
Orgasm started to build and retreat with his movements, driving her crazy.
The faster he went, the harder he kissed her, until she saw stars. Ashlyn kept up, moving under him, with him.
She finally tugged away from their latest lip-lock when her muscles constricted. She jerked and ecstasy slammed into her. She gripped his arms because she needed to hold on to something.
Eoin grunted and stiffened above her as he came inside her, then he buried his face in her neck, his big body shuddering.
Gooseflesh peppered Ashlyn’s body as her sex contracted, milking his, and her belly warmed with the rush of release.
“Jesu, lass,” he murmured against her overheated skin. When he lifted his head and met her gaze, his eyes were heavy-lidded and sated.
I did this to him.
She kissed him, because she didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to express how he’d just made her feel.
The romance writer. Speechless after sex.
It was for the best, probably. So she wouldn’t blurt something like, ‘this is the kind of sex I write about.’
Because it was.
Eoin took over the kiss and held her tight even as he slipped from her body. Their mouths slanted again, languorous and heated, until Ashlyn’s already boneless form melded into his chest on a sigh he swallowed.
“Ashlyn,” he whispered. “Ashlyn. Yer…ye, lass. Yer…perfect.”
She flushed and fought the urge to avert her eyes. “You’re not so bad yourself.” She missed the mark on her attempt at humor. Her voice was too thick, a croak. She’d never had sex with someone she didn’t love.
Then again, this hadn’t felt like just sex. Had Eoin made love to her? She didn’t love him…but she cared for him. Could love him.
Ashlyn quaked.
I can’t love him. I have to go home.
“Are ye…okay, as ye say?” His brogue rolled over her, and she smiled at his use of the modern word.
She swallowed and nodded. “Aye.”
The grin he presented her with was lopsided and made her insides wobble.
“We traded words,” she whispered.
“We traded more than words, lass.” Eoin brushed his mouth over hers, but the tender gesture didn’t shake the dread from settling low in her belly.
Not because she regretted giving herself to him. She didn’t. Would do it again, and would likely get the chance.
Could her heart handle the fallout?
She still had to walk away from him in the end.