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Remembering his own personal watcher, he glanced at the window. Kathy's gaze locked
with his, and she offered him a tentative smile that didn't quite reach her worried eyes. He
shared her smile in his mind and realized how much comfort the sharing gave him.
"Touch him wi' yer hands, yer mouth, until he grows so hard for ye he fears he'll die from
the wanting." He stared into Fiona's eyes, allowing her to see all the hate and contempt he
knew she'd expect from her greatest enemy. He didn't have to pretend overmuch.
Ian despised what he must do next. He lifted his gaze to Kathy once more, kept it fixed on
her eyes, her mouth. Fiona would not accept his fantasy if he had no arousal, and to keep
his erection he must create his own fantasy.
His own fantasy would be of Kathy, and in weaving it he must involve her, whether he
wanted to or not. Once before, she'd almost yielded to him because of his power to create
a make-believe world. That was not how he wanted it to be between them.
But he knew if he involved Kathy, she wouldn't rush into the cottage to face Fiona. She
would be safer outside, and Kathy Bartlett's safety meant more to him than anything else.
"Tell me what ye feel, my enemy." Fiona moved close, then slid her fingers over his chest,
his stomach, between his legs. Cupping him, she squeezed gently.
Ian shuddered.
He closed Fiona from his mind, looked only into Kathy's eyes, thought only of Kathy
touching him.
"The scent of ye fills me warm woman's flesh and cool morning mist. I want to hate it,
but I canna. I can only think of my need to hold yer breasts bare in my palms, to bury my
face between them, to be close to yer scent. But I canna reach ye. I can only accept what ye
give me." Heed me, Kathy. He sensed Kathy's desire to look away, to break the web he
wove, but he wouldn't let her, would make her understand that he spoke to her.
Fiona's lips touched the pulse in his neck, then seared a path to his nipple. But it wasn't
Fiona's tongue that flicked the sensitive nub, then touched his chest, his stomach with light
kisses that made him moan within his fantasy. It was Kathy's lips, trailing a heated line of
erotic torture.
"Tell me what ye feel."
The whisper was every woman he'd ever touched, every woman who'd ever touched him.
No, that was wrong. It was Kathy.
"Yer lips touching my body excite me." His hips began the slow thrusting motion of
mating as he sank deeper into his fantasy. With each thrust his erection scraped the cloth
covering the breasts of the woman who now knelt in front of him. He was so hard, his
flesh so sensitive, that he thought he would die if he couldn't soon slide his arousal over
warm bare skin. Over Kathy's flesh. "Would that I could taste ye as ye taste me. I would
kiss the soft skin low on yer stomach, listen to yer soft gasp, feel yer muscles clench wi' yer
need, see yer legs part in readiness. I would move between yer thighs and kiss a path along
the inner sides slowly, gently." He stared into Kathy's eyes, saw his own hot intensity
reflected back. "Then I would put my mouth on ye, slide my tongue over yer most
sensitive part, hold ye as ye writhed."
"What do I taste of?" The voice was harsh, barely in control. He didn't recognize it, didn't
care. His whole world was centered on Kathy.
"Yer skin is the taste of the sea on a warm summer's day." Know that I speak of ye, Kathy.
"The warmth between yer thighs is the sweetness of . . . rich chocolate."
He watched the awareness grow in Kathy's gaze. The deep glow added to the heat and
desire he already saw. Never before had he wanted a woman with such hunger. But he
sensed with a detached despair that her desire was for the Pleasure Master, not for him.
"I dinna know what chocolate is. Tell me what ye would do next."
The harsh demand was accompanied by the slide of the whip handle between his legs.
Back and forth, back and forth.
It was Kathy's fingers sliding between his legs, fondling him, clasping him. He could hear
the rasp of his own breathing, felt as though his chest could no longer hold his pounding
heart. "I'd bury myself deep inside ye, feel ye tighten around me, thrust again and again
until I could hold back no longer, then I would spill my hot seed into ..."
He could stand no more. "Free me, Kathy, so I may pleasure ye in all these ways."
The sudden stillness seeped into him. He blinked, suddenly aware of small sounds ducks
quacking, men shouting in the distance, Fiona's quiet hiss of anger.
"This was not for my pleasure, was it, Ian Ross? Ye werena thinking of me. Ye were
thinking only of this Kathy. Ye bastard!"
The shock of Fiona's whip slashing across his lower stomach brought a shocked gasp from
him. God's teeth! She'd barely missed his
The crash as the door was flung open shook the cottage. Vengeance stood in the opening
wielding a sword that glowed and hummed, along with the dreaded curling iron.
Vengeance was not soft spoken.
"Bitch! You hurt him." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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