Page 37 of Much Ado About a Scot

Isobel forced her worried thoughts away and opened her eyes. Tonight, she would indulge in one last fantasy. She drew a breath of the heavy night air and allowed the magic of the evening to seep inside her until she found herself swaying to the rhythm of the music.

Instantly she sensed Xander’s presence beside her. “Jamie’s asleep?”

“He fell into slumber midsentence, talking about the puppies he would see on the morrow.”

“Then the night is ours.”

The musicians began a lively tune that sent those gathered to dance about the fire, circling left then right with cheers of joy and laughter.

“Care to join in?” Xander asked as his hand came to rest on the curve of her back, ready to guide her forward.

“I can’t remember the last time I danced,” she said a little breathlessly as she allowed him to guide her forward, joining the others. The lilting sounds set her feet moving as she lifted her hands above her head and gave herself over to the moment. She found herself laughing as her excitement with the dance bubbled up from inside. But it wasn’t just the dance that sent her blood thrumming though her veins. It was the way Xander looked at her—as if she were beautiful.

The moments grew one into another until dancing with the man beside her was no longer enough. She reached for Xander’s hand and pulled him away from the dancers and into the shadows of the night. As long as they stayed in the fantasy of the moment, he was hers and she was his. A night of abandon stretched before them and she no longer wanted to waste it dancing with the others. “Xander, I—”

“Come with me.” He took her hand in his and led her deeper into the darkness, to the far edge of the field a long distance away from the others where a single tree stood as a sentinel. Beneath the branches was a carpet of grass, soft and sweet-smelling and lightly misted. Overhead, moonlight filtered through the branches, casting a thousand glass-like shards of blue-white light upon the shadowy earth.

A heartbeat later, he pulled her into his arms. His mouth fell upon hers with undisguised urgency. He parted her lips with his tongue and plunged inside with a low groan.

She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, holding fiercely to him as his lips shifted from her mouth to her cheeks, jaw, neck, before returning to her lips once more. Hungry kisses, desperate kisses that reflected her own need.

With one hand, he pulled her closer until she could feel the tension in his muscles, his rampant arousal. With his other hand, he explored her body, tracing each curve with a trembling hand as though committing it to memory.

Isobel smoothed her hands down his back, then up to his shoulder to release the penannular brooch, releasing the tails of his tartan. She pulled up the edges of his shirt and slipped her hand beneath the cloth to caress his heated flesh. Sinful, satiny skin that would be hers for one more night.

He broke their kiss and stared down at her as though memorizing her face before he grasped the edge of his shirt and peeled it from his body.

The moonlight outlined the hardened planes of his chest and gave an intimate sensuality to the muscles that flexed and bunched as he removed his sword and set it aside, then released his belt. His tartan pooled at his feet, leaving him naked before her. Her heart thudded in her throat; desire spread like wildfire beneath her skin. She let the vision of him standing there sink into her memory—a memory to be cherished when he was gone.

She looked into his face, met his dark gaze and saw the depth of his passion for her, his desire to possess her this one last time. He reached for her, his hands spanning her waist, and drew her against him. Bending his head down, he set his lips to hers, and their mutual flames of desire roared to life. He raised his hand and framed her face, anchored her as he deepened the kiss until they breathed as one, until the same pounding rhythm fired their veins.

His hands slipped behind her to loosen her laces before he slid her dress down her hips and to the ground at her feet. Her chemise followed until she stood exposed to the night. She shivered, not with cold but with burgeoning need.

He stepped away from her and spread his tartan upon the ground before catching her to him once more and easing them to their knees.

He took her right hand and raised it to his lips. He kissed her palm slowly, deliberately, allowing her to feel the contours of his lips and the warmth of his breath before he moved her hand to his chest. She felt the pounding of his heart beneath her palm. “This is what you do to me.”

She took his hand and placed it over her own heart, feeling the echo of her heart beating against his hand. “And this is what you do to me.”

With tenderness, he laid her down against his tartan, then lowered himself beside her. Gently, he stroked the hair from her brow and tucked it behind her ear before his lips followed his touch. He traced his fingers along her neck, across her breasts. The tips budded beneath his teasing and he followed up his assault with his mouth. With each touch of his lips, each swirl of his tongue, he stoked the fires within her until she cried out with longing and need. “I want you, Xander. I need you.”

He understood her plea as he settled between her legs and fitted himself at her entrance, nudging in just a fraction before he leaned closer to brush her lips with his, then plunged his tongue into her mouth as he entered her fully.

She rose up to meet him, inviting him in, giving herself to him in the most intimate way possible. Her neck arched back as she gave a low cry. Ridged fullness. Deep. So deep. Spiraling waves of pleasure coiled inside her as each powerful stroke lifted her, transported her. She clung to him, riding the increased tempo of his thrusts. As the tempo mounted, he pulled back to gaze upon her. “I want to remember you like this, in this moment when rapture claims us both.”

All restraint broke free as she gave herself to him, to take her where he led. She gave herself body, mind, soul, and heart to him as together they rose up in a tide, impossible to control, letting it swirl around them, hold them tight in its grip, until it crashed over them with sweet abandon, bathing them both in a sea of ecstasy.

He shifted to lie beside her, keeping her wrapped in his arms. And as the sensations ebbed and faded, Isobel wondered how would she ever live without this? She was part of him. He was part of her. No promise made for a year and a day, or two months, would ever change that. It felt right being there with him, even if it was just a fantasy. One she would have no choice but to give up when dawn came.

She pressed her cheek against the soft, wiry mat of hairs on his chest. His fingers reached for the edge of his tartan and pulled it up to wrap around them. The night enveloped them as they slept in each other’s arms.

Only when the dawn threatened did Isobel wake to find him staring down at her. “I want this moment to last forever, to hold the dawn at bay and give us more time alone together.”

She drew a slow, even breath and let it slide from her lungs. She wanted that too, to prolong this moment.

“Why do you not speak?” he asked with a frown.

“What do you want me to say? To tell you I will miss you when you leave? That I wish you would stay?” She met his gaze. “I want you with me, but I know that cannot happen.”