Chapter Seventeen
TO Lyssa, Ian’s kiss was a lifeline. He understood her when she didn’t understand herself.
He was her fate.
The crumpled tarot card fell from her fingers as she put her arms around his neck and kissed him with everything she was worth. The touch of his tongue against hers signaled that all had changed between them. There were no more walls, and she could have cried in thanksgiving.
The rest of the world faded.
Fears, doubts, mistakes—nothing mattered. In his arms, she was safe.
In his arms, she belonged…and that was a powerful, heady discovery for a woman who’d feared ever finding her place in the world.
Neither of them held back. Breeding, inexperience, social standing—none of that mattered. Outside, the rain came down harder. Lyssa didn’t care. The only reality that existed for her was the feel of this man’s body against hers.
She met him kiss for kiss, arched to be even closer to him. He leaned her back upon the plaid. His knee rode up her leg and instinctively, she moved toward him, eager for what she didn’t yet understand.
His response was to devour her with his mouth. And deep within Lyssa, the sweet ache of need built. She wanted more, needed more.
Their lips never parting, they began pulling at clothing, searching with blind fingers for fastenings and secret openings.
The first moment his hands covered her bare breasts, Lyssa gasped, her heightened senses electrified by his touch.
When he leaned down to cover one hard nipple with his mouth, she cried out his name in shock, a cry that ended in a moan of pure pleasure.
Her legs parted with a will of their own. She buried her fingers in his hair, never wanting him to stop—and yet hungry for something deeper, more fulfilling.
Ian knew what she wanted. He sucked hard as if marking her, and her breath caught in her throat, the pull of his tongue traveling down to her very core.
She’d long ago kicked off her skirt. Her petticoats and chemise were around her waist. His jacket with the torn sleeves had been practically ripped off him and she hadn’t helped the damage any in her enthusiasm to undress him.
His shirt was up under his arms. He still wore his boots and leather breeches, but she’d undone the buttons—and it was there, the male part of him, the one wags swore had more power over men’s heads than their hearts and brains did.
It was bold and insistent. Lyssa could feel him against her thigh.
She ran her hand down over his hip above his breeches, but shied from going closer to it.
However, if her mind was skittish, the rest of her body didn’t seem afraid at all, and let him settle himself between her legs.
Ian closed his lips over her other breast, and she could feel the stroke of his tongue there, at the most intimate part of her. The head of it caressed her and Lyssa thought she would go through the ceiling from the sensation.
She pulled at his shirt and ran her palms down his naked back. Hot, wet, anxious…
He slid down, positioning himself.
Oh, dear God.
Ian looked up. His lips were swollen and his glazed eyes had turned the color of dark pewter.
Who was this man? The Ian she knew always had control. This man was raw, open…vulnerable.
“Lyssa.” He whispered her name like a benediction and thrust deep inside her with one smooth movement.
For a second, she couldn’t think, couldn’t breath.
He was inside her.
And he felt so good. So right.
There was no pain. A small discomfort but nothing to compare to the satisfaction of being joined with him. Of being one. Oh, Sweet Lord!
She tilted her head back, reveling in the feel of him. Accepting him. There was a low growl of triumph in the back of his throat, and he took what she offered. Kissing her neck, his whiskers tickling her skin, he moved deeper still.
Here was the meaning of life. Her reason for being.
Her body was no longer her own, but his. Her senses were filled with him, with the texture of his skin, with the warm male scent of him, with the feel of every muscle, every sinew.
And Ian knew it.
His hands cupped her buttocks and he thrust deep, pulled back and went deeper still, claiming every fiber of her. Nor did Lyssa suppress her joyful response. Their joining took on a life of its own. She hugged him close, and met him move for move.
Together they strived toward what she did not quite understand—yet. But he knew and drove on, knowing exactly what she wanted.
Her heart beat in her ears. His skin was hot and slick against hers. He pressed deeper still, the heat of him pushing her toward some pinnacle, sharp, precise—
Her world exploded.
One heartbeat she was whole and sane, and in the next, she felt she’d shattered, her senses a million stars.
So this was why poets sang and wise men sacrificed. This was behind all those romantic novels, the element she hadn’t quite been able to fathom. This was worth a hundred books, a thousand poems.
She wondered if she still lived and yet, had never felt more alive in her life, especially at the moment he released his seed deep within her.
Time stopped. The life force moved from him and into her—and she was complete. Whole. One.
He eased down on her with a satisfied sound of his own fulfillment—a lover’s highest praise.
The weight of his body on hers felt good. His head rested in the curve of her neck, one hand possessively on her hip, the other buried in the tangle of her hair.
Lyssa dared not move. The sound of the rain mingled with the beat of his heart, a beat her own matched.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
Still unable to speak, she wrapped her arms around him. He smiled against his skin.
“Yes, me, too,” he answered and gathering her close, rolled off her. Pulling the edge of the plaid around their hips, he kissed her forehead lightly, once, twice.
Nestled in his arms, her body satiated, Lyssa fell asleep.
Ian held the woman in his arms close. After years of wandering, his life now had substance.
Love did exist.
He should be tired, and yet he’d never felt more awake or more aware of his senses.
The rain let up, becoming little more than mist. Fog rose from the ground, even daring to roll inside the stone bothy, and he knew it would be a dreary day. Not one good for traveling, but perfect for making love.
He no longer worried about pursuers. What was left of the Davidson clan might not be too keen with the prospect of him sharing his side of the story with the magistrate.
But even if they were, they’d have a search on their hands.
The rain would wash away all traces of their tracks.
If he wished, they could disappear completely.
Even Pirate Harrell wouldn’t be able to find her—
Ian was stunned by the direction of his thoughts.
Reality was not pleasant.
Suddenly, he came face-to-face with the enormity of what had happened. He’d just bedded Pirate Harrell’s daughter. He’d plowed into her, taking all that she’d offered and then some. He’d reamed her good. Her innocence was his, as was any babe that might even now be growing in her belly.
He thought of Janet and Fiona waiting for him. Of the money he desperately needed. Harrell would kill him instead of paying him…and Ian didn’t know if he cared.
Lyssa was his and, now that he had her, he would never let go. Ever.
Lyssa woke to find herself tucked in by Ian’s side.
He was sleeping, his chest moving with quiet regularity.
Propping herself on one arm, she studied him.
The shadow of his beard gave him a dangerous look and she decided she’d never known a more handsome man.
He appeared exactly the way the Knight of Swords should look.
However, she no longer feared him. Or his sword, she added to herself with a smile.
She’d crossed the threshold and had no regrets.
Ian’s eyes opened. “Hello.”
Lyssa smiled, full of happiness. “Hello,” she whispered.
He moved his leg, curling his toes and tickling the bottom of her foot. “How do you feel?”
In love. “Perfect.”
“Perfect?” Humor lit his lazy gaze.
“Puuurrrfect,” she repeated and he rolled over on top of her. His lips brushed the top of her hair. She curled her arms into his chest. “Ian?”
“Mmmmmm?” He kissed her temple. Outside, the rain had renewed. They’d not be traveling anywhere this day.
“Are we going to do it again?”
His lips pressed against her forehead stopped moving. “Would you like to?” he asked, and she felt him aroused and strong.
Her answer was to reach down and boldly brush the length of it, no longer timid. And this time, making love was even better than the first.
There didn’t seem to be a need to get dressed, so they didn’t.
The furnitureless bothy became their own Garden of Eden. It could have been furnished with the richest stuff, and Lyssa would not have been happier.
They spent the rest of the day listening to the rain and making love until Lyssa ached in places she didn’t know could ache, and still she yearned for more.
When they weren’t making love, they talked, their topics covering anything and everything.
He confessed his worry for his nephew Liam.
She made him laugh with stories of what a disaster she’d been in Society.
He’d kissed her nose and assured her that if he’d been present he would have swept her off her feet.
Of course, Lyssa was no fool. She noticed Ian did not mention the future and she tried not to let her fear show. There was only the here and now. Nor did they speak words of love…but she knew. She knew. Even though she hadn’t the courage to say them first.
They didn’t leave the next day either. The rain had stopped but the sky was still threatening, or so they convinced themselves, and that seemed to be as good a reason as any to stay where they were.
Ian found a stream close by. From his magic knapsack he pulled hook and line and caught fresh fish for their lunch and supper. The filets, cooked over an open flame, were delicious after a diet of dried beef and catch-as-catch-can.