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The laird hoped so, for all their sakes. But he wasn’t counting on it. Which is why he was going to give over the body of the woman he loved to the man who would be his heir. “I asked you here tonight to make a point, Ian.”
“As is usually the case,” his kinsman muttered.
“Heather displeased you this afternoon.”
Ian’s grip tightened on the goblet. “It’s forgotten.”
“But she would like to make it u
p to you,” the laird insisted.
John met Heather’s eyes and she divined his purpose, going to her knees on the fleece throw upon the floor by Ian’s feet. Ian let his gaze settle upon the bonny lass, temptation written all over his face. He drank again, as if his mouth had run dry. Then he asked, “And you are of a mind to let her?”
“I am of a mind to command it.”
Ian’s spine stiffened. “Of her or me?”
The laird realized he had taken the wrong approach. Ian would not like to think a girl had been commanded to bed with him. It would injure his pride and afflict his sense of honor. Ian would never have an unwilling girl, which was to his credit. But more importantly, Ian would not accept being commanded to anyone’s bed himself.
So John tried again. “What I mean to say is that tonight, what she wishes to do with you, by my command, she may do. And don’t pretend to me that you don’t want her, Ian Macrae. I have seen the way you look at her—especially when she doesn’t know you’re looking.”
At that, Heather turned her head slightly, as if surprised by this revelation. Or perhaps she feared that Ian might see reluctance inside her; she had promised that he wouldn’t. The laird was counting on that.
Ian cleared his throat. “What a man wants, and what he can or should have aren’t the same…”
He trailed off, however, as Heather crept forward, her bare breasts swaying slightly as she pressed her cheek to Ian’s knee and whispered, “The night you watched us, I wished for you to join us…”
Did she speak truly? The laird had considered sharing her with Ian that night, of a certainty. But he’d been too overcome with emotion to do it. He had wanted her for himself. He still did. And he waited for a stab of jealous fury that never came.
For her words inspired aroused interest rather than resentment in him.
And in Ian…well…Ian looked down at her, wet his lips, set down the goblet. There was a flush of arousal on the man’s neck, and he was erect for her if the tent of his plaid was any indication. Even so, the laird calculated an even chance that his kinsman was going to simply stand up and walk out the door.
Instead, Ian asked, “Is that what you want now, lass?”
“What I want now is to give you great pleasure. Very great pleasure,” she said, repeating the laird’s words, giving them the ring of harlotry.
And before Ian could decide to rise and go, she slipped her hands beneath his plaid, pushing it up, bringing her lips to the tip of Ian’s swollen member. His kinsman jolted at what the laird knew to be the hot, wet mouth that Heather used so well. Then Ian let out a muffled groan as the lass deepened the kiss, taking him until her pretty pink lips were stretched around his manhood.
God’s blood, she did this while holding the laird’s gaze.
All for you, my laird, her silent stare said. I can do anything for you.
And it was like a bolt of lightning to John’s chest. A bolt that should have felt like thunderous, fury or pain but actually felt like pride. Something powerful arced and connected between them in that glance, almost as if Ian wasn’t even in the room. As if the laird’s kinsman were merely a belt or paddle or play-toy incidental to their love play. As if Heather wasn’t sucking another man into her mouth, but some extension of the laird himself…
Could that be possible?
Once, when John had despaired that it was Ian’s sword that defended Heather against the enemy, and not his own sword, she had said, His sword is your sword. He’s yours and I’m yours. Everything and everyone in this castle is yours. If only you would accept it. I’d happily be whatever it is you need me to be.
The laird hadn’t believed her then. Those had seemed only words. But now she was proving them true. She did not desire his kinsman. She didn’t welcome the thought of Ian’s hands on her. But she’d wrestled these things down in order to be obedient to her laird.
And the reality sent arousal coursing through his veins.
Heat swept over him with outrageous desire.
Even when Ian carelessly threaded a scarred hand in Heather’s hair to better guide and enjoy her ministrations. Even handled this way by another man, she arched her back as if to tempt the laird.
And tempt him she did.
