They stayed like that for a long moment, forehead to forehead, both breathing unevenly. Then, with a lingering caress, he withdrew his hand.
He was motionless a few moments, then she heard a sharp intake of breath and a pained groan when he reached down and adjusted himself.
She fisted her hands and squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think about that part of him he’d just touched. That part she’d caught a glimpse of when he’d dropped his towel, just enough to feed her insatiable curiosity.
No wonder Katherine had said she was dying without him.
There was no way she could let such a thing happen again. If she permitted even one more kiss today, she’d be in his bed. He was too sexy; she was already far too infatuated with him, and once in his bed, her defenses would come crashing down and she’d lose herself.
Why not just toss your heart out the airplane window, Zanders? a small inner voice snapped. You’d have about as much promise of a safe landing.
Dageus MacKeltar was more man than she could handle. She was a little-leaguer, clutching a ratty, secondhand mitt, trying to play ball with the pros. Just one good ground ball would knock her on her ass. And the game would move on without her.
Neither of them said a word, just sat in the dim shadows of the plane, trying to regain control.
Chloe was suddenly afraid that she might never get it back around him.
She was dozing again, and Dageus was paging through the third Book of Manannán.
Or trying to.
He was concentrating as well as any man in acute sexual agony could be expected to.
Not at all.
He kept seeing Chloe’s flushed face: her lips swollen from his kisses, the skin around her mouth chafed from whisker burn, her eyes sleepy-sexy with desire as she reached her woman’s peak and shuddered against him. Twice. Clung to him—as if she’d needed him. He’d held her heavy breasts in his hands. He’d touched her between her thighs.
He’d needed her so desperately that he’d nearly cast a Druid spell to fog the minds of the passengers, and pushed as far as she would go. Had contemplated taking her to the bathroom with him. Only her maiden state had stopped him. He’d not spill Chloe’s virgin blood like some barbarian, in a two-by-two room with cardboard walls.
She’d have gone farther, had he pressed. Might have permitted his hand inside her trews, but had he gone that far, there would have been no stopping. So he’d kept his hand safely outside her trews and settled for releasing one of them.
He’d never felt such lust before. Though tooping took the edge off, it was wont to leave him strangely wanting. Touching Chloe made him think there might be some eventual satisfaction he’d never before achieved.
In the meantime, he was rock-hard and in pain.
Still, he brooded, he supposed it was a fair trade-off, for though he was in an agony of sexual need, their intimacy had mellowed the fury within him. Where earlier in the penthouse he’d been afraid of what he might do, her kisses had given him back a measure of control. Not much, but enough to work with.
In the past, he’d always needed to complete the sexual act to gain respite, but not with Chloe. Merely kissing her, touching her, bringing her pleasure had calmed him, had cleared his mind a bit. He made no pretense to understand the how or why of it. It had worked.
He would accept that—that Chloe would tie him in knots, but preserve some measure of his sanity. What a boon her kisses would be on Scottish soil.
Och, the woman had something he needed. His instincts had been right when they’d said “mine.”
And that started a whole new train of possessive thoughts. Thoughts he could do naught about at the moment, so he took slow deep breaths and forced his thoughts to the pressing issues at hand.
What was to come anon would require all his wits and will. Once he was in Scotland, he knew the changes would speed up again. Changes he had to find a way to stop.
And to do so, he had to face his brother.
Drustan, ’tis me, Dageus, and I’m sorry I lied, but I’m dark and I need to use the library.
Aye, that would go over well.
Drustan, I failed. I broke my oath and you should kill me.
Nay, not that, not yet.
Och, brother, help me.
Would he?
Bletherin’ hell, you should have let him die! his da had shouted when, back in the sixteenth century, Dageus had summoned the courage to confide what he’d done.
How? How could I do that? Dageus had shouted back.
In saving him you destroyed yourself! Now I’ve lost both my sons—one to the future, the other to the black arts!
No’ yet, he’d protested.