Joanna's Highlander Page 7

  “Oh…I don’t know,” Joanna said with a light teasing rub of her bottom lip back and forth across his. “I think I’m pretty harmless.” Damn. Me ruin him? How ’bout him ruin me? “Why don’t you sample me again and see?” she dared. I’ve got this. A kiss. No more. And the contract’s still safe. She ignored the voice of warning at the back of her mind, snuggling up tighter against Grant as her libido captured the ever-weakening warning voice and duct-taped its mouth. Just one kiss.

  Grant needed no further coaxing. “Aye, m’sweetling,” he said, his voice a deep, rasping whisper. He lowered his head, tightened his arms around her, and covered her mouth with his, exploring and tasting until she thought she’d surely burst into flames.

  This was no innocent, ordinary kiss. Grant’s urgency vibrated through her. He was a man starved, determined to devour her. He clutched her against him as though he feared she’d somehow disappear.

  Stretching on tiptoe and arching against him, Joanna wrapped one leg around him and squeezed, grinding inward, wishing her clothes would evaporate and get the hell out of the way. One kiss, my ass. We’re gonna christen this platform properly.

  Grant finally raised his head, his breath coming hard and fast as he stared down at Joanna with an unreadable expression on his face.

  Joanna smiled. Grant MacDara was finally “winded.”

  “Aye…quite lethal, I fear.” Slowly and ever so gently, he set her away from him. He was silent a long, painful few moments before he finally spoke. “Ye said ye had much work yet to do this evenin’. We’d best be gettin’ ye back to yer room, ye ken? I dinna wish t’have ye think ill of me.”

  “You want to what?” Joanna blinked. Surely, she hadn’t heard him right. She stared at him, her entire body humming and ready to shift into overdrive. It had been a long dry spell since the last time she’d had a good romp with something that wasn’t battery operated. Grant wasn’t getting off the hook that easy—precious contract or not. “Would you mind repeating that and telling me why?”

  “Aye, I would mind verra much,” Grant said, still backing away. “ ’Tis no’ the proper time—yet. I dinna wish for ye t’think ill of me. Come. We’ll go back the way we came so we’ll come out closer to the bed-and-breakfast. I’ll see ye safe to yer room and bid ye good night.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll make this easy for you.” Joanna jabbed her thumb in the direction Grant suggested. “You go that way. I’ll take the other direction.”

  Grant shook his head. He glanced down at the ground with a heavy sigh, then lifted his chin and locked a scowling gaze on her. “Nay. I canna let ye run alone. Ye should ken that well enough by now.”

  “You can and you will. Do you ‘ken’ that?” Joanna unzipped the running pack buckled around her waist. She held up a tiny black spray can, shook it in his face, then shoved it back in her bag. “I’ve got pepper spray. Trust me. I’m fine.” She zipped the waist pack shut with a frustrated jerk. Asshole alert. Maybe this is just the tip of the loser iceberg.

  “Ye canna run alone.”

  “The hell I can’t.”

  He had no right. She turned and took off.

  This race was on.

  Chapter 6

  “Damn woman.” Grant snarled out a frustrated growl as Joanna sprinted off. “Joanna!”

  His bellow echoed out across the valley then faded away, replaced by the soft rustling of pine branches in the breeze. “Stubborn lass! Ye canna outrun me! Ye should ken that well enough!”

  She had to have heard him. He waited a moment longer, listening, waiting for her to see sense and come walking back to him, head bowed in contrition. All he heard was the sound of his own breathing and the wind laughing at him through the trees.

  “Hell’s hounds and damnation!” He jogged after her, loping around a winding curve and up the last incline before the path would turn downward and head in the direction of the other side of town. He’d catch up with her in no time and when he did, he had a good mind to…

  Joanna was nowhere in sight.

  “Sons a bitches!” He increased his speed and cut loose another frustrated roar that shook through him, burning his throat upon release. He didna ken what the hell he’d do when he caught up with the vexing female, but he’d damn sure make her rue not listenin’. And where the devil was she? She’d no’ gotten that much of a start on him.

  Grant gradually slowed, then came to a stop at the trail’s summit. He climbed atop the flat-topped boulder that he and Ramsay had placed at this point in the trail as a marker. The nearly full moon flooded the landscape with enough blue-white light that Grant could easily see in all directions. Still no Joanna. Not on the path. Nor on any of the land that had been cleared of trees. The small patches of grass waiting for the installation of picnic tables for the tourists were empty save for one or two foraging deer. The infernal woman had managed to disappear into thin air.

  “She wasna runnin’ that fast,” Grant said under his breath. If ’tis a hunt she wants…’tis a hunt she’ll have. Eyes narrowed, he studied the area closer, backtracking and examining the path for signs. He turned his face away from the wind and listened, concentrating on picking up the slightest noise.

  There. Southward. In the direction heading back to the bed-and-breakfast. Any lighter, and he would’ve deemed the noise an errant squirrel disturbing last year’s leaves and pine needles scattered across the woodland floor. But he kent verra well that a squirrel wouldna risk becoming dinner for an owl by scurrying about at this time of night. And the sound was too loud and consistent to be the careless shuffling of the nocturnal possum or skunk, the first too stupid to attempt to avoid predators, the latter too well armed to care.

  It was Joanna. Attempting t’sneak through the woods. Making her way back the way they’d come without taking to the trail. Grant nodded with a grin. Smart woman. She knew she’d ne’er outrun him. At some point, she must’ve darted off the path, hidden quietly, then retraced her steps after he’d run past her.

  Good. I’ve no’ had a hunt this fine since I was torn from Scotland.

  He took to the path and hurried back the way he’d come. Once he’d reached a point well ahead of Joanna’s woodland noise, he’d cross over into the woods and cut her off. He’d overtake her easily. She wasna moving fast. The density of the thicket and her unfamiliarity with the forest had slowed her to a stubborn crawl.

  Moving as silently as a shadow, Grant eased into the forest, making his way to a large decaying log lying directly across Joanna’s route. He crouched behind the massive moss-covered stump of the tree belonging to the log, poised to stand as soon as Joanna attempted to pass. Judging by the sound of her footfalls, the lass was headed directly for him. The soft, steady shuffling rattled within a few feet of him.

  ’Tis time. Grant rose and stepped out from behind the stump.

  “Son of a bitch!” Arms flailing, Joanna stumbled backwards, then fell flat on her ass. Without rising, she grabbed a nearby rotting stick and threw it at his head. “What the hell is wrong with you? You trying to give me a heart attack?”

  Grant charged forward, stabbing the air with his finger as he spoke. “I told ye no’ to run alone. Did I not?” Stubborn woman. Time t’make her see the danger and folly of her hardheaded ways. “D’ye ken now how easy ’twould be for someone t’make ye their prey? Ye best learn t’listen when I speak, ye headstrong woman.”

  Joanna scrambled backwards, grabbing up anything she could pry loose from the forest floor and throwing it at him as she moved. “You can’t tell me to do or not do a damn thing. What I do is none of your business, you…you…asshole!”

  “Here I am concerned for yer safety and ye slander me.” Grant stopped and shook his head. “Shame on ye, woman. A lady doesna call her man an arsehole.”

  Joanna stopped crab-crawling backwards and squinted up at him, an open-mouthed scowl on her face. “What?” />
  Grant lowered his voice to a more amiable tone. “Ye shouldna call me an arsehole. ’Tis ill-mannered.” Máthair would be so proud of him for speakin’ to Joanna in such a patient, caring tone after the way the woman had sorely vexed him.

  Joanna shook her head while waving one hand back and forth in midair. “That’s not the part I was ‘what-ing’ you about.” She held out her hand. “Help me up.”

  Grant gallantly took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “What is it exactly that ye dinna understand?” He felt much better now that Joanna was back safely under his watch and appeared to be attempting to actually listen to what he was saying.

  “A lady doesna call her man an arsehole,” Joanna repeated in a sadly butchered Scottish accent. “There aren’t any doubts about the asshole part, but since when are you mine?” Her tone had grown sharp and fierce, taking on a defensive note that concerned Grant no small amount.

  The severity of what he was about to say tightened vise-like knots in his gut. Such a risk. He stared at Joanna, dreading what she might say. Aye. A risk worth takin’. I must ask her. “Have ye no wish t’claim me as yer own?” There. He’d said it aloud. She’d kissed him well and good. Twice. Surely, she’d ne’er kissed another in such a way.

  “Depends on what you mean by ‘claim.’ ”

  She was almost whispering now, pain and leeriness ringing loud and clear in her voice. Grant knew those emotions well. Between the two of them, surely, they could chase that darkness away.

  “What troubles ye?” Grant eased closer, reached out, and barely traced his fingers along her cheek.

  “You do.” She rushed forward, framed his face with her hands and covered his mouth with hers.

  He became drunk with the taste of her, slowly turning until he’d lowered them both to the ground. Leaning her back against the log, he mouthed and nipped at the trail of her jawline, then kissed and nibbled the silky length of her throat. He raised his head when he reached the high neckline of her shirt. “This isna’ good,” he said, sliding a finger under the crewneck and tugging it aside.

  “Hold, please.” Joanna peeled off the shirt, fixed him with a devilish grin, then quickly shucked the strange undergarment imprisoning her luscious bosoms.

  In the moonlight, her generous breasts glowed ivory and tempting. Her puckered nipples, hard and begging to be sucked, were a dark dusty rose. Grant mourned that he had but one mouth to taste and enjoy such bounty.

  Joanna groaned as he settled between her legs, then cupped her breasts together and sucked each rigid, delicious nipple in turn. He ground his kilt-covered hardness into the hot, damp juncture of her thighs. Pure bliss was just layers away. He ached to sink into Joanna’s heaven.

  “I don’t suppose you brought any condoms?” Joanna gasped with a playful nip of his ear. Breathless and groaning, she clutched his head down harder into her breasts, wrapped her legs around him, and squeezed. “You can’t start this and not finish it.”

  Condoms? Hell no, I didna bring any condoms. I feared I wouldna be blessed with claimin’ ye proper this very night. Grant sucked Joanna’s nipple harder, slid both hands down her back and into her pants to cup and squeeze the bare cheeks of her ass. Hell’s hounds, I canna say that aloud. The woman will think me a fool.

  “Grant?” Joanna writhed and bucked beneath him, making it achingly apparent that neither of them could walk away from this without some sort of relief.

  “I have no condoms, but I can make ye feel a great deal better, lass, ne’er ye fear.” Grant rose to his knees and rolled back on his heels between Joanna’s thighs. His hands still cradling her bare ass, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her running pants and skimmed them off her body. “God’s beard,” he breathed. The sight of her lying naked before him with her legs spread on either side of him nearly made him come. If his aching cock had possessed a voice, his hard-on wouldha roared to the heavens.

  Her eyes partly closed, Joanna arched her back and presented her bounty even more. “Sixty-nine,” she panted. She licked her lips, lifted herself to her elbows, and fixed him with a devilish look. “That’ll make us both feel better.”

  “Sixty of what…then nine more of what?” Grant gently stroked the silky skin of Joanna’s inner thighs, never taking his gaze away from her hot, wet nest. “What the hell are ye talkin’ about, sweetness?”

  Joanna smiled, reaching up to hook her hands over his shoulders, and pulled herself up. “Lose the kilt and lie back,” she instructed.

  Obediently, Grant stripped his kilt away and rolled to his back, pulling Joanna over on top of him. She straddled him, grinding her mound hard against his cock. The thought of her wetness, the scent of her skin against his, the friction of her against his hardness, nearly spilled him. “Be this the sixty or the nine?” he groaned, grabbing her ass and spreading her cheeks in the hopes that one of Joanna’s grinds would result in successful entry.

  Joanna laughed, rolled away, then spun around and straddled his face. “This is the sixty-nine,” she said as she suggestively arched her glistening folds just above his mouth and took his cock in one hand. After a few teasing strokes, she rimmed his engorged head with her tongue, lowered her delectable lady parts to his mouth, then cupped his bollocks in her other hand and proceeded to suck him so hard that Grant dug his heels into the forest floor and concentrated on anything he could think of that would keep him from spilling himself in the next few seconds.

  Grant snugged Joanna harder on top of his face, tonguing and sucking her hot, wet opening until she bucked and cried out. She writhed and trembled on his face, her moans creating an excruciatingly wonderful vibration around his cock that she still had in her mouth. He buried two fingers deep inside her, then licked and sucked her swollen nubbin some more, artfully bringing her to several orgasms. As she clenched and rode out another release, Joanna rammed Grant’s cock deep in her mouth and pumped it down her throat, groaning and vibrating around his member until he roared his release.

  There was no doubt in Grant’s mind.

  The number sixty-nine was now his favorite.

  Chapter 7

  Holy shit. What the hell happened to turning over a new leaf? What happened to proudly crowning herself the new Ms. Self-Control? Ms. Concentrate on the New Career? She blew out a frustrated hiss of what the hell is wrong with me through clenched teeth. The damn leaf she’d turned over had spontaneously combusted into Ms. Give It to Me Now, better known as I Don’t Give Two Shits—Take Me! Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

  Joanna stared down at her feet as they walked back to the bed-and-breakfast. One step at a time. Left foot. Right foot. She had no idea what to say, so it was best just to watch the reflective toe tips of her running shoes and get back to her room as quickly as possible. Alone. Keep. Mouth. Shut.

  Her room. Her traitorous body flashed hot at the possibilities. Joanna grit her teeth. Stop it. Wasn’t the woods enough? Actually, it wasn’t. The pleasing array of orally induced orgasms had served quite nicely as an erotic appetizer, but now every nerve ending she possessed was ready for the main course. This was playing with fire and she’d sworn she wasn’t going to do that anymore. Now here she was, ready to strike the match that would either ignite the potentially best relationship she’d ever had or incinerate her precariously reconstructed plans for the future.

  Damage control. This calls for damage control. “You’re not joining the tour again tomorrow, are you?” She had to either convince Grant to back out or piss him off—either choice would guarantee that as soon as they reached the inn, he’d leave—like stand-on-the-porch-and-not-even-enter-the-inn leave. He did not, under any circumstances, need to walk her to the door of her room.

  If he did, she could pretty much guarantee that Grant was going to think he’d hit pay dirt and was about to be blessed with an entire evening in the company of the founder and chief operating officer of “Sluts-R-Us.” He’d h
ave quite the opinion of her to pass on to his brothers.

  She picked up the pace and smiled over at Grant, who seemed as preoccupied with the situation as she was. “I know Hazel and her cronies came up with that scheme to keep us together under their watch, but you do know you don’t have to play along with the oldsters, right?”

  “They’re expectin’ me,” Grant said quietly, avoiding Joanna’s gaze as he waited for her to pass so he could lock the chain gate back across the path. “By not tellin’ them I wouldna be there, I more or less gave them m’word that I would. I canna go back on it now.”

  “I’m sure they’d be fine if you didn’t show up,” Joanna said with as much reassurance and certainty as she could muster. She had to convince him to blow them off. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to spend the next two days with him. The problem was she wanted to very much—and the nights as well, and those feelings scared the living shit out of her. No way could they go back to their playful flirting after what had just happened in the woods.

  She needed some room to get her head back on straight. Get some breathing room and build up some antibodies against his highly addictive touch. She paused on the porch, purposely hanging back while Grant held open the door to Miss Martha’s B&B. “I’ll tell them a business issue came up that only you could handle and that you send your heartfelt apologies. How ’bout that?”

  “We are goin’ t’yer room t’finish this,” Grant said, his voice deep and low, his gaze locked with hers.

  “Why?”

  “Ye ken why, well enough, I’m sure.” Grant’s eyes narrowed. If possible, his stare grew even hotter. “Now ye can either walk to yer room under yer own steam or I’ll be more than happy t’carry ye.”

  Oh shit. You carry me and this’ll be the first multi-orgasmic staircase in Brady. She sure as hell couldn’t tell him that. He’d take it as a freakin’ dare.

  “I don’t have…” Joanna paused as a pair of late-arriving out-of-towners with suitcases in tow walked past them. She cleared her throat and gave him a look that she hoped he’d understand. “I don’t have the…uhm…articles…required for our meeting.” Believe it or not, I’m not like a teenage boy in heat. I don’t carry condoms everywhere I go.