Page 34 of A Time & Place for Every Laird (A Laird for All Time #2)

“Sorcha? What troubles ye, lass?”

Hugh asked, finding her alone on the balcony outside her bedchamber late that night.

Sorcha visibly started at his words, turning away from the rail but gripping it behind her back with both hands. “Nothing, Hugh. I’m fine.”

The words were as transparently false as her habit of introducing a new topic when another was uncomfortable, and Hugh had to wonder what had unsettled her so. Sorcha had been abnormally withdrawn ever since their return to the island, which was to say she participated in their conversations, including another more in depth dissection of human evolution, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Her eyes followed him unblinkingly as if she were studying every inch of his person. It might have been that her thoughts had returned to the offer he had made back at the marketplace, and Hugh wondered if her considerations were leaning toward joining him or not.

Perhaps he had asked too much, too soon.

Or perhaps she was simply not as confident of their success with the plan they had laid out as he was. It was certainly an easier topic to broach, and Hugh cursed himself for his sudden cowardice. “Do ye hae a concern over our strategy, lass? Is that what preoccupies ye?”

She was chewing her lip uncertainly. Her feet were bare, one on top of the other as if it might warm the one beneath it. She looked smaller and more nervous than Hugh had yet seen her. “I do worry about getting into Canada safely,”

she murmured.

There was some truth in the confession, but Hugh could tell that wasn’t the whole of it. Something more was bothering her. If it was not their strategic departure, there had to be something else that had changed her mood between their arrival on the island and their return to the beach house. “Did Danny say something to distress ye?”

Sorcha blinked and met his gaze, and Hugh knew that he had the right of it. “What is it? What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

Also patently untrue.

“Come now, lass,”

Hugh murmured as he approached her. “After our time together, I’ve become a fair hand at telling when yer lying. What is it?”

Tilting her head back to look at him, she said, “You said I was a terrible liar.”

“Aye, that’s why it is so easy to see it.”

Hugh cupped her cheeks in his hands and bent his head, brushing a tender kiss across her lips. He meant for it to be only a kiss of affection but Sorcha’s dewy lips unexpectedly clung to his. Nostrils flaring, he inhaled the warm scent of her, citrus and floral. The heady desire of being so close to her when he had endeavored to keep his distance set his heart pounding heavily, his body tensing with the need to pull her close.

Her soft lips parted with a sigh, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. Easing away, Hugh looked down at her in surprise. She looked soft and sweetly feminine with her hair loose around her shoulders, her lovely face pale in the muted glow of the moon, but her eyes shone like jewels as she caught her lip between her teeth once more as if she were suddenly nervous.

“There is nae need to worry so, my love,”

he said, hoping to reassure this unexpectedly vulnerable woman who up to this point had shown nothing but spit and fire. “I swear tae ye, all will be well.”

“I know it will,”

she said softly, looking up at him through her thick lashes. Hugh felt her hand against his waist and her fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt before her palm flattened against him and smoothed across his ribcage and over his chest. Skin met skin as her fingers tickled at his neck above his collar and curved around to tease the hair at his nape, and Hugh swallowed deeply. “Sorcha, what are ye about, lass?”

Lifting herself onto her toes, Sorcha kissed him once and then again, sighing against his lips. Hugh’s fists clenched, fighting the urge to grab her, to pull her closer. All week he had fought this. Even with permission to flirt as outrageously as he chose, Hugh had resisted the temptation to touch her, knowing that once he succumbed, he wouldn’t be able stop. The theory had become truth, and soon he had been taking any opportunity to hold her hand or touch her. Each tiny caress was a torment. He had wanted her too much; knowing that she wanted him as well, knowing that she was tempted and teetering on the edge of surrender had only inflamed that desire. He hadn’t been able to touch her without longing for more, and didn’t trust himself to kiss her lest he take so much more.

Now she was luring him into passion’s dark fire, tempting and teasing, and Hugh braced himself against the onslaught of lust that hardened his body, resisting his body’s call to plunder her sweet depths. He had no wish to be faced with the guilt and remorse that would surely plague her if he did so. “Lass, ye hae tae stop this.”

“Shh,”

she blew against his ear, kissing his jaw and neck. Then her hands were beneath his shirt, her palms on his stomach, his chest, pushing it upward. “Lift your arms.”

The request was so faint Hugh wasn’t entirely sure if she voiced it or he imagined it, but he lifted his arms and helped her pull the shirt over his head. Then her hands were on his chest again, burning a path around him as she pressed a hot kiss there. She rubbed her cheek against him, purring like a kitten as she kissed her way upward once more. Her lips were hot, her tongue unbearably arousing as they grazed his neck and the underside of his chin. With a groan, Hugh looked up at the ceiling, praying for help as her mouth closed over the base of his throat.

Then she was tugging at him again, forcing him to look down at her. Those purple eyes were dark and heated. Insistent. “This isnae what ye want, lass.”

“Oh, but it is. It is what I’ve been waiting for all night,”

she whispered, stretching to kiss him once more. Then she took his hand and pressed his palm against her heart. It was beating erratically, matching her breathing. “I want you, Hugh. My heart is pounding like this for you.”

By God, but Hugh had never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted his one. He wanted to possess her, become one with her, but he wanted to be completely alone with her. To have her be his fully. “I told ye, I cannae share ye, lass. I want ye too badly tae hae ye hold back.”

“I won’t,”

Sorcha offered the softly spoken promise as her arms twined together behind his neck and she lifted herself, her lithe body pressed against the hard length of him. “I couldn’t.”

With a groan, Hugh surrendered to the heady desire raging through his veins.

With a powerful arm around her waist, Hugh lifted Claire against his muscled chest as his lips took her with all the passion and desire that had building between them for the last several days. His mouth devoured hers as he carried her into the bedroom, his tongue plunging as a groan rumbled deep within his chest. Breathless, Claire clung to him in complete surrender, allowing him to plunder at his will. Her head was already swimming, but when Hugh cupped her bottom and lifted her against his rigid length, her head fell back dizzily as her blood surged and roared in her ears.

Yes, this was exactly what she needed.

“Oh, God,”

the words escaped her with a moan as his mouth descended on her neck, nipping and licking at the side of her throat. She ran her fingers through his hair, knotting, pulling him closer. “I feel like I’m going to faint. It’s so … so … mmm … ohh, Hugh.”

“I want ye, lass. I’ve ne’er wanted anything so badly in my life,”

he growled thickly. His hand was up the back of her shirt, his hot, rough palm searing her skin as he pushed her shirt up. He tugged then swore, easing back from her. “Ye hae too many clothes on.”

Claire swayed unsteadily, her head spinning euphorically when Hugh set her back on her feet and began to pull her shirt up … then down. He swore. Then reached to unzip the North Face fleece vest she wore and Claire looked down, realizing what the difficulty was. She did have too many clothes on. In typical Seattle fashion, she had dressed for the unpredictable May day in layers. The vest over a long-sleeve T-shirt with another short sleeve T under that. Helpfully, she shrugged out of the vest and pulled the first T-shirt over her head before Hugh helped with the second.

“My fumbling wi’ yer masculine attire belies the fact that I was once skilled at undressing a lady,”

he murmured in a thickened brogue as it came off.

Claire smiled at that. “I bet you were.”

He reached down to unbutton her jeans. “I ne’er tried to remove another’s trousers before.”

“I should hope not,”

she teased, pushing down the jeans and stepping out of them only to hear Hugh release an anguished moan. “What is it?”

Hugh cupped her breasts through the lacy cups of her bra, squeezing gently before thumbing her bra straps off her shoulders. He bent his head, kissing her shoulders as he removed the straps. One hand skimmed over her bare ribcage, over her hip, and dipped into her panties to cup her bare bottom. “When I imagined ye without yer clothes on—and I hae a hundred times—I dinnae think ye’d be dressed like this. I would hae had ye naked in an instant if I had. Yer so bonny, Sorcha. Bewitching. Och, lass, ye’ve been driving me mad!”

His lips were on her neck once more, his hands everywhere, moving over her as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of her bare skin. Claire reached behind her to unclasp her bra and let it fall down her arms and then his hands were there as well, massaging and tweaking her swollen nipples. She gasped and clung to him once more as Hugh pushed down her panties and lifted her off the floor, inviting Claire to wrap her legs around him, and she did.

Never had she felt so beautiful, so light and fragile. In contrast to his big body, she felt wonderfully petite. “I’ve been driving you mad?”

Claire said incredulously. “Really?”

With a growl, Hugh lowered himself down until he was looming over her, braced by a hand on either side of her. His head bent until their lips were inches apart, waiting, and Claire threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her. His lips took hers with none of the tenderness he had displayed before. His mouth slanted across hers, kissing her passionately, deeply, until Claire was clinging to him, whimpering with need as she tried to raise her body to his or bring him down to her. But Hugh did not relent. He kissed again and again, nipping and sucking on her lips, sweeping his tongue across hers until his breathing was as labored as hers.

The denim of his jeans chafed against the inside of her sensitive thighs as he moved lower, his hands, mouth, and tongue exploring her entire body, licking and sucking until her body was on fire, tensing. Panting desperately, Claire tugged at his hair, lifting his head until his blazing blue eyes met hers. “Please.”

Nostrils flaring with lust and desire, Hugh stood and reached for the button of his jeans, his eyes never leaving hers as he kicked them off. Then he was over her once more, pressing Claire into the bed and lifting her legs around him. His lips took hers fervently again as he pressed against her then thrust deeply, filling her, stretching her. “Ahh!”

Claire cried out, throwing her head back as she clutched him to her. Her thighs trembled with ecstasy as he withdrew and plunged hard. She clenched her thighs tightly around him but couldn’t stop the release that came swiftly and unexpectedly, sending throbbing delight coursing through her. Sobbing with the intensity of her climax, Claire held Hugh’s body close to her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just …”

Hugh shushed her, his lips tender against hers, as he began to move inside of her again. “Nay, lass, I’m nae done wi’ ye yet,”

he murmured thickly as he thrust slowly. “Ahh, my bonny lass.”

His hand slid up her bottom, lifting her hips higher against him. Desire rekindled into a flame, and Claire rose to meet him as his pace increased until she was at the precipice once again. This time she wasn’t alone. Hugh’s arms were shaking, his hands trembling as he took them over the edge together. His lips captured her cry of release only to join her with a low growl of pleasure as he came hard against her womb, flooding her with scorching heat as she throbbed around him.

Wrapping his arms tightly around her, Hugh rolled onto his back, carrying Claire with him until she was sprawled across his heaving chest. His lips skimmed down her throat lazily. “Mé gráigh tú. Mé adhradh tú. Mé grá tú, mo Sorcha. I gcónaí,”

he murmured against her as his hands stroked down her back.

Claire nuzzled her cheek against his damp neck, inhaling the musky scent of his skin as she snuggled against him. “What does that mean?”

Hugh shook his head, his hand sliding down over her bottom once more. “It means, I am glad that we hae another day together before we must leave.”

She didn’t believe that but Claire wasn’t in the mood to question him. The moment was too magical, too extraordinary to question. Instead, she sat up, straddling him and spreading her hands over his chest. Brushing her lips across his, she whispered with a smile, “For you, I would make all the time in the world.”

Olson, one of that fool Nichols’s junior agents, was hopping from one foot to the other in Jameson’s doorway as if he needed to use the G.D. John, Jameson thought irritably as he slammed down the phone. He’d be damned if he was going to take on one more academy stripling after this fiasco. “What is it?”

“Sir! Well, shit, sir! I can’t believe it, really,”

Olson stammered excitedly.

“Spit it out or you’re fired!”

“She turned on her phone … Claire Manning, that is,”

the junior agent said, bouncing on his toes. “Who would have thought …”

Olson paused at the look on his superior’s face. “We were able to trace her, sir. I mean, she didn’t have it on long, but we’ve definitely narrowed it down.”

“Who did she call?”

Nichols asked, stepping into the office.

“N-no one, sir,”

Olson stammered. “That’s why I can’t believe it. She just turned it on and then off again a few minutes later.”

Jameson hid his surprise well. After days of nothing, he wouldn’t have thought the woman would be stupid enough to get caught twice in one day. “Where is she?”

The junior agent was hopping again. “She wasn’t on long enough to pinpoint her exact location but she’s somewhere on Bainbridge Island.”

Blood surging with satisfaction, Jameson pounded on his keyboard, looking up the location. “Get Marshall. I want men on that island now. Lock down the ferry. Do a door-to-door search of every building on the fucking island if you have to, but I want her found. Now!”

“Y-yes, sir,”

Olson piped and was gone.

“You don’t have enough evidence to get a warrant to do a sweep like that,”

Nichols said, closing the office door behind him. “Might I remind you that all you have is the fact that she left work early one day and left Spokane when the lab closed.”

“Probable cause excuses everything, Nichols. I thought you knew that by now.”

“You have nothing. We should be focusing all our efforts in the Spokane area instead of going off on some wild goose chase.”

“Dammit, Nichols, I understand you’re hovering on the edge of retirement but some of us still have to do our jobs if we want to suck off the government tit for the rest of our days, too.”

Nichols frowned. “You think I’m being complacent because I’m not jumping at shadows? Maybe I’m just as sure as you that this entire line of investigation is absolute bullshit!”

Jameson pinned the INSCOM agent with a murderous glance that would have had young Olson fainting at his feet. “Then who attacked my agent this afternoon, Nichols? Huh?”

“Marshall said that he never saw the man who grabbed him and that the guy spoke with a Southern accent,”

Nichols reminded unnecessarily. “Hardly one of your savages. He was probably a tourist who thought Mrs. Manning was being mugged or something.”

Given that his life was practically on the line, Nichols was proving to be surprisingly resolved in his need to follow the protocols, which demanded some evidence of culpability before such extreme measures were taken. Jameson didn’t give a rat’s ass about protocols. What the evidence said and what he knew were two different things, so to hell with it all. “Get her, Nichols,”

he growled. “If she gets off that island, Colonel Williams will be looking at you for answers.”

“And if she comes out of this clean, it will be your balls in a sling.”

Spreading his hands across his desktop as Nichols left the room, Jameson felt a surge of primal satisfaction, and a satisfied sneer curled his lip into some semblance of a smile. Soon, every one of his naysayers, like Nichols, would see that his gut had been right all along when he had Claire Manning, and by extension his missing anomaly, in his grasp.

Fuck the warrants. He’d burn down every building on the island if it meant proving himself right.