Authors: Tarah Scott
His hand dropped from her breast and her breath caught when the tip of the long finger skimmed the top of her swollen nub,
then
plunged into her heated core. Margot cried out. He pulled the soaked finger back, moistening the throbbing core as he dragged the digit across her clit. His fingers dipped again, two at a time, into her opening. She rocked into the digits, then back against the erection pressing heavily between her buttocks.
“Ye like that, sweet?” he whispered.
His deep voice reverberated in her ears. He flicked her pleasure point with his thumb and she rocked into the hand, then back into the cock again.
Hot breath enveloped her ear. “I am yours.” He flicked the sensitive nub again.
Pleasure rocketed through her. Awareness played on the edge of consciousness. Her rhythm faltered. Fingers squeezed a nipple. Her heart leapt into a gallop.
“I am yours,” he repeated.
He shifted, and his velvety length rubbed the crack of her ass, free of the kilt. Margot sucked in a breath. A low laugh met her ears. He stepped back. Cold air washed over her. She registered the tap against the inside of her ankle and realized he was coaxing her legs open. Margot widened her stance and warm hands covered her ass as he spread her wide. A finger slid past her cheeks and into her channel. She lifted on tiptoes to give him better access. He withdrew the finger and, with one hand, grasped a hip as he trailed the tip of his cock through her folds.
“Aye,” he ground out. He fitted his shaft to the opening of her channel. “This is what ye want.”
Margot gave a strangled laugh. “Fuck me hard, sugar, and we’ll both get what we want.”
He slid a hand around her waist to her pleasure point and began vibrating in a quick, insistent motion. Pressure mounted. Margot shifted slightly until the spot he massaged leapt to life with a force that made her see stars behind her closed lids. Hard cock began to fill her.
She gasped.
“Sweet Christ.”
The scent of sandalwood enveloped her. Pleasure shot through to her core. She tensed against an unexpected discomfort that tugged at her chest. Margot bucked against the mounting orgasm. A loud crash reverberated through the room.
Her eyes snapped open. The painting of Castle Morrison over the mantle in her room snapped into focus. She bucked harder. Flames in the fireplace glittered in a cacophony of lights an instant before orgasm rolled over her with an intensity that bowed her off the bed. She rocked into her fingers, once, twice, one last time, crying out as the pleasure gave way to a softer orgasm, then a softer one yet before dying with a ripple that spread through her body and faded as if the ecstasy had never existed.
Chapter Six
“Ms. Saulnier.”
The deep male voice caused Margot to slow her walk along the east garden path and glance over her shoulder. A tall, sandy haired man approached. Blue jeans hugged long legs, and a brown bomber jacket stretched across broad shoulders. Arresting blue eyes held her gaze. Margot's pulse skipped a beat. Well, damn, Scotland was the place for good-looking men.
She stopped and turned so he could catch up with her. “Sugar, I don’t think we’ve met, but I’m glad you didn’t let the possibility of rejection stop you. Not that there’s much chance you’ll get rejected.”
A corner of his mouth twitched.
“Special Director McNeil, at your service.”
Margot startled. “What?” Before he could respond she murmured, “Hicks.”
She was a fool. She’d known Chief Hicks enough years to know he wouldn’t let her walk out and not keep tabs on her.
“You’re going to get me killed,” she said through tight lips.
McNeil's brow lifted. “That could get me a discommendation.”
“A comedian,” she muttered, then shot a glance past him at the castle battlements visible beyond the trees. Who had he talked to at the office? She turned and started down the path. He fell in alongside. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here?” she said.
“Professional courtesy.”
“Bull—” The brow shot up again and she gave him a sweet smile. “You’re checking up on me, sugar.”
“A moment ago you seemed glad a stranger had the bullocks to approach you.”
His cultured tone did nothing to belie the sensual undertone in his voice, and butterflies tickled the inside of her stomach at thought of those
bullocks
and the matching cock. A man appeared on the path ahead, pushing a wheelbarrow filled with gardening tools, and the erotic picture evaporated. Margot cursed at recognizing the head gardener. Reports of her meeting with a man in the garden would reach Cat within the hour.
“Once Cat gets wind that the Northern Constabulary paid me a visit, she’ll know this isn’t the vacation it’s supposed to be,” Margot said.
“That shouldn’t prove a problem,” he said. “I’m not with the Northern Constabulary.”
She started to ask, then knew.
“Scotland Yard.”
He smiled, and she remained quiet as the gardener passed with a sidelong glance in their direction. Margot took a deep breath and waited until they reached a branching path, then turned left.
“Look,” she said, “you’ve got to see this from my point of view.”
“Actually, Ms. Saulnier, I don’t. You’re a visiting law enforcement officer. That accords you professional courtesy—as I said earlier—but make no mistake, I do not have to understand your point of view. Rather, you need to understand mine.” He paused. “Your police chief strongly suggests you return home.”
“He’s not
my
police chief,” Margot corrected.
“He said you’re good, the best, but you’re mistaken this time.”
“Did it occur to you he
might be mistaken?”
“I’m not in a position to judge him.”
“No, you’re not. You’re also not in any position to hassle me.”
“Not hassle,” McNeil began in a mild voice, “let’s just say I am in a position to
advise
. Though, given a choice, I’d prefer another position, altogether.”
She blinked. “You’re propositioning me?”
He shrugged. “How often does a man meet a beautiful Mississippi Deputy Sheriff?”
“Ex-Mississippi Deputy Sheriff.”
“Your badge hasn’t yet grown cold.”
“I doubt I’ll be here long enough for any
position
. By now, that gardener has reported to Cat, and she’s checking you out. By the time we're finished with this walk, she’ll know Scotland Yard paid me a visit.”
He shook his head. “Cousin Harry sent me here to investigate the castle. He’s rich as the Devil, and is interested in bringing his wife here for holiday.”
“Don’t kid
yourself
,” Margot shot back. “Cat
will
check you out—you ensured that by waylaying me.”
“Waylaying?” he repeated, voice laced with a heaping of amusement that made her want to throttle him. “
Waylaying
would be if I dragged you into those trees and had my way with you.”
Margot did a double take with the mental picture of her pressed against a tree, dress bunched up to her waist as his cock thrust hard and fast into her. His face snapped back into focus and she found him staring.
Heat spread across her cheeks at flashflood speed. “Cat won’t be fooled by a Scotland Yard cop showing up at Castle Morrison, no matter what story he spins.”
“She won’t find Charles McNeil on any employee list,” he replied.
“What? Scotland Yard’s cops aren’t clandestine.”
“Correct. But SAS is.”
“Special Air Services?”
What kind of favor had Hicks called in? “What
is
special forces doing on a case like this?”
“John realized that a visit from a Bobby might compromise your cover so he called me.”
“John?”
“John Gordon.”
She gave a small nod. John Gordon, Chief Constable of the Northern Constabulary. She’d checked out local law enforcement before leaving the States. First Hicks was on her tail, now the head of the whole damn island.
Margot gave McNeil an appraising look. “That’s some favor your constable called in.”
“He’s a close friend.”
“What’d he do, save your life?”
“Something
like
that. So, where shall we go for dinner?”
She stared. “Are you kidding?”
He shrugged.
“How better to keep you under surveillance?”
“You could simply leave me alone.”
He shook his head. “I have my orders.”
“Just what kind of uncover work do you do?"
He turned his gaze onto her “A kind sure to please you.”
Her pulse skittered, but she forced her chilly cop's voice, "You're damned sure of yourself."
“I'm a trained professional. Shell we say seven? I know the perfect restaurant.”
Margot narrowed her eyes. “This is blackmail.”
He shrugged. “All part of the professional courtesy.”
"Professional courtesy, my ass," she muttered, and wondered what Hicks would do if she sent him a thank you note for keeping tabs on her.
*****
Margot stopped so suddenly just inside the doorway of Cat’s private office the maxi cotton dress she wore swirled around her calves. She stared at the armor displayed inside an alcove behind Cat’s massive cherry wood desk.
“How do you work with that thing staring down at you?” Margot asked.
Cat glanced over her shoulder and laughed. “It is imposing. Isn’t it?”
Margot took two steps onto the massive oriental carpet that covered most of the floor and skirted the desk to the armor. “It looks so real.”
“It is real.”
“The helmet looks like something out of King Arthur’s court.”
A long narrow opening for eyes spanned the front of the silver, bucket shaped helmet. Rivets ran along each side of the helmet and along the bottom where the helmet tapered to a small point in the middle of the chin. A large, eight pointed black cross spanned the chest and abdomen area of the thigh-length chain mail, with gold edging the zig zag hem. A shield hung on the wall to the left of the armor beside a floor length tapestry depicting mounted warriors. Brass trimmed the crackled cream background of the shield. A blood red, eight pointed cross spanned the height and width of the curved shield. A massive stainless steel sword nearly four feet long hung horizontally above the shield.
Margot ran a finger along the
red cross
at the top of the pommel. Two smaller brass crosses were engraved within circles farther down the pommel. Where pommel met hilt, two
horsemen were
engraved within a circle.
She looked at Cat. “Why isn’t this displayed in the foyer? This would distract everyone from that silly legend.”
“I wish,” Cat said. “These suits of armor are a dime a dozen in these old castles.”