***

The ache spread low in his groin. He rolled over, searching for warmth. A noise intruded, her voice. He was dreaming of her again. His body burned as he rubbed against the softness and found the place he craved. He shoved the barrier away and freed himself. He pushed, and pleasure poured over him like honey. Home. He was home.

The noise came again, and he felt pressure against his back, pulling him deeper into the dream. His nose tickled against something soft. Hair. The grogginess faded, and he had a feeling he shouldn’t be here, but something dug into his thighs, keeping him close. He heard a whispered plea and felt hips moving against his. He groaned as he thrust, burying his face in her hair. The fire grew hotter. A soft moan sounded at his ear, and something sharp pierced his back, jerking him from the dream. Fingernails.

Faelan opened his eyes. Bree was under him, her lips parted, both of them panting for the same air. Her nightgown was pushed above her breasts, and his hand crushed between their locked bodies, holding aside a scrap of material she wore underneath. This was no dream.

He pulled out and leaped from the bed, heart in his throat, body aching with near release. The front of his pants gaped open. He adjusted them, afraid he’d spill it on the floor.

“I’m sorry.” His mouth opened and closed, but he didn’t know what to say. Had he raped her?

Bree pulled her nightgown and strange undergarment over her breasts. “Faelan—”

He struggled again for words, shaking inside. “I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry.” How could he guard her if he could do this? He would have to leave. He would take her to her archeologist, or Peter.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said. Her face was still flushed. “You were dreaming at first.” Her fingers clutched the hem of her gown. “I think I was too.”

He’d done a lot of unforgivable things to her, but this…

She stood and moved next to him. “You didn’t force me, Faelan. I could’ve stopped you… if I’d wanted to. This has been building since I opened the time vault. We both know it.”

For half a second he was tempted to drag her back to bed, beg her to let him finish, so he could rid himself of this burning in his loins just once, but he’d already crossed the boundaries of acceptable behavior. He rubbed at the knot of tension in his neck as the throbbing in his body gave way to disgust. “The sun will be up in a few hours, then we should be safe until nightfall.”

***

Bree watched Faelan leave the room, his shoulders stiff. Hers still tingled. She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but when she’d realized it wasn’t another sizzling dream, that it was really Faelan lifting her gown above her thighs, it was too late to care. How they’d managed it without even removing her panties, she didn’t know, but she’d never felt anything like it. How he fit inside her, the sheer beauty of male and female joining, had been pure magic. If that was his sleepy version of lovemaking, she’d never survive him wide awake.

She felt guilty. He must be ready to pop. He was the one with the appetite problem, and he hadn’t even finished. He was off tormenting himself thinking he’d raped her, while she was bathing in the afterglow. She couldn’t leave it like this.

She found him in the family room, staring out at the moon, his body still. She was sure he heard her, but he didn’t move. The sight of him standing so stoic, so full of guilt, made her want to comfort him. She slipped behind him and touched his back. He tensed, but still didn’t turn. His skin was so warm through his shirt, she wondered if he had a fever. She checked his neck, his arm, and before she could question the wisdom of it, slipped her hands around his waist and laid her head against his back. The feel of his body, so big and strong, so protective, stirred more than a desire to comfort. She ran her hands over his chest, exploring the hard muscles encased in the soft T-shirt.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Finishing.” She let her hands slide down his rib cage, along the outside of his hips.

He pulled in a sharp breath. “Don’t.”

She kissed his back through the T-shirt, and her fingers drifted inside his thighs.

He groaned and turned, pulling her into his arms. His lips were on hers, on her neck, her face, like a man desperate for a drink of water. His hands roved her body, almost too rough, but she accepted it, knowing his need for her was stronger than chivalry. He lifted her gown over her head, letting it fall, then struggled with her bra clasp, his fingers clumsy with need. And he’d probably never seen a bra before tonight. She helped with the snap, releasing her breasts. In a flash, he was naked, tugging at her panties. She tried to help wriggle out of them. Their movements were quick, desperate, and she felt the fabric tear. He ran a hand between her legs, gave her a hard kiss, then put one arm around her waist, the other beneath a thigh. He picked her up and planted her against the wall. Her legs lifted, latching around his hips.

“Are ye sure?” he asked, his brogue thick, eyes locked on hers, dark as night.

She couldn’t speak, only nod. He’d barely touched her, and she felt like a she was ready to explode again. He rubbed himself against her and then slipped inside. She moaned as he filled her. He stopped, staring at her, and stroked her face. “I’m sorry… we should do this in bed.”

“No,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.” She clutched his shoulders and pushed down harder on him. He pulled out and thrust in again, and again, each stroke bringing her closer to the edge. They panted, trying to kiss, but the movements of their bodies were too rough.

His breathing grew faster with each thrust. “Mo,” he whispered in her ear. “Mo.”

Gaelic? She couldn’t think anymore, with her body erupting into a million fragments of shimmering light. He groaned and shuddered as his body released. Limp, she clung to his shoulders. He touched his forehead to hers, then rested his head against the wall. They stayed that way for several minutes before he eased out and lowered her to the floor. Her legs trembled. Faelan swung her into his arms and carried her back to bed. He put her gently down, grabbed an old T-shirt off the floor—Russell’s, and wiped off the semen running down her thighs. She had no words, so she didn’t speak. He crawled in beside her and pulled her against his chest. Her heart soared, but a small voice whispered doom. What had she done? Had unprotected sex with a man from another time, a man she barely knew, who, until tonight, had told her nothing but lies.

***

The tall man stood over the open grave, surprised they’d left it uncovered. God forgive him, there was no time to cover it himself. He had to hurry. He looked at the house once more, making sure he hadn’t been seen and made his way to the chapel. The outer walls and roof still stood, along with some pillars, but the place was littered with fallen stones. At one time it would have held the locals who’d come to pay their respects to God, but now the place was like a tomb. His foot struck something, and he started at the sound. It was a sword. There were half a dozen of them.

His curiosity piqued, but he had more important things to worry about. He took out the piece of paper he’d brought from Scotland. Studying it, he made his way to the front. Stones were scattered from a small interior wall that had collapsed. Behind them, he found the hidden steps. His pulse quickened. This was it.



Chapter 14


Bree woke snug and warm, completely at peace. A ringing sound broke through her haze of tranquility. She heard a grunt, lifted her head, and found herself face to face with Faelan. She was draped over him, both of them naked, her leg between his, his between hers, breasts pressed to his stomach, a spot of drool on his chest where she’d used it as a pillow. They stared at each other, eyes bleary from sleep.

The ring sounded again. “What is it?” Faelan asked, looking around the room.

“The doorbell,” she whispered. “Someone’s outside.” She wasn’t expecting anyone. Would Russell come right up to the house? Or the killer? Bree scooted off the bed, grabbing her robe, but Faelan was already at the bedroom door.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

“No.” She belted the robe. “You can’t let anyone see you.” Especially like that. “It’s probably Peter.” And she was getting tired of being told what to do. She hurried to the living room. Faelan lingered in the hallway as she eased the curtain aside and peeked at the man on the porch. “It’s okay,” she whispered, “but you should—”

“Aye, I know,” he muttered. “Go hide in the other room.”

Bree gave Jared a weak smile as he kissed her cheek. If she’d been in the market for romance, Jared would’ve been the mother lode, good-looking, charming, kind, with a love of old things that rivaled her own. Not to mention a fabulous library she hadn’t yet seen. That he was an archeologist, and all lean, sexy muscle, didn’t hurt either. A match made in heaven, but Bree wasn’t looking for romance, not even from a man with a fabulous library. Certainly not one from a time vault.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Jared asked, eyeing her robe and her hair. “You don’t look so good. Sorry. That didn’t come out right.” He smiled, and the dimple in his cheek warmed his face. “I mean you look tired and your hair’s…” He made a sticking-out motion with his hands, and his grin widened.

His smile was infectious. She longed to throw open the door and bare her soul. “I have a headache,” she lied. “I was in bed.”

“You having trouble sleeping again? Your message the other night sounded strange.” Jared glanced behind her at the open door. Had he overheard Faelan whispering when he rang the doorbell?