Read Online Return to Clan Sinclair by Karen Ranney - Free Book Online
Authors: Karen Ranney
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to wonder about what she was doing, she opened her door and stood there, listening to the sounds of night at Drumvagen.
The wind whistled around the house but there were no drafts in the corridor. Macrath had built a solid home for his clan. A dozen feet away was the door to another guest suite. A dozen feet, thatâs all.
She held the wrapper tight against her body, turned and closed her door, then measured the steps she took down the corridor. The faint light from the wall sconce at the end of the hall illuminated the carving on the door as well as the brass handle.
Softly, she rapped on the door, giving herself a test. If he didnât answer at the faint sound, she would turn, retreat to her room, and counsel herself against any further foolishness.
The door opened so suddenly she wondered if heâd been waiting for her.
He didnât say a word, merely extended his hand, palm up. She swallowed, placed her hand atop his and allowed him to draw her inside. He reached behind her to close the door, the latch a snick of sound in the silence.
He didnât say a word, either welcoming or condemning, only drew her farther into the sitting room. The lit lamp on the table beside the settee was the only illumination, but it seemed as bright as a summer sun.
In the middle of the room, he faced her.
He was still dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, but her mind held the picture of what heâd looked like naked. Unless he sent her away or her own conscience banished her from the room, she would see him naked again.
Sheâd be able to touch him.
Her hands were at her sides, her wrapper held fast by a single button at her neck. Her nightwear was black as well, her mourning attire complete. Even at night she was not supposed to forget she was a widow.
He bent his head, his attention focused on the single button. When it was undone, he slipped the garment off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
âIâve never known any woman as beautiful in black as you, Ceana.â
She closed her eyes.
Donât let him question me. Donât let him ask me why Iâm here. Donât let him make me say the words.
He bent his head, placed an almost chaste kiss at her temple. Her blood raced.
She couldnât breathe.
Her nightgown was nearly sheer, not nearly as proper as her cotton gowns. An instant later it didnât matter because it, too, was on the floor.
She kept her eyes closed, allowing him to look his fill. After all, it was only fair. She pressed her palms against her upper thighs, forcing herself to breathe deeply.
âYouâre beautiful.â
She opened her eyes. His face was bronzed with color, his eyes fixed on her breasts. His hands stroked from her shoulders down her arms to cup both her breasts. His thumbs smoothed over her nipples, making them erect.
She bit her lip, managed to restrain herself from pressing his hands against her breasts. Theyâd always been sensitive and he seemed to know it, taking his time stroking and teasing her.
Finally, he took her hand and led her into the bedroom.
She had never seen a man disrobe as quickly as Bruce. Seconds later he was naked, but this time she could look her fill. She didnât get the chance. He gripped her shoulders with heated palms, brought her forward slowly, his smile visible in the faint light from the sitting room.
Her knees were going to give out any second.
âI should . . .â Her voice faded off.
He slid his hands around her waist, placed them flat on her back and pulled her closer.
âYou shouldnât do anything, Ceana, you donât want to do. If you want to leave, youâve only to say the word.â
She bent her head to look at his growing erection. The sight of him on the beach had given her no clue to how large he was. Bruce was a magnificent specimen of man. She drew her hand over his chest and down his flat stomach. How beautiful he was.
He drew in a breath at
The wind whistled around the house but there were no drafts in the corridor. Macrath had built a solid home for his clan. A dozen feet away was the door to another guest suite. A dozen feet, thatâs all.
She held the wrapper tight against her body, turned and closed her door, then measured the steps she took down the corridor. The faint light from the wall sconce at the end of the hall illuminated the carving on the door as well as the brass handle.
Softly, she rapped on the door, giving herself a test. If he didnât answer at the faint sound, she would turn, retreat to her room, and counsel herself against any further foolishness.
The door opened so suddenly she wondered if heâd been waiting for her.
He didnât say a word, merely extended his hand, palm up. She swallowed, placed her hand atop his and allowed him to draw her inside. He reached behind her to close the door, the latch a snick of sound in the silence.
He didnât say a word, either welcoming or condemning, only drew her farther into the sitting room. The lit lamp on the table beside the settee was the only illumination, but it seemed as bright as a summer sun.
In the middle of the room, he faced her.
He was still dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, but her mind held the picture of what heâd looked like naked. Unless he sent her away or her own conscience banished her from the room, she would see him naked again.
Sheâd be able to touch him.
Her hands were at her sides, her wrapper held fast by a single button at her neck. Her nightwear was black as well, her mourning attire complete. Even at night she was not supposed to forget she was a widow.
He bent his head, his attention focused on the single button. When it was undone, he slipped the garment off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
âIâve never known any woman as beautiful in black as you, Ceana.â
She closed her eyes.
Donât let him question me. Donât let him ask me why Iâm here. Donât let him make me say the words.
He bent his head, placed an almost chaste kiss at her temple. Her blood raced.
She couldnât breathe.
Her nightgown was nearly sheer, not nearly as proper as her cotton gowns. An instant later it didnât matter because it, too, was on the floor.
She kept her eyes closed, allowing him to look his fill. After all, it was only fair. She pressed her palms against her upper thighs, forcing herself to breathe deeply.
âYouâre beautiful.â
She opened her eyes. His face was bronzed with color, his eyes fixed on her breasts. His hands stroked from her shoulders down her arms to cup both her breasts. His thumbs smoothed over her nipples, making them erect.
She bit her lip, managed to restrain herself from pressing his hands against her breasts. Theyâd always been sensitive and he seemed to know it, taking his time stroking and teasing her.
Finally, he took her hand and led her into the bedroom.
She had never seen a man disrobe as quickly as Bruce. Seconds later he was naked, but this time she could look her fill. She didnât get the chance. He gripped her shoulders with heated palms, brought her forward slowly, his smile visible in the faint light from the sitting room.
Her knees were going to give out any second.
âI should . . .â Her voice faded off.
He slid his hands around her waist, placed them flat on her back and pulled her closer.
âYou shouldnât do anything, Ceana, you donât want to do. If you want to leave, youâve only to say the word.â
She bent her head to look at his growing erection. The sight of him on the beach had given her no clue to how large he was. Bruce was a magnificent specimen of man. She drew her hand over his chest and down his flat stomach. How beautiful he was.
He drew in a breath at
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