Highlander Taken. Juliette Miller
The dark outline of a tall figure.
A man, certainly.
A very large one, at that.
My heart thumped edgily and I took a step in an unintentional direction, as though my legs meant to flee whether I wanted to or not. But the darkness, the uneven surface of the ground and my own layered imbalance caught me off guard and I almost stumbled but for the hand that reached out to steady me.
The ironlike bonds of that grasp were dizzying in the promise of strength that lurked underneath the gentle, guiding touch. And the scent of him, like wood and leather and smoke, so foreign to me. So very, entirely masculine.
“I’ll not hurt you,” he said softly, and in the tones of his voice I detected truth, a sense of honor, a genuine attempt to reassure. His words dampened my fear. I wasn’t at all sure why, but I believed them.
He steadied me completely, and I was surprised to find that his protective hold felt more inviting than threatening, especially in this total darkness. An anchor, sure and steady, in the tumultuous night.
I could acknowledge that a small part of me was enjoying this wild, illicit encounter. I was not afraid, reassured as I had been by his voice. And I was drawn, inexplicably, to that spiced, enticing scent of him.
Still holding my arm, he drew me closer, until I was pressed up against the hard warmth of his body. He was so dark, this phantom, so utterly unseeable. Yet the solidity of him fed me an encouraging comfort. It was a mercurial comfort, the kind that might only be found in a hidden, clandestine garden, void of light and sound, save the faraway beacon of an untouchable reality. We were frozen in an unexpected and timeless moment.
His other arm wrapped silently around me and I could feel the silky graze of his hair against my neck. I gasped at the intimacy of it, the caressing softness that stirred me in ways I had never known.
Then, under the dark cover of a moonless sky, the stranger’s parted lips touched mine, brushing slowly before settling in with gentle, deliberate pressure. My mind went blank and my knees gave out, but his stronghold was such that it mattered not. The soft exploration of his tongue sent channels of warmth into my body, lingering and curling, reaching deep. The taste of his kiss, so unexpected, so sweet, invited me to open to his supple demands, to take more of him, to let him in.
I had been kissed only once before by my shy and boyish Caleb: a very brief, barely-there touch. This was something else altogether. There was nothing shy or boyish about this kiss. This kiss pulled me in directions I, in a saner moment, would never have dared. Wild, relentless sensation spooled into me darkly as the stranger’s kiss deepened. His hand held my jaw with infinite care. A vague internal warning was swept away by the billowing, immediate urge my body had become. The effects of his tongue’s touch traveled lightly to the tips of my breasts and the softening secreted place between my legs, which piqued and moistened with an awakening want. I wanted his mouth on my skin, everywhere, and his hands to grip me and hold me down with all the promise of their brutal-gentle strength. I wanted to lose myself in this stranger completely, to drink him in, such was the intoxication of him.
From somewhere outside our tumbling, succulent connection, a voice called.
My name. And again.
It was Ann’s voice, and it was enough to shock me back into a shadowed awareness.
Slowly, reluctantly, the stranger pulled back.
Into this small distance between us, my regrets spilled. Regrets, I was amazed to realize, that were not about what I had done with this phantom lover, but what I had not done. The potency of him had wholly captivated me, and even now I wanted more of him. I wanted him to kiss me again, to soothe and stoke the burning need he had lit within me.
Here, under an overcast night and still in the dark stranger’s enveloping embrace, I had the disconcerting feeling that I had changed. That this place and this kiss would forever haunt me. That nothing would ever satisfy me until I could feel an approximation of this, of him. Again, and always, I would seek the beauty of this sudden and forbidden intimacy.
If this was what rebellion felt like, then I wanted more of it.
The distant calls continued.
My conscious mind insisted I disengage from him, and make a hasty retreat toward the manor. Yet I couldn’t move. Who was he? Would I ever find him again, to be touched and tasted and held close to his elusive, sheltering heat?
The stranger moved, and spoke. The roughened notes of his soft, deep voice sent quickening warmth to my secret places, which had become swollen with a sweet ache that caused me to gasp lightly. I would have done anything that voice asked me to do. Anything.
“Hold on to me,” he said. “Let me take you.”
For a tiny moment, a wicked excitement lurked in the cravings of my body that were new to me, but then I realized what he meant: he would take me back to the manor.
His muscled arm was looped around me, encompassing me in his male-spiced scent. I grasped onto his clothing, and further, reaching my arms around his waist. I could feel the hardness and warmth of his body even through the layers of fabric, and I imagined what his skin might feel like under my fingertips. My fingers curled around the leather of his belt, and I could feel the bone handle of a large knife strung to it.
He began to lead me, supporting my weight easily. He was surefooted, even in the darkness, and he navigated our path without difficulty. And then he stopped. We were still some distance from the lit outskirts of the courtyard, but the path was faintly visible now, straight and smooth. He withdrew his embrace carefully, as though to ensure that I wouldn’t topple over without his support. And the air felt cool and stark at the sudden removal of his body against mine.
He stood against the darkness and I could see no more of him than I had until now, just his solid and very black silhouette. He leaned his mouth close to my ear and whispered, “I will taste more of you, Stella. I have not had nearly enough. I want you as my own.”
And then he was gone.
CHAPTER TWO
SHAKEN AS MUCH by the stranger’s sudden departure as I had been by all that had taken place before it, I walked unsteadily back to the courtyard. Ann, Agnes and Bonnie were there, and they rushed up to me as soon as I stepped into the light.
“Stella!” Ann exclaimed. “What’s happened? We’ve been calling you. Where have you been?”
I smoothed my hair with my hands, hoping I didn’t look as wild and wanton as I felt. “’Twas nothing,” I said lightly, laughing it off. “I went for a stroll in the gardens.”
The three of them stared at me, knowing full well we weren’t allowed such larkish pursuits, especially alone and in the dark of night. I watched their eyes register my flushed cheeks, my curled and windblown hair, my wide eyes. I was fervently thankful they couldn’t detect the more profound changes in me, or at least I hoped it.
“Whatever for?” asked Agnes.
“I needed some air,” I said. “I wandered too far and the wind blew out the candles. It took me some time to find my way back, is all. I’m fine.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” commented Bonnie, leading me back inside, where the noise and light was very nearly overwhelming.
Not a ghost, nay. A phantom.
A phantom, I only now realized, who knew me. He’d called me by my name. This detail felt significant. Had he known who I was, even before my sisters called out to me? He’d said he wanted to see me, to find me—nay, to taste me—once again. I hoped desperately that he would succeed in his pursuit.
But even now, in my sisters’ familiar company, surrounded by people’s chatter and full-on brightness, my encounter with the hidden stranger felt unreal. Had he merely been a figment of my ever-hopeful romantic mind? Maybe I’d dreamed him in response to the heartbreak of recent days.