Hank texas kings mc book.., p.9
Debra Dier - Dreams 03, page 9
Connor’s eyes narrowed.
“Connor’s trunk hasn’t arrived yet,” Sophie said.
“I see.” Philip picked an invisible piece of lint from his tailored sleeve. “I must say, I don’t see why anyone would be fascinated with a pack of bloodthirsty barbarians.”
Laura cringed, silently willing Philip to tread softly around bloodthirsty barbarians.
“Vikings are masters of trade.” Connor smiled, but Laura could see the icy glint in his eyes, a look that chilled her blood. She had little doubt he could lay Philip low with a single blow of his hand. “They are hardly bloodthirsty barbarians.”
Philip lifted his brows. “You speak as though they still exist.”
“Only in spirit.”
“Not in the spirit of any civilized man,” Philip said, his voice filled with an annoying note of superiority.
“Perhaps man has lost much in this process of becoming civilized.”
“I would hardly think a Viking would be welcome in Boston society, Mr. Paxton. We long ago abandoned the practice of solving our differences with a sword and battle-ax.”
Easy, Philip, Laura thought. Connor still had a sword.
“As I recall, the men of this century tried solving their differences with sword and cannon only a few years ago.” Connor paused as he held Philip’s dark gaze. “I believe it was called the Civil War.”
Philip sniffed loudly. “You can’t possibly compare the noble fight to rid this nation of the blight of slavery to the wholesale slaughter the Vikings spread.”
“I merely wish to point out the fact that beneath the polished surface of civilization”—Connor glanced at Laura—“man has changed little in a thousand years.”
Laura stared, unable to draw her gaze from Connor’s blue eyes. Her skin grew warm, as though she stood naked in the summer sun. What lay beneath the surface of this man? She was tempted to explore every layer, tempted to delve deep inside his soul to see if there truly was a place for her there. Heaven help her, she was definitely losing her mind.
“Perhaps you haven’t evolved from your beloved Viking barbarians, Mr. Paxton, but I can assure you, I have.”
Connor looked at Philip, a devilish grin curving his lips. “In that, I must heartily agree. You, Mr. Gardner, would not survive a week in the ninth century.”
Color slid upward from the starched white collar of Philip’s shirt until his face flushed purple with rage. “I believe it is time I take my leave.” He turned to Laura.
“Would you see me to the door?”
“Of course.” She was only too anxious to get Philip out of this room away from one thoroughly infuriating, far too fascinating Viking.
Chapter Nine
Connor stared out one of the drawing-room windows, watching Philip Gardner march down the brick-lined walk leading from the house to a wide street. With the tip of his cane, Gardner poked at one of the white ridges that rose on either side of the walkway, punching holes in the shimmering snow. “This Philip Gardner, he is typical of the men of this century?”
“He is quite typical of the men in Boston,” Sophie said.
He watched Gardner pass through a wrought-iron gate and mount a black conveyance that stood behind a pair of gray horses in the street. The man walked with his back straight, his stride stiff, as though someone had rammed a pole through the top of his head straight down to his toes. Was this truly the type of man Laura preferred? “He smells like a sultan’s harem.”
Sophie’s giggle brought him around to look at her. “Most of the men in this century wear a scent, Connor.”
Connor considered this fact for a moment. “I don’t think I will wear such perfume.”
“No.” She smiled, her blue eyes sparkling with humor. “I doubt that sweet scent of Philip’s would suit you. But you might try bay rum. It has a most appealing …” Sophie paused as Laura rushed into the room.
Laura closed the door behind her, leaning back against the oak panel, her heart racing. She stared at the Viking and her aunt, the two people who had turned her life upside down.
“You look as though a thousand raiders were chasing you,” Connor said, a smile curving his lips.
“One Viking is more than enough to threaten me.”
“I would never do anything to harm you.” Connor pressed his hand over his heart. “You are my heart.”
Laura’s breath grew heavy in her lungs as she held Connor’s gaze. He stood in front of the windows, framed by gold velvet drapes, sunlight painting a golden glow around him—a portrait of potent masculinity.
Laura stared, absorbing the sight of him, like the frozen earth absorbing the first warm rays of sunlight in spring. Possibilities whispered to her; the promise of dreams come true beckoned her like a siren call.
She glanced away from him, clenching her hands into fists against the solid oak at her back. She could not allow herself to imagine life with this man. It was dangerous. Far too dangerous.
“Aunt Sophie, did you really think it was wise, bringing Connor in here to meet Philip?”
“He insisted on meeting Philip.” Sophie looked at Connor, obviously seeking an ally. “Isn’t that right?”
“I wanted to see this man who wishes to steal my woman.”
“Your woman?” Laura glared at the rogue, fury rising within her, warring with the excitement she refused to acknowledge. “I am not your woman.”
“You’re mine.” He lowered his gaze, sweeping her figure in a bold, hungry gaze that made her tingle, as though he had peeled away her clothes and stroked her bare skin with his hands. “In time you will come to realize we belong to each other.”
“Why, you arrogant barbarian.” She marched toward him until she could stare straight up into his face. “Understand this, Viking, I do not belong to you or anyone.”
“This Philip Gardner. He believes you are his property.” His eyes narrowed as he stared down at her. “I could see this by the way he touched you.”
“The way Philip behaves toward me is none of your concern,” she said, managing to speak in a level tone.
“Do men in this century no longer protect what belongs to them?”
“I am not a piece of chattel. It’s obvious you haven’t the slightest idea how gentlemen of this century behave.”
“You’re right. I don’t know how these gentlemen behave.” He stepped closer, the enticing scent of his skin teasing her senses. “But I do know how a man should act around the woman he loves.”
Laura gasped as he caught her upper arms. “Let me go!”
“I could never let you go,” he whispered, his dark voice brushing over her like warm velvet.
“I demand that you …” Her words dissolved in a sharp intake of breath as he nuzzled the soft skin beneath her ear. Shivers shimmered across her skin. “Stop this!”
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are to me?”
In his arms she felt beautiful, cherished. He made her feel as though she were the only woman he wanted to touch, the only woman he wanted to kiss, the only woman he wanted to possess. She struggled in his far too tempting embrace, fighting the dangerous desire dawning inside of her. “Let go of me!”
“You are the breath that sustains me.” He slid his arms around her, imprisoning her waist with his left arm, slanting his right upward across her back. The heat of his body reached for her, wrapping around her, enveloping her in an inviting warmth.
“This is not at all proper,” she said, her voice dwindling to a whisper.
“Ah, but it is proper to show a woman how much she is desired.” He opened his lips against her neck, flicking the tip of his tongue against her skin, the fiery touch spiraling like a flaming arrow all the way down to her toes. “I want you in every way.”
“Oh!” Laura swallowed hard, trying to marshal the defenses she could feel dissolving in the heat he kindled inside of her. “You must…”
“Taste your lips.”
“Oh, no.” She stared up at him, the heat in his eyes evaporating her will. “You couldn’t possibly.”
“Oh, I think it’s quite possible.” He looked down at her, smiling, a slow curve of sensual lips that stole the breath from her lungs.
She stared up into his eyes, sensing as well as seeing what simmered in the endless blue depths—desire and something far more frightening, a warmth that whispered of eternity. “You must release me.”
“Must I?” He slipped his hand into the hair at her nape, cradling the back of her head in his big hand, drawing her toward him. “This is how a man should show his beloved how much he wants her.”
Laura pressed her clenched fists against his upper arms. “You mustn’t—”
“I’ve waited a lifetime to kiss you.”
She stared as he lowered his head, those smiling lips moving closer, closer, his breath falling soft and sweet upon her cheek. “You shouldn’t—”
He drank the words of protest from her lips. At the first touch of his lips, she felt her heart stop, then start with a headlong rush. His kiss—so soft, so gentle, like warm honey sliding sweetly across her lips.
How many times had she imagined this? How many mornings had she awakened hugging her pillow to her chest, warm and restless, taut with longing for this man?
The soft touch of his lips upon hers, his strong arms holding her as though she were the most precious gem in the world, his warmth chasing away the chill of winter—this was reality where only fantasy had existed before. Still, her imagination paled beside the reality of this man.
Promises dwelled in this kiss, promises waiting for her to claim them, if she found the courage to make them her own.
Dangerous! her mind screamed. This kiss was dangerous. This man was dangerous. He threatened to steal her away from the world she understood. He threatened to change her in unseen ways.
Still, she had waited a lifetime for this man to take her into his arms. He was here, in her world, holding her, and he was more than she had ever dreamed possible.
She opened her hands upon his arms, arching her fingers against the thick muscles stretched taut beneath white linen, craving the feel of his skin. He slanted his mouth across hers, his beard sliding against her chin in a delicious tease. Tingles spiraled down her spine as he touched the tip of his tongue to the seam of her lips, coaxing her to open for him.
A sorcerer weaving magic, spinning a golden spell around her, enchanting her, this was Connor, this was the power of the man who knew her better than any living soul. A moan escaped her as she surrendered to his magic, sipping light and warmth from his lips.
He tunneled his fingers through her hair, dislodging pins and combs, allowing her hair to slide through his hands. She sighed as the heavy weight of it fell against her back.
“Beautiful,” he murmured against her lips. He held her closer, her soft breasts nestling against the hard thrust of his chest. Never had she realized such pleasure could ripple through her at a mere contact.
He dipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, allowing her to taste his spicy essence. He was sleek heat, damp and firm, flicking against her teeth, her tongue, teasing her, tempting her to join him in this sensual game.
She slid her hands upward, along the smooth linen covering his broad shoulders. She slipped her hands into his long hair; ebony strands of silk curling softly around her fingers—softer than she had imagined.
The fragrance of his skin, citrus and an intriguing spice all his own, enticed her senses. She drew his scent deep into her lungs, and still it wasn’t enough. She glided her lips against his, snuggling against his hard frame, needing to feel his arms tight around her, needing something she sensed only he could give her.
When he lifted his lips, she moaned, curling her hands into his soft hair. It was too soon to stop. And yet a part of her wondered if it was far too late. She stared up into his eyes, seeing his hunger for her, unaware of the desire shimmering in her own eyes.
“Tell me you feel these things when Gardner kisses you,” he whispered, his hands flexing against her waist beneath her hair. “Tell me this passion flares between you and that man.”
“Oh!” She stepped back, escaping his warm embrace, his words lashing her cheek like a physical blow. “How dare you think I would allow Philip or any man such liberties!”
He smiled, a slow lift of his lips that spoke of pure masculine possession. “And yet you kissed me as though you drew your breath from me.”
“Why, you …” She pressed her hand to her lips, catching her scathing words before they were spoken. The man had the most uncanny way of making her want to scream like a hoyden. “I have never met a more provoking man.”
“And I have never met a more alluring woman.”
Laura turned away from him, looking at Sophie. “Aunt Sophie, did you see what this man did?”
“Yes, dear.” Sophie stood a few feet away from them, watching their exchange, smiling. “It would seem men were far more forthright in expressing their emotions back in his time.”
Laura combed her fingers through her hair, snatching the few remaining pins from it. “You must do something with this Viking.”
“I thought I would send for your father’s barber.”
Laura stared at her aunt. “Father’s barber?”
“This Barber who is supposed to frighten me?”
Sophie waved away his words with one slender hand. “I’m afraid that was only Philip’s weary attempt at levity. A barber is a man who will trim your hair and shave you. Nothing more.”
Connor ran his hand through his hair, plowing furrows in the thick black waves. “He will make me look more like a man from this century?”
“Yes.” Sophie turned the corners of her mouth down into a frown. “But I have to admit I will hate to see all of that lovely hair cut off. Won’t you, Laura?”
Laura cast Connor a contemptuous glance. She bent, searching the carpet for pins amid the intricate pattern of leaves and flowers. “If you were to send him back to his own time, there would be no need to cut his hair.”
“Yes.” Sophie tapped her forefinger against her chin. “But I’m afraid I haven’t any luck in that direction.”
Connor crouched beside Laura, who was sitting on her heels. “I like your hair loose and flowing,” he said, lifting a handful of the disheveled locks. “It’s far too beautiful to keep it locked in tight coils.”
Laura snatched her hair from his grasp. “A lady certainly doesn’t go about with her hair hanging wildly around her shoulders.”
He grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with a light that was pure mischief. “Not even at night?”
Laura stood and glared down at him, trying to ignore the heat shimmering through her at the look in his eyes. “That is none of your concern.”
He stood and winked at her. “Not yet.”
“Oh, you …” She pivoted, her hair spilling around her shoulders as she faced Sophie. “Philip reminded me of the birthday party for his mother we are to attend next week. He invited this Viking to join us.”
Sophie nodded. “Philip may be a pompous bore, but he is unfailingly polite.”
Laura stiffened, feeling a sudden need to protect Philip, and her own century, against this marauding Viking. “Philip is not a pompous bore.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “His idea of a fascinating evening is staring at a collection of rocks.”
“Rocks?” Connor looked at Laura. “This man collects rocks?”
Laura lifted her chin. “He happens to be very interested in geology.”
“Rocks.” Connor grinned.
Laura twisted her hair into a tight coil. “I happen to find his rock collection fascinating.”
“Yes,” Connor said, his lips tipping into a wide, mischievous smile. “I’m sure it is quite fascinating.”
Laura turned away from him, staring at the large gold snowflakes that marched in orderly columns across the ivory silk wallpaper. Perhaps Philip was dull. But at least Philip was a gentleman. He would never have dreamed of kissing her. A fresh wave of heat rose from her waist, searing her breasts, her neck, her cheeks.
She clenched her jaw when someone rapped on the door. They didn’t need another visitor. At Sophie’s invitation the door opened and Fiona entered.
“I was wondering if you might be liking a little tea,” Fiona said, her dark gaze drifting from Laura to Connor.
“Not now, Fiona,” Laura said, her nerves making her impatient. They had to find a way to get rid of this Viking. “I’ll ring if we need anything.”
Fiona nodded, her gaze never leaving Connor. “Ah, but you must be Mr. Paxton, I’m thinking.”
Connor smiled. “And you are the kind lady who gave me the tonic.”
“Aye, Fiona Kelley, I am. And I’m glad to be seeing my tonic has done the trick. You’re looking fit as a thoroughbred in May, you are.”
“I’m feeling much better, thank you.”
“My pleasure, I’m sure.” Fiona stood smiling at Connor as though she intended to stare at the man all day.
“Fiona, don’t you have something to do in the kitchen?” Laura asked.
“Why, it’s sure I do, now.” Still Fiona made no move to leave. The woman was beaming like a candle under Connor’s smile. “Is there anything that you’re liking for dinner, sir?”
“I’m certain anything you fix will be delicious.”
Fiona giggled. “Well, I’m hoping we can please. I’m thinking we’ll have some nice roasted lamb, with a little raspberry sauce.” She crossed the room, pausing at the door to turn once more and smile at Connor. “And I’ll fix a nice chocolate cake.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”
Laura glared at Connor as Fiona left the room. Did he have that disturbing effect on all women? But of course he did. What woman could look into those mischievous blue eyes and not feel her heart trip? No doubt the man had long ago lost track of his conquests. “Aunt Sophie, do you think you shall be able to send this Viking back to where he belongs before he serves us up for ridicule?”
Sophie drew a deep breath. “I’m afraid we must face the possibility I might never be able to send him back.”
