The pleasure master, p.18
The Pleasure Master, page 18
Ian lifted his gaze to the moon, half hidden by clouds. He must remember who he was, who he would always be.
“You use sex to express every emotion except love.”
Ian looked down to find that Peter had followed him. For once Malin wasn’t draped across the toy’s top. “I dinna need love. I want only sexual pleasure. Why would I want a woman’s heart?”
“Never underestimate the power of denial.”
Ian smiled. “What are ye then, a wee match-maker, that ye would plead the cause of love?”
“It’s the truth. From a certain point of view.”
“Ye waste yer time, Peter. I willna fall in love wi’ Kathy. ’Twould mean the loss of who I am, and a man is nothing if he knows not who he is.” He must learn to guard himself from growing too close to the lass. No woman had ever stirred his anger, nor any strong feeling other than physical satisfaction, until Kathy arrived. “I dinna understand my promise not to touch her. ’Twill make the challenge more difficult. ’Twas my pride speaking, and my pride doesna always speak wisely.”
“She was a thief. You’ve got to believe me. She stole my heart and my cat.”
Ian leveled a hard stare at Peter. “Ye amuse me, but I still believe ye’re responsible for Kathy’s journey from her own land.” Something Kathy had said nudged at him. “Ye speak only lines from movies. Mayhap Kathy must think more on these lines.” He turned back to the cave, considering what he’d just said. It made little sense, but then nothing about Peter made much sense.
As he moved down the tunnel, he could hear Peter clattering behind him. “Ye’re a wee evil demon, to play wi’ humans so.” Ian could find no anger to put into his comment; against all reason, he liked Peter.
“Evil will always win, because good is dumb.”
Something in Peter’s tone gave Ian pause. This didn’t sound like the mindless chatter he’d grown used to. Truth rang in Peter’s voice, as though whatever controlled the toy was allowing him a glimpse into its soul. Ian’s shudder had nothing to do with the chill air. He crossed himself.
When he entered the chamber, he forced his gaze from where Kathy lay beneath her furs, pushed aside thoughts of seducing her in that half-waking state when the will is weak and desire races unchecked.
Instead, he sat on his bed, then carefully took out the shells he’d collected that day. None had broken, and he decided to take them to Mad Mary. She would tell him how to make that which he wanted. Mayhap he would see how Colin fared.
Standing once more, he moved to blow out the candle.
“I loooove you.”
God’s teeth, but he’d throttle that cursed flower before all was done.
Ian rose early the next morning. He’d not rested easily, plagued as he was with visions of Kathy spread naked beneath him, reaching for him with words of need, of hunger for what he could offer.
Several times he’d almost risen and gone to her, but his promise stayed him. ’Twas a fool’s promise and one he already regretted.
But he had promised, and so he must begin drawing her to him without touching her. He allowed himself a moment of anticipation as he stared at the rising sun before returning to the cave after bathing. He enjoyed a challenge, and no woman had ever challenged him before.
He found her in the chamber with the Pleasure Master’s bed. She’d lit one candle and stood staring at the panel that had no painting. She’d dressed, but her hair still hung damp from her bathing. His gaze followed the line of shoulder, back, and hip, stripping away the layers of clothing in his mind. It would be so easy to move up behind her, wrap his arms around her, and pull her to him. Instead, he moved close, so close he knew she felt him, sensed his power as all women sensed it.
“Doesn’t it bother you that this bed was never finished?” She still spoke in the hushed voice she’d used before when near the bed. “Don’t you think the woman who had this bed made would want it finished? Don’t you think the bed would want it?”
“’Tis only a bed. It isna human and canna feel.” He knew not why, but he turned his head to gaze at Peter, who was happily chattering to a bored-looking Malin.
Kathy’s gaze followed his. “It has a very old soul.”
He wasn’t sure whether she spoke of the bed or Peter. Maybe both. “’Tis foolish.”
She nodded and flushed. “I don’t know where that comment came from. Anyway, it’s a wonderful bed. I’d love to . . .”
“Ye’d love to lie upon it wi’ a man who’d do all the things painted upon it, fill ye as no other has filled ye?” He leaned close, letting his breath fan across her neck, inhaling an elusive scent that was rich with the promise of passion.
“Not really.”
She stepped away from him, and he smiled. She would never be able to move far enough from him.
What if she really had traveled from a distant time? He could not follow her there. He pushed the thought from his mind. To believe in such a thing, he would have to reach beyond everything he’d experienced or been told in his life, everything he’d ever thought possible, and trust only her. That kind of trust came only with love, and he would never love.
She ran her fingers lightly across one of the paintings, then pulled her fingers back as though burned. Her laughter was nervous. “I’d disgrace this bed if I lay on it. After looking at these paintings, I’d never be able to rise to the occasion. Hot doesn’t even begin to describe what your great grandfather did on this bed. He must’ve been quite a man.”
“Aye, that he was.” He watched as she blew out the candle and walked back to sit beside the hearth.
“Thanks for carrying and heating water for my bath.” She hesitated. “And thanks for not staying to watch.”
Women softened to a man who thought of their comfort. That was his only reason for having the water ready when she rose. He had not considered how she would ache after riding his horse.
“I stood outside and pictured ye as ye bathed, yer smooth body sliding into the water, the water flowing around ye, wrapping ye in warm arms, touching ye wi’ soft fingers. I saw myself touching ye as the water touched ye, my mouth warm and moist on yer breast, yer nipple. My hands sliding across yer stomach, between yer legs. Did ye open yer thighs to the warmth, Kathy? Imagine the warmth was my mouth, my body?”
“Stop it, Ian.” She didn’t meet his gaze.
“Ye willna have me touch ye wi’ my fingers, so ye must bear the touch of my words.”
She sighed and met his gaze. “I don’t understand you, Ian Ross. Being the Pleasure Master is the most important thing in your life, and yet you passed up a chance to win the challenge.”
“’Twould not have been won fairly.”
“Because you were using my fantasy against me?”
He nodded.
“You had other chances, but you didn’t take advantage of those either. Why?” She wasn’t sure where her questions were leading, but at least they gave her the chance to recover from the mental pictures he’d been painting. Pictures too graphic to ignore, too close to her own imaginings to be comfortable.
He moved close to her, using his heat, his scent, his body to overpower her. “There is a special time and place for every woman. ’Tis that time and place I wait for.” He reached out and almost touched her. She held her breath, then let it out on a soft sigh of . . . What?
“Ye’ll return to yer land, but each year at the time of our joining ye’ll remember, no matter where ye are or who ye’re with. Ye’ll see the place, ye’ll see me, and remember always.” His hand skimmed the side of her face, and she felt the connection that needed no touch. “That will be my gift to ye, Kathy of Hair.”
Her emotions threatened to overflow as surely as the tears filling her eyes. Desire, regret, sadness. How could he manipulate her feelings with just his words? She had to take back control. “What would you say if I told you to do it right now? That I’d just lie back and you could join with me. We could get this challenge thing over with and you’d win.”
His eyes were shadowed. “That was yer exhusband’s way. ’Tis not the Pleasure Master’s way.”
She backed away from him, from the truth she hadn’t realized was a truth. That had been her ex’s attitude. Do it my way, get it over with, and I win.
He held her gaze then turned and walked to the tub. “I’ll empty this, then we’ll walk to the village. I need talk wi’ Mad Mary and see how Colin fares.”
He left her standing there, her thoughts in turmoil. She wanted him as she’d never wanted her husband, but she still refused to let him manipulate her. She wanted to choose the time and place.
Surprised, she realized her body, if not her mind, had accepted that there would be a time and place.
Refusing to debate the decision with her body, she checked the things in her backpack. Hairstylist to the end, she automatically took her supplies with her. Never knew when you’d have to perform an emergency cut and curl.
She fingered her butane curling iron, then glanced in Ian’s direction. He wasn’t paying any attention. Quickly she heated the curling iron and pulled out her mirror. In the first panic of traveling to this time, she hadn’t worried about how she looked, but as her awareness of Ian grew, so did her desire to shed her prehistoric-hag-rising-from-primordial-swamp image.
Just a few unobtrusive curls here and there . . . Hmm. Were those roots starting to show? She peered more closely.
“What manner of thing do ye use on yer hair?”
Kathy jumped at Ian’s question. She turned to find him standing behind her, staring suspiciously at the curling iron.
She sighed. There was something to be said for the run-like-hell reaction of most people to the things she’d brought with her. At least then she didn’t have to give them a detailed explanation of how the gadgets worked. “This is a curling iron. It curls your hair to make it more attractive. See?” She demonstrated on her own hair.
He reached for the curling iron.
“Watch out, it’s hot.” She turned it off to let it cool.
Picking it up, he examined it. “I would know how this works.”
She narrowed her gaze. “You will not take my curling iron apart.”
He grinned and handed the curling iron back to her. “I saw ye searching through yer hair. Were ye looking for wee beasties?”
She stared at him blankly until realization hit. “Bugs? You think I was looking for bugs? Ugh. Yeck.” Even the thought made her want to scratch.
She’d opened her mouth to fire another blast of denial, when she noticed his expression. He looked relaxed, open, teasing. Ian Ross was no longer the Pleasure Master. This was the same man who’d rolled with her on the beach yesterday. A man who was just enjoying himself. Instinctively, she knew Ian didn’t have many happy moments, and she was fiercely glad she was responsible for a few of them.
“I was checking my roots.” Ordinarily, even torture wouldn’t wring that admission from her, but she wanted to keep that look on Ian’s face a little longer.
“I dinna understand.” He reached for one of the curls she’d just created, but stopped short of his goal.
Already, Kathy was rethinking the positive and negative aspects of Ian’s no-touch vow. She’d wanted him to touch her hair. “Okay, here’s the deal, Ross. This is not my natural color. But it’s fine for this month. I’ve been thinking of going red in a few months, but I’m not sure. I don’t know if I have a ‘red’ attitude. What do you think?”
She’d hoped to shock him, but she was doomed to disappointment.
“In yer land women change the color of their hair like a worn shawl? What is yer real color?”
Rich brown? Warm brown? Earthy brown? “Mousy brown.” It had been a long time since she’d seen her natural color, but no matter how many exotic shades she put over it, she’d still felt mousy brown until . . . until she’d met Ian Ross.
“’Tis an admirable color.”
“It is?” She peered closely at him, looking for sarcasm. She found none.
“Aye. The color of a wee mouse is familiar, comfortable. Its hair is smooth, soft.” He lowered his voice to a husky murmur.
“So . . . you’ve petted a few mice in your time, huh?” Touch my hair. Please touch my hair.
“On a cold winter’s night when Malin sleeps and none need me, there isna much else to do.”
“Mice? In this cave?” She widened her eyes and glanced quickly around before she caught the teasing glint in Ian’s gaze. “Well, no matter how familiar and comfortable a mouse is, I don’t want to look like one.” Even though she tried to avoid the thought, she had to admit Ian made her feel good about who she was. Everything he’d done had made her feel good.
“Hmm. Henna. Maybe Mad Mary knows about henna. I might go red sooner than I expected.” She thought about red hair as she watched Ian finish emptying her bath water. And from red hair, her thoughts drifted to dark hair. Ian’s hair, sliding across her bare flesh. Her fingers clutching the long strands as she urged him to put his mouth on her breasts, her stomach, the back of her knees. . . . The back of her knees? Admit it, the thought of Ian Ross’s mouth on any part of her body was an earthmoving concept.
“’Tis done. We’ll walk to the village. The horse needs rest after yesterday’s journey.” He slanted her a teasing grin. “Mayhap someone’s bottom also needs a rest.”
Kathy started to glare at him, then opted for honesty. “You’re right. Nothing could make me climb on that horse again.” She glanced at Peter. “Should we leave him here?”
“I’m coming and Hell’s coming with me.” Peter stated his opinion as Malin jumped to his favorite resting place.
Ian shook his head. “I dinna have the courage to leave him here. We would be listening to his complaints all night when we returned.”
Kathy nodded. Some fights you couldn’t win. Peter was one of them. She followed Ian from the cave, and Peter clattered along behind her.
They’d almost reached Mad Mary’s cottage when Ian turned to her, his gaze thoughtful. “Ye’ve said Peter speaks only in movie lines. Mayhap ’Tis a certain line that will send ye back to New York.”
“The concept’s great, Ian, but there’re millions of movie lines.” It made sense, though. With his warped little sense of humor, Peter would love it. “How would I figure out the right line? And besides, what’s the motive? Why am I even here?”
“It’s the millennium; motives are incidental,” Peter offered.
Ian shrugged. “I dinna know the answer, but ’tis a thing we may speak of later.”
I don’t want to talk to you. I want you wrapped naked around me on that fabulous bed while you tell me all the wicked things you’ll do to me. Kathy couldn’t believe she’d ever thought she was frigid.
Colin opened Mad Mary’s door to them and distracted her from more thoughts of Ian.
Ian frowned and Colin grinned. Kathy noted it wasn’t a “gotcha” grin, but more of a silly, happy grin. She wondered what was going on.
“I would speak wi’ Mary about a matter.” Ian’s tone suggested that Colin didn’t need to hang around and listen.
“Aye. She’s sorting herbs by the hearth. I’ve helped her, and she’s taught me much this morning.” His comment left what she’d taught him open for conjecture. “Ye may talk to Mary while I gather more herbs from the garden.”
“I’ll go with you, Colin.” Kathy hurried after him as he strode toward the small garden. “So how’re things going?”
He stopped to lean over a plant and peer at its leaves. “Ye gave good advice. Mary takes joy in speaking of her plants.” He plucked a few leaves, then straightened to look at her. “And I find I have a great interest in hearing her speak.”
Something in his gaze made her ask, “Because of the challenge?”
His expression warmed. “Because of Mary.”
“Oh.” This could be unexpected luck for Ian. “Have you played your bagpipes for her?”
“I told ye before I would only play for one I loved.”
“And is there a chance you might play for Mary?”
His smile was uncertain. “I might, lass. I might.”
Leaving her with that possibility to chew on, he strode back toward the cottage. Kathy followed him inside.
Ian was cramming some things into the pouch at his waist as Mary watched with an amused expression. Ian did not look amused. “Mary says ye’ve learned much about herbs. Have ye learned other things as well, Colin?”
Colin looked noncommittal. “I havena spent enough time wi’ Mary to know all that I might.”
“Hmmph.” Ian’s comment needed no translation. “If ye have no reason to stay, Kathy, I would start home.”
“You go on, Ian. I want to ask Mary a quick question, then I’ll catch up.”
Ian nodded, then left the cottage and walked slowly down the path. Kathy smiled as she watched Peter toddling along behind him like a slightly weird shadow. Ian turned onto the path they’d come on, the one that skirted the village. Wise move. Peter would look strange even on a New York sidewalk, and that was saying a lot.
She turned back to Mary. “I have a quick question. Do you have anything that colors hair?”
Mary frowned. “I have something that would turn yer hair red, but it wouldna look as lovely as yer own hair.”
“My own hair is brown.”
Mary’s eyes shone with excitement. “’Tis amazing. What wondrous plant would give ye such a color?”
Kathy glanced down the path. Ian was still walking slowly. She had to hurry. “Uh, it’s sixty milliliters of forty volume, twenty-five milliliters of eleven P, and five milliliters of blonding cream. Look, I’ve gotta run. I’ll get back to you about the color.”
She rushed from the cottage, leaving Mary with a befuddled look on her face.
Halfway along the path that Ian still walked, Kathy saw the child. He stood next to a large rock and was looking down at his badly scraped knee. The part of her that couldn’t ignore a hurt child carried her to his side. “What happened, sweetheart?”
He looked up at her, and she could see he was fighting tears. “I fell off the rock. ’Tis a wee scrape.” He offered his explanation with a trembling lip.
