Highlander - Donna Lettow [48]
With a hand, he stopped her. He stood up from the sofa, moving closer to the warmth of the fireplace, and she joined him there. He pulled the T-shirt over his head in one fluid motion, and suddenly they were like a single creature, all arms and legs, fingers and hands, helping, hindering, until all barriers of clothing were removed.
They both glowed golden in the firelight. She stood in awe of him. Like Michaelangelo’s David, Rodin’s lovers, every muscle taut and articulated, sculpted from God’s own blue-prints. God, how she needed him. Her breasts felt heavy and tipped with flame and she longed for him to quench the fire, and, as if privy to the secrets of her mind, he did. She gasped as she felt his mouth upon her, and with her nails she traced the sinews of his thighs to the tight ridges of his belly.
When he released her—her heart wanted to scream No!—he took her hand in his, starting to lead her toward his bed in the bow of the barge.
“No,” she said, her voice awash with passion. She had to see him in the dancing light of the fire, watch as the flames played along his magnificent features as they made love. “Here.” She knelt to the floor and drew him down on top of her.
Chapter Ten
Paris: The Present
MacLeod came awake before he actually opened his eyes. He could tell from the damp chill against his skin that dawn had not arrived yet, but the noises from outside—the chattering of the birds, the roar of passing trucks, the creaking and rocking of the barge as a towboat went past on the river—told him it was not far away. He opened his eyes to find that, indeed, the rosy fingers of dawn had yet to find their way into the barge. He tried to remember when they’d finally made it to the bed. Not that long ago. He rolled over with a fond smile, replaying in his mind the night just spent, and reached out to kiss Maral awake.
She wasn’t there.
MacLeod sat upright in the empty bed, completely awake now. “Maral?” he called out into the predawn gloom filling the barge. He was answered by the sound of the shower coming on.
Relieved, he looked at the clock. Four in the morning. No wonder he felt like he hadn’t slept. But there were definitely some things in this life worth losing sleep for. He could still smell her scent on his pillow, on his body. He slipped out of bed, out from beneath the downy warmth of the duvet, and the damp cold of the morning air hit his naked body with a shiver. He padded across the barge to the bathroom.
MacLeod stood in the bathroom doorway for a long minute, watching her through the glass doors of the shower, watching her body dance under the jets of water, before sliding open the door and slipping into the shower behind her. He picked up a bar of soap and slid it down her back. “Can I help?”
She turned toward him with a start. “Duncan. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
The cascade of water against them was blood hot and he could feel his body come to life in the fiery jets. He kissed her gently on the lips, then began to lather her shoulders, letting his hands roam down her back in large soapy circles. Beneath his firm hands he could feel her muscles relax.
“Hmmm, very nice,” she purred. “Do you make house calls?”
He allowed his hands to roam farther, swirling lather down her spine, across and under her tightly rounded rear. He left one hand there, pressing her close against him while he kissed her again as the pulsating jets rinsed the soap from her back. All of a sudden, the barge lurched a bit to one side and Maral pulled away, startled, then the boat righted itself and resumed its gentle rocking motion. “What was that?” she wondered.
“Probably just got caught in something’s wake. Happens all the time. Nothing to worry about.” He slipped an arm