Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(6)
Wow. It didn’t take a linguist to analyze his body language or his words. He’d closed himself off, chosen not to share something. Perhaps I’d caught his deception because hesitation to trust from one makes it easy to detect the same in another. He didn’t know me well and had no reason to divulge his secrets; however, understanding why he withheld what I desperately wanted to know did nothing to stop disappointment from flooding into my heart and mind.
As my mood changed, he came around the desk and placed a finger under my chin, lifting my fallen face. “Isa, you’ll find what you’re seeking . . . of that I have no doubt.”
His touch electrified me. The look in his eyes . . . paralyzed me. The resolve I’d made against him moments before dissolved into vapor as he slid his hands around my waist and held me. Everything about the man overwhelmed me. His gaze fell to my mouth, and my eyes fluttered shut as he closed the distance. He brushed his lips against mine. Firmer pressure followed and I gently kissed him back. The soft feeling of his lips on mine speared currents of fire through my body. All my senses awakened as he delivered a kiss like none I’d ever received. I leaned further into him wanting more contact, every touch feeding my desire like a drug.
He pressed a hand into my lower back, pulling me closer while his tongue traced the seam of my lips. When I parted them and his tongue stroked alongside mine, he moaned, the sound sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. I lifted my hands to his face, caressing his clean-shaven cheek. He pressed further forward, and the shock of feeling his hard erection against my stomach knocked me off-balance. I dropped a hand down, and it landed on the top of the metal box. His hand covered mine, our fingers lacing together as we both lost ourselves in the kiss.
As near as I could tell, that marked the exact moment the entire world literally tilted off its axis. One minute I stood in the professor’s office being kissed senseless.
The next minute . . .
CHAPTER Three
A powerful charge flowed from the box through my fingertips, magnifying every erotic feeling already coursing through my body tenfold. I had a powerful orgasm right there on the spot, crying out into our kiss from the pulses running through me. Iain growled, gripping me tighter. I felt myself falling, weightless, even though he still held me. My head spun so fast, I gasped.
Landing hard on the ground had never been something I’d expected from a mind-blowing kiss.
Did Iain let go of me?
My head—no, actually my entire backside rested on the unforgiving floor. I opened my eyes. I expected to see Iain standing there. Instead, only the roughhewn edge of a wooden table appeared in my line of vision. Beyond that was an angled thatched ceiling.
Perfect. I’d suffered a concussion complete with hallucinations.
I cautiously moved my hands to my sides to push myself up, disturbing what felt like dried grass. With uncertainty, I sat up and looked down at an earthen floor. Although confusion filled my head, pain didn’t. A thorough probing of my scalp with my fingertips confirmed no injury. I plucked a dried purple bloom from a lock of my hair. I glanced under the table and spotted Iain, his limbs spread haphazardly across the floor on the opposite side of the table. He moaned and sat up too. I gripped the solid table edge, pulling my body up from the floor as Iain rose to his knees and stood.
He stared at me with a blank expression, blinked, and slid his gaze toward the box. My gaze followed suit. The only constants in my hallucination were him and the box. Everything else had changed. But even though Iain still remained . . . he’d changed. I swallowed hard as I took in the image of the man before me dressed in a plaid similar to the one he wore to the games, only this one was dusty and darker. I marveled at his new appearance, which didn’t stop at his clothing. His dark brown hair flowed down beyond his shoulders, and a braid dangled from each temple bound by a thin strip of leather. A beard covered his face, but in no way hid the strong angle of the jaw beneath.
Besides those differences, one more struck me as I scanned his body. I’d seen plenty of the man’s skin both in real life and on the silver screen, and the only scars he’d ever worn had been carefully placed by makeup artists. Now, I stared in fascination at his broad chest and arms covered in battle scars. I found myself reaching out and tracing a finger along a jagged line marking an old injury on his sun-bronzed forearm while he silently watched my actions.
The seemingly real dream surprised me. Did people imagine smells? The room had a wretched, pungent aroma from the animal fat of rushlights burning on an iron stand in the corner. Only an errant breeze through a door left ajar alleviated the nauseous feeling rising from the bottom of my stomach. The fragrance of fresh baked bread and cooked meat wafted in as well, causing a good-versus-bad aromatic clash.
The small room had stone walls, one sealed wooden door on the far side, and an open door leading outside on the other. I ran my hand along the table edge feeling along the bottom, catching a fingertip at the point of a rough splinter before it pierced my skin. The vividness of every last historical detail—sight, smell, and touch—astounded my shock-addled brain.
Iain spoke to me as he stepped closer, his expression bordering on astonishment. Yeah, well, that made two of us. “Isa?” He reached his hand out to touch me with such trepidation, I wondered if he thought I’d been conjured out of his imagination. Great. My apparition-Iain held the same wariness as I did about the whole situation—yet another reason I decided none of it could be real. I’d projected my feelings onto those around me.