Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(14)
He shrugged. “It's a popular spot.” When he saw her expression, he amended, “During the day.”
“Perhaps this isn't a good idea.”
He cocked a brow. “You aren't going to turn around now, are you?”
She chewed on her lip, her tiny white teeth pressing into the soft pillow of pink. “I don't know …”
God, she had no idea what she did to him. Heat built inside him, pooling in his groin. He forced his gaze away from her mouth. Time to cool off. He quickly divested himself of his clothing and weapons. Rather than the two-handed claidbeamb da laimb and longbow he preferred on the battlefield, at court he carried a pistol, a short sword—mere ornament for Lowland courtiers—and a dirk. After unbuckling his thick leather belt, he removed his plaid and tossed it beside the rest of his belongings. In deference to the innocence of his companion, he kept on the linen shirt that fell almost to his knees.
Flashing a jaunty grin at her flushed face, he said, “Suit yourself,” before running to the edge of the loch and diving in.
The cold water washed over him in an invigorating shock, cooling some of the lust from his blood. He surfaced some distance away from where she was standing, but he could see her indecision clear enough in the furtive glances she kept casting from the ground at her feet to the water.
He treaded for a few minutes, watching her struggle and trying not to laugh. “It feels amazing in here,” he taunted. “You don't know what you're missing.”
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You are not a very nice man, Duncan Campbell.”
He grinned. “I never claimed otherwise.”
He heard her mutter something unflattering before her hands began to work the ties of her cloak, letting it slip to the ground in a pool of black. He stilled, all joking suddenly cast aside, as he was utterly transfixed by the spectacle on the shore. Watching her undress like this was the most erotic thing he'd ever beheld. Pure torture, but he could not look away.
Though from this distance the plain ivory linen nightraile was modest, his body fired at the realization that all that separated her from nakedness was a thin swathe of fabric. Fabric that when wet would become virtually transparent. The relief he'd felt only moments ago from the cold water suddenly vanished. He went as hard as a damned spike, grateful for the dark water that hid the force of his reaction from her view.
She kicked off her slippers and pulled the combs out of her hair. The long locks tumbled down her back in a thick, shimmering wave of fiery auburn. He wanted to bury his face in its softness, feel it fall on his naked chest like a silky shroud as she rode him. He nearly groaned at the vivid images.
All her hesitation gone, she ran toward the water, following his path and diving in.
He saw the splash and the ripple of water as she swam under the water toward him. His heart pounded something fierce as he waited for her to surface. His entire body throbbed with desire. How the hell was he going to keep his hands off her?
She broke through the water a few feet away, hair slicked back, droplets of water sparkling on her skin in the opalescent moonlight like faerie dust, a smile of pure pleasure spread across her radiant face. Did she have any idea how beautiful she was?
His chest tightened. If there'd been any doubt before, there wasn't any now: He loved her. Loved her with an intensity that took his breath away. He'd never thought himself capable of feeling like this.
“You were right, you fiend. It feels wonderful.”
The laughter in her voice made him smile. “Ah, then I'll refrain from saying I told you so.”
“You just did,” she quipped playfully, before putting her hands together and pushing enough water to thoroughly douse him. After shaking his head to clear the water from his face, he fixed his gaze on her with predatory intent. “So that's how it's going to be, is it? Hasn't anyone every told you never start a war you can't win?”
He lunged for her. She squealed with laughter and kicked backward to evade his grasp.
Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she tisked her head in mock disappointment. “A braw Highland warrior like you? I expected better. You'll have to do much better than that if you are going to catch me.”
And with that she disappeared under the water.
He grinned and gave chase. Practically raised in the water, Duncan was the fastest swimmer in his clan. Last year he'd come in second to Rory MacLeod at the swimming competition at the Highland Gathering. Next year he intended to be first.
He didn't expect it to be much of a chase, but Jeannie surprised him. What she lacked in strength, she made up in agility and speed.
She was quick, he'd give her that. A wolfish smile curled his lips. But not quick enough.
He held back, lulling her into a false sense of security for a few minutes, before catching up with her in a few powerful strokes. With one hand he reached out and latched his fingers around a slim ankle, pulling her back until he circled her waist. The ivory linen of her nightraile puffed out like a sail, revealing long, shapely legs. She tried to wriggle free, but he held her firm, her efforts only succeeding in stirring his body to painful awareness. He pulled her around to face him when they burst through the surface, both of them gasping big gulps of air from their underwater struggle.
Her eyes shone with laughter as she tried to push away. “Let me go.”
“I don't think so,” he said, snuggling her more firmly against him. God she felt amazing. Chest to chest, hip to hip, legs entwined—he could feel every glorious inch of her. From the soft pillow of her lush br**sts, to the hard point of her ni**les and bones of her hips, to the sweet juncture at her thighs, to the strong, lean muscles of her legs. They could have been naked, there was nothing between them but water and wet fabric.