Chapter Six

By the third day of rain, Cam believed he'd gone past fooked and into damned territory. But not like regular damned… This was the damnéd of poets, when they have to add in an extra syllable just to tell you how damnéd you really are.

And it all began and ended with Miss Jade Thacker.

His maybe wife.

Nay, she's no' yer wife yet, because ye havenae fooked her yet. She's still yer bride.

Not a helpful distinction.

Because by the third day of being trapped inside with her, Cam was well on his way to being in love.

But whatever his feelings for her, he was a gentleman. He knew what she wanted, and it wasn't him; it wasn't any sort of husband. And the moment Cam made her his, the way he ached to do, she'd lose any sort of leverage to have this marriage annulled.

So keep yer hands to yerself.

It was difficult. Jade was unknowingly making it more difficult, with her smiles and teasing winks and the way her arse moved whenever she walked away and how sometimes she'd bend over to pick up something and Cam's cock would jump to attention without a thought.

Hell, the woman could likely pick her teeth or dig in her ear and Cam would find it erotic.

Erotic teeth picking. I dinnae recall that entry in A Harlot's Guide.

He'd found an edition of the book in the study the night before last. Well, confession: he'd gone looking for the thing, recalling he'd left it at The Cottage years ago. It was a helpful little tome, and he'd long ago made it a point to keep a copy wherever he stayed.

Well, last night he'd needed something to take his mind off the fact Jade was sleeping in his bed, and figured a good hand-frigging was necessary.

But it hadn't worked, because all the illustrations reminded him of Jade, and the thought of her in those positions had been enough to make him come. Twice.

And he still tossed and turned on the hard sofa.

Unfortunately, Jade didn't seem nearly as affected as he was. Despite being indoors for so long, she still seemed cheerful, issuing commands to him he was happy to go along with. He was an easygoing sort of fellow, and she was used to being in control of her company. And frankly, he'd eat hot coals just to have her smile at him, so…

Aye, he was damnéd.

That first day, after finishing the cookies, they went hunting for more food, assuming that would be the priority. Luckily, Mrs. Higgins had ensured the icebox was well-stocked, and the pantry had more basics. They had sandwiches for luncheon, and for dinner they heated the remainder of the stew from the night before.

Although Cam didn't need any oysters to help him in the cockstand department, thankyeverramuch. Thank fook Jade apparently didn't know the rumors of shellfish being an aphrodisiac, because he didn't think he'd be able to stand her teasing looks as they ate.

The following morning, she pulled out a book of recipes, and the two of them had made bread together. It was a messy process, and the result wasn't nearly as light and airy as the loaf Mrs. Higgins had left them, but they would survive.

Since the oven was hot, Cam talked her into making another batch of cookies.

"What? You've finished the batch we made yesterday?"

He'd pretended to be offended. "Ye helped eat them, lass."

"Only the cock-shaped ones, since you refused to touch them."

God Almighty, but the sound of the word cock on her lips went straight to his groin. He must've made a little sound of protest, because her smile grew.

"And besides," she drawled. "I ate mine daintily. You were the one who made a show of licking all the icing off the one shaped like—what was it?"

Cam closed his eyes on a groan. "An arse, Treasure," he admitted in a strained voice.

"Oh, yes, a pair of perfectly plump cheeks, I remember. You licked them clean, which was most uncouth."

Uncouth? Cam knew the sight of her delicately nibbling at the tip of an erect cock would keep him awake again that night.

"What if I promise to stick to more conventional shapes?" he asked desperately. "Squares, circles, rhombuses?"

"Rhombuses?" She smirked. "Rhombi?"

Dammit, he wanted more cookies! "Rhombedes."

She was outright giggling now. "What?"

"Octopus has a Greek stem, so the correct plural is octopodes. I'm not sure about rhombus."

She laughed, and pulled out the sugar. "Absolutely no rhombuseseses. Now that I know your preferred cookie shape, I'm going to try my hand at cutting them into naughty shapes. You get to stir and roll today, I'm cutting."

What followed was an hour of laughter and jokes as he gave her impromptu anatomy lessons and she made a point of cutting everything correctly. He might've been able to control himself, had she not demanded a reference guide, and then jogged to the sitting room to pull out that apparently not-very-well-hidden copy of A Harlot's Guide.

Cam's knees had gone weak, watching her consult the illustrations as she bent over the cutting board.

He doubted he'd forget the sight of her tongue poking out from between her lips, a smudge of flour on her cheek, as she concentrated on getting the outer labia of a cookie just so.

Cookies should not be erotic.

He'd made the shapes as a joke, but now… God help him, she'd turned the joke on him.

Luckily, she made plenty of shapes he was willing to eat, and they enjoyed the cookies throughout the day, as they made a simple dinner from ingredients in the icebox, and then organized the pantry and china closet.

It wasn't something he would've suggested, but she didn't leave him room for argument.

"Stop fussing, Cam! You can't just sit around on your hands for the rest of the day; you'll go mad! And the china needs dusting. Help me stack these saucers on the dining table, please. I think I saw some rags in the bedroom."

He pretended to object, even as he began moving things about. "First of all, those are my handkerchiefs, and my valet will challenge anyone who says differently to a duel. Second of all, I can happily sit on my hands all day."

Not that he would be doing exactly that; he had last quarter's profits to review, but of course he didn't want to do it where she could see.

She was already moving toward the hall. "Handkerchiefs are rags, and ask your valet if he prefers foils or broadswords."

Cam's laughter followed her through the house.

But The Cottage was small, and most of the bedrooms were unfurnished—hence his aching back from sleeping on the sofa. There was only so much they could organize or straighten or clean.

Which was why today, the third day of rain, the pair of them were standing in front of a cabinet in the parlor.

"Are ye certain ye'd rather no' just read books?" Cam asked with a wince, eyeing the collection of boxes. "There's quite a few along the other wall."

"We tried that already." Jade threw him a lewd wink. "Our literary tastes intersect in only one, very important book."

He swallowed, remembering how happily she'd exclaimed as she'd flipped through the pages of A Harlot's Guide. He shouldn't have been surprised she was familiar with the publication, but God Almighty, a man could only put up with so much in the erotic fantasy department.

"Nay," he managed weakly. "Perhaps reading isnae the best idea after all."

She nodded firmly and reached for the boxed set. "Chess?"

It was one of the only recognizable games some long-ago, well-meaning soul had left, but Cam wrinkled his nose. "Malcolm always despaired of my ability to sit still long enough to finish a game."

With a little chuckle, Jade twisted to place the game on a low table. "So what you're saying is I have a better-than-even chance of kicking your arse at chess. Got it. A definite maybe."

Groaning, Cam reached into the cabinet once more. "How about this one? It appears to be made up of small letters on squares. Ye place the letters out to make words."

"Make words?" she repeated doubtfully, peering over his shoulder to see better, her breath fluttering in his ear. "That sounds…boring."

"Oh, I dinnae ken." He struggled to keep his tone nonchalant. "I can think of some interesting words."

Humming, she took it out of his hands. "Like ‘titillate' and ‘engorged'?"

God Almighty, did she realize what it did to him, hearing those words on her lips? "I was thinking more like…" His voice sounded strained, even to his ears. "'Rhubarb' and ‘frigid' and ‘sanctimonious'."

She was reading the instructional booklet. "No good," she muttered. "We only get seven letters. So virgin would work, but virginal or insatiable wouldn't. Ooh, look, if I spell ‘brazen' along this side of the board, it's a triple-word score! That would make it…um…sixty-three points!"

There were points involved in this game? Cam was trying to follow her logic, but his mind kept getting stuck on the way her lips had looked when she'd said insatiable.

"The letters Q, X, J, and Z seem to be worth the most. I can't think of a word with all of those letters, but quim would be worth fifteen—"

"That's enough, lass," he blurted, as he snatched the box from her hands. "Let's see what else is available."

She shrugged, and her eyes sparkled with enough mischief to make him wonder if she knew how much trouble her innocent words were causing him.

"Here's another game I've never heard of."

She pulled out a large folded piece of canvas, painted with what looked to be big colored circles. "What is it?" he asked.

"It seems to be…" She trailed off as she pulled out a piece of cardboard with an arrow attached. "Oh, yes. Look, you spin this arrow, and then everyone puts their right foot on green."

"On the green dot?" He frowned. "That doesnae seem so difficult."

"But then you have to put your…left hand on blue. And your—let's see—right hand on green."

"But our right feet are already on green." This sounded dumb.

"Yes." She winked at him. "Imagine how twisted up we'd become."

And just like that, the image came to him; the pair of them attempting to balance as they followed the game's silly instructions, would be reminiscent of what he'd rather be doing. The pair of them, nude and glistening and panting, wrapped around each other in bed.

Abruptly, Cam stood, dragging her along with him. The stupid game fell from her fingers, and he couldn't stop himself from grabbing her hand, suddenly feeling as if the walls were too tight around him.

"Let's go for a walk," he blurted hoarsely.

Amused, she glanced at the window. "Have you forgotten it's raining?"

Desperate now, he took two steps toward the door before even looking toward the panes. "It's slowed down, aye?" The thunder had stopped that first day, and now… "Look, it's merely a drizzle." He tugged again. "Come along, lass, neither of us will melt."

"I'm not so sure of that," he thought he heard her mutter under her breath. But then she nodded. "It is getting a little tight in here. And getting wet won't hurt us."

Tight. Wet. God Almighty, he did not need to hear her use that sort of language.

"This way, then," he announced in loud relief, reaching for one of the three umbrellas in the stand beside the front door.

Chuckling, she joined him, and as he pulled open the door, shrieked a little in laughter as she tried to open her umbrella without getting wet. He handed her his while he struggled with hers, and she—still laughing—stepped out from under the portico.

He'd been correct; the rain had lessened today. Whereas yesterday it had beat steadily and relentless against the thatch and soaked ground, today the storm seemed to admit that perhaps it had been hasty in its "never-ending flood" threats, and it was considering petering off and having a lie down among the hills inland a bit, manifesting as a light drizzle here and there.

The wind was still steady, but it always was around this part of the coast. It whipped the remaining splatter of raindrops in all directions; sometimes downward, often sideways, and on one memorable occasion, Cam swore he saw it raining upward.

But he was out of doors, and he was with Jade, and as he breathed deeply of the salty sea air, he felt himself calming, and knew this was what he'd needed.

She was the one to slip her hand through his, and he took it gratefully. With their palms pressed together, and rain soaking their wrists where the umbrella's protection didn't extend, he imagined he could feel her heartbeat.

Imagined it matched his.

Without discussing their destination, they both turned toward the cliffs, which overlooked the beach. It was only a short distance down, but Cam could see how muddy the path was, and didn't bother leading her toward it. Instead, they stopped with The Cottage to their backs, and their umbrellas in their hands, and peered out across Solway Firth.

When he was younger, right after Da had signed the property over to him, he used to peer out at the water with a telescope, watching the boats and imagining he could see clear to the other side, to the lassies sunning on the beach at Siloth.

Now, however, the Firth was a nasty churning of storm-swept gray with hints of blue on the tips of each wave.

Very much like Jade's eyes.

She said something, but the wind snatched it away from her. He turned to face her, the tips of their umbrellas bouncing against each other, since he refused to release her hand.

"What?" he yelled.

"It's lovely!" she bellowed in return.

His lips curled into a lazy smile, and he didn't bother turning to glance at the Firth again, but held her gaze. "It certainly is."

He wasn't sure if she heard him, or just was able to read the words. Either way, he saw her cheeks darken in a blush, and a small smile tugged at her lips as she lowered her eyes.

He wanted her. He wanted to taste her again, the way he'd done that night in the hotel. He wanted to claim her, to make her his… But at that moment, he'd settle for a kiss.

A kiss on a rain-soaked cliff overlooking a stormy sea. A kiss to tell her—to show her!—how special she was.

To him.

But…once he kissed her, could he let her go? Eventually, this storm would have to stop, and either Da would arrive to explain this mess, or Cam would be able to walk to the village and send a telegram north demanding what in the everloving fook his father had been thinking.

Eventually. Because all good things must come to an end.

And when this—this—this interlude, this being stuck in The Cottage with Jade Thacker, when this came to an end… If he'd kissed her, would Cam be able to let her go?

The way she wanted?

At that moment, a gust of wind tore the umbrella from Jade's grip. She twisted, but was only in time to see it tumbling away, smashing against the side of The Cottage before continuing its journey toward freedom.

Cursing, Cam stepped forward, trying to save her, but Jade surprised him.

Instead of hurrying under the meager protection his umbrella offered, she laughed. She laughed, and spun in a circle, the rain already plastering her blouse against her skin, outlining her corset beneath.

Under the thick kilt Cam wore, his cock decided perhaps it wasn't so chilly out here after all.

Because he'd thought Jade lovely before, but now… Now, seeing her with this much joy, this much unfettered passion…he was lost.

She caught him staring at her, and must not have seen his thoughts in his expression. If she had, she wouldn't have stopped laughing, wouldn't have stepped closer, close enough to gain protection from his umbrella, close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough he could see his hopelessly enamored gaze reflected in the raindrops clinging to her lips.

He wanted her.

He couldn't have her, because she didn't want him.

Remember the way she tastes.

God Almighty, did he.

Her tongue darted across her lips, catching those raindrops, and he was fairly certain he groaned aloud. "Jade," he began in a strangled voice, but then was at a loss of how to finish his thought.

She met his eyes, and smiled.

***

Three days. Three days, trapped in The Cottage with Cam, three days of him ignoring her hints and subtlety. Three days of working beside him, laughing beside him, teasing him, finding excuses to touch him.

And three nights of lying in his bed, aching with need, unable to capture that breathless joy he'd so easily gifted her in that hotel room.

She wanted him, and she could tell he wanted her.

And she was tired of him being such a gentleman.

He was a rake, dammit, and it was time he start acting like one.

Standing there in the rain, gazing up at him, each raindrop touched her wet skin with a sharp prick of electricity. Each breeze felt like a gale, pushing her toward him. And she knew it was time to take matters into her own hands.

So when he murmured her name in that hopeless tone, she smiled. And stepped forward. And kissed him.

It was an awkward kiss for a few reasons.

One: it was colder out here than she'd expected, what with the soaked clothing.

Two: she wasn't—to be fair—particularly experienced in the kissing department, and this was the first she'd tried to initiate.

And Three: the recipient of her kiss had apparently entered the All-British Statue Mimicry Competition, and was making great strides—or rather, none at all—toward winning.

Damn.

Well, at this moment, she couldn't do a thing about numbers one and two, but three…

She was the proud owner of a leather-bound, fully illustrated edition of A Harlot's Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts, and she'd read it cover to cover twice, before bookmarking her favorite pages and positions. Which she'd spent the last few years referring to in the dead of night, when the need became too great and she required release.

One thing the Guide was clear on was the appeal of a wet woman. Especially one who was bold enough to initiate a kiss.

She would be appealing, dammit.

Jade lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck, pulling herself closer, plastering herself against him… She knew she was soaking wet, knew she was dripping all over him, but hoped her gamble would pay off.

For a long moment, Cam continued his statue impression. Then, thank goodness, she felt him relax, loosen, surrender. As one of his large hands curled around her hip, she felt his lips part beneath hers, felt him rumble a growl which reached into the depths of her core and pulled.

In this position, she couldn't squeeze her thighs together to assuage the ache, so she did the next best thing—which she quickly realized was the best thing—in the circumstances; she pushed her pelvis against his, and felt the thick hardness she was hoping to feel.

As his lips claimed her in all the best ways, she remembered the way he'd looked, one of those hands wrapped around his thick cock, pumping as he'd commanded her to come. Ai-ya, that memory left her breathless. Or maybe it was the kiss.

With a whimper, she gyrated against him, trying to press that hardness against the top of her cleft, where she needed the pressure, needed his touch.

Another burst of wind startled her, and then raindrops were hitting her once more. She glanced down to see Cam had dropped his umbrella—because of the wind, or because he wanted both his hands free?—and shifted to stand atop it so it wouldn't join hers in blowing to oblivion. His free hand now cupped the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him, as his hold on her hip moved to her rear end, his strong fingers claiming her in the most delightful way.

But even as his kisses moved down her jaw to her neck, and Jade tipped her head back to the rain, reveling in the feel of his skin against hers, she knew it wouldn't be enough.

No, it wouldn't be enough, not until she could touch him, and he could touch all of her.

Cameron MacKay had ruined her.

She would never be satisfied without him.

"Treasure," he growled against her skin, the vibrations sending shudders through her. "Ye're so…"

Perhaps he finished his thought, and she couldn't hear him above the sound of the rain and her own pulse in her ears. Or perhaps he was as breathless and incoherent as she was.

She moaned in encouragement as his hand dropped from her neck to her chest, cupping one small breast through the wet cotton and corset. She wanted that, wanted more, but not here, surrounded by the fury of sea and sky.

He must've thought the same, because he broke away with a sound of protest. "Treasure," he groaned, pressing his forehead to hers. "We're soaking wet."

Instinctively pressing her thighs together, Jade agreed without thinking. "I certainly am."

And when he groaned again, he flexed forward in a movement she thought might've been instinctual. She grinned, knowing the power she had over this man, but inside, another part of her was slathering in anticipation of his directions.

"Come," she whispered, knowing he could hear her under the sound of the wind. "Come inside. With me."

When she took his hand, he stooped to pick up the umbrella, but followed wordlessly after her. And she knew she'd get what she needed.