Page 73 of It Happened in the Highlands
“Allez,”she murmured.
He pushed slowly into her opening, pausing, waiting, allowing the anticipation to amplify the pleasure. For his part, Wynne was going insane, but he held back even as Jo lifted her hips. Every inch of her body seemed aware, craving his next move.
Madness. Lunacy. He wanted to drive deep into her. But instead, Wynne’s hands held onto her hips, his skin beading in perspiration as he summoned his control.
With their bodies connected, their eyes met. They were both burning. Ever so slowly, Jo lifted her hips farther, drawing him halfway into her. He moved slowly, in and out, still not embedding himself fully.
She was drawing shallow breaths, and he knew she was feeling the same rising pressure that he was. She reached out for him. He met her halfway, and their open-mouthed kiss was hot enough to set the sheets on fire.
“Take me now,” she whispered.
“New rules?” he growled.
Wynne’s hands tightened on her hips, his fingers biting into her flesh as he impaled himself fully inside her. Withdrawing his shaft to the very tip, he paused and then plunged into her again. Instinctively, Jo hooked her legs around his waist, urging him on. He kissed her mouth hungrily as their rhythms overwhelmed all conscious thought. Again and again he slid out and rocked into her, accelerating with each succeeding stroke.
Colors of orange and gold and red flashed in his brain and a roaring filled his ears. Still he held on, wanting her to come. Her panting breaths were moans and then pleasured cries. Her fingers were digging into his arms and then clutching at the sheets. Over and over he drove into her, filling her with all he had.
And then it came, a blast of glittering passions. Simultaneous, brilliant, mind-shattering, an explosion that consumed them both in a dazzling moment of oblivion. And in that instant, as their bodies melded into one, as they spiraled upward together, a heaven was created . . . a golden place for them alone where a throne was reserved for the winners of such inspired sport.
An eon later, as Wynne held her in his arms, Jo kissed his lips.
“You realize,” she whispered happily, “we have two days left until our wedding, which gives us plenty of time for more competitions.”
“Well, I hope you’re not planning to forfeit the additional contests we have scheduled for tonight.”
“I can’t wait to hear the rules, Captain.”
* * *
“Abram worked at Tilmory Castle before hiring on in the kitchens at the Abbey,” Wynne told Jo sometime later, after another round of love-making. They lay face-to-face in the bed, her hands under her cheek, their legs entwined. “Of course, we knew nothing of that.”
Jo had almost been convinced that Abram’s schemes had no connection to the Bartons, but were the result of an old grudge. She’d been wrong.
“He now says that he was paid by Mrs. Barton to work here and to keep an eye on her son.”
“Was it only her, or was Graham involved too?”
“He claims it was Mrs. Barton who called him in and gave him his orders. If Graham knew about it or not, Abram had no idea.”
If one ignored all that happened after, Jo could understand the benefit of placing Abram in the Abbey. What better way to keep an eye on the care being given to someone you love? In this case, it was a twisted love, at best.
“Her motivation wasn’t concern about her son, was it?” she asked.
“When Abram first came to work in the ward? It’s difficult to say. But later?” Wynne’s face hardened as he curled a lock of her hair around a finger and looked into her eyes. “The day she first saw you at the Abbey, Abram said she spoke to him as they left. He claims her exact words were that her son was already dead to her because of the state of his mind. Then she told him Charles wouldn’t want to live like that and Abram was to end it. Kill him.”
She couldn’t fathom how a mother could order the end of her own child’s life. No matter how old, or what the condition of his mind, it made no sense to Jo.
But she knew the truth. It had nothing to do with Charles’s mind. The trigger was Jo’s arrival at the Abbey.
“Why get Cuffe involved? Why the deception?”
“Abram claims he didn’t trust Mrs. Barton. She was madder than the patients at the Abbey. He insists Cuffe misunderstood him. Says he intended no harm to come to Charles Barton. He never planned to follow through with her order. Of course, he’s only admitting to any of this now because blame needs to be assigned somewhere—and he’s pointing the finger at her.”
“You don’t believe him, do you?” she asked.
“He’s a liar,” Wynne told her. “Abram was smart enough to realize the likeliness and consequences of getting caught. If Charles’s death appeared to be accidental, he’d still get compensated by the mother. If he didn’t succeed, he’d play it as he is now.”
“What will happen to him?” she asked.
