What had she been thinking?
“Again, please,” she said weakly.
He laughed outright, climbing up her body, reveling in it as he went. He greeted her with a slow, deep kiss. Her own musk filled her senses, and she was startled at the new sparks crackling through her body in response.
His erection brushed against her hip, still hard and angry, and she grew serious. “But what of you?” Though it'd been made clear she didn't know exactly how matters proceeded between a man and a woman, Marjorie did know the male of the species derived some sort of physical release from the whole endeavor. “I thought we might… Can we still? Ohhh,” she cooed, realizing maybe there was more in store for her. Now that she'd recovered from her… coming, she was realizing her body was not quite done.
“Aye, we could still,” he conceded, repeating her implication. “But no, Ree. I'll not take that from you. You should be a maiden on your wedding day.”
Wedding day. She'd have neither a wedding day nor a wedding night. This time with Cormac, this was what mattered. There was no other man for her. She knew that, certain above all things. This was her one opportunity to experience true passion, and she had to seize it. Seize him, while she had the chance.
Glaring, she sat up. “I told you. I'll not have a wedding day. I'll not wed, unless… “ Unless it's you I wed. She trailed off, leaving the words unspoken.
He either didn't catch or refused to acknowledge her implication.
She hoisted herself onto her elbows. This experience had changed her. In fact, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say it had changed her whole understanding of the world. But the echoes of bliss had left her feeling hollow, as though only now did she realize how much he belonged inside her.
She still had needs, and she would see them satisfied. She just needed to make herself more clear.
“My life is full and rich,” she told him briskly. “I've decided to remain unmarried. So you see, it would be no problem for you to… for us to… “
“Why'd you never marry, Ree?” He tucked a damp tendril of hair behind her ear. “Why will you not?” The maddening man needed to get back to the topic at hand. She avoided his question, gesturing instead to his still-erect flesh. “Isn't that uncomfortable?”
He laughed. “I asked you a question. 'Tis customary to answer before posing your own.” Her eyes narrowed. Cormac had spent the past however many years glowering in silence, and now suddenly he wanted talking. “Is it customary to talk so much in the midst of… of such proceedings?”
“One could argue this is a part of such proceedings.” He drew his hand in one slow stroke along her cheek, down her neck, and over her breast to her belly. He watched the path of his hand with single-minded intent.
Her breasts pulled taut, her whole body quivering in response to his attention.
His attention. She sighed. How many years had she longed for such attentions from Cormac?
He gripped her hips firmly, staring at her with such purpose. He pressed close to her, and then abruptly he pulled away.
She studied him, his strong profile in the guttering candlelight. Folk had likened him and the other MacAlpins to devils, and Cormac was certainly as handsome as one. But his scarred brow bore so many secrets. What had dragged him from the darkness of Aidan's kidnap into such grave depths?
She could talk, she decided. For now. But she would convince him. Cormac would lie with her before the night was over.
“I'd like to answer your question with a question, then.” She'd grown chilled and reached for the sheet. With a gentle hand to stop her, Cormac leaned to the floor, retrieving his plaid to cover them. “Thank you,” she said as matter-of-factly as if she'd been at a banquet table.
“So.” She pinned him with a steady look. “I'd like to point out that you're not wed either.” He regarded her quietly, and uncertainty assailed her. Why hadn't he wed? Was there a woman out there somewhere whom he'd loved? Who'd hurt him? Was Marjorie not the only woman who waited for him?
“Oh.” Her voice was tiny. She felt tiny. She wanted to change the topic. Blast him, she wanted to flee from the damn room. But she had to know. “Have there been women?”
“I'm human, Ree.”
She blinked back the sting from her eyes. He was human. What could that possibly mean?
He touched her chin tenderly. “But have any found their way into my heart? No, Ree. None since you.”
“Oh,” she said again, and then grew brighter, considering the thought. Did that mean she'd been in his heart?
Was she in it still? She gave him a tremulous smile. If he wanted to talk, she'd be happy to plumb that topic for all it was worth. Cormac would have all the discussion he wanted.
But she would have Cormac before the sun rose.
Chapter 23
Into my heart? How had that slipped from his tongue?
He took in Ree's tousled hair, the sight of her lips swollen from his kisses. He'd kissed her and touched her, had tasted the most intimate parts of her. No, he knew exactly how he'd let it slip out. His resolve had shattered the moment she'd dropped her gown.
Her breasts had taken his breath away, full and flawless, her body glowing golden in the candlelight. And now this precious creature lay with him, their naked legs in a tangle. He held her close, stroking her pale skin, softer than any satin in his hands.
“Not since me?” She repeated his words with a smile.
He should've known she'd cling to that statement. “I suppose that's what I said.” She pursed her lips. “You suppose?”
“Yes. No. I mean… “ He couldn't help himself from stealing another touch. He rubbed his hand over her belly, letting his fingers sweep down to graze the small triangle of stiff curls. She was so gorgeous, so perfect, and she'd let him taste her.
He clenched his eyes shut — he couldn't concentrate with the sight of her naked shoulders to distract him. What had he been saying? “Aye, in my heart,” he confessed. “It's always been so.” Cormac dropped his head to the pillow in defeat. He was doing it again, saying more than he should. Turning onto his side, he shifted away, but the rich, musky scent of her only rose to him from the sheets. “Och, Ree, you have me at a disadvantage.”
She gave a sultry little laugh, and the sound terrified him.
“Then I
suppose I'll just have to keep you here.” She traced her fingers down his arm. Her touch was so soothing, so delicate, and yet so arousing.
His skin was on fire. He took a deep, measured inhale. He'd not steal her maidenhead like some undisciplined boy.
Talking. More talking might take his mind from it. “You're still avoiding my question.”
“Am I?” Her delicate fingers roved to his leg, outlining a pattern along the tartan draped over his thigh. She opened her hand, giving him a gentle squeeze.
He hissed out his breath. She was avoiding his question.
The look she gave him belied her inexperience. It was the look of a seductress. “But Cormac, I thought we were talking about your heart.”
“No,” he said in quick reply, eager to draw the subject away from dangerous waters. He couldn't remember the last time he'd thought of his heart as anything but a practical organ, good only for pumping battle lust through his veins. But that heart was waking back to life, and he realized Ree had been lodged just there for longer than he could remember. He'd dreamed of her for years. He'd cared for her — aye, if he had to admit it — loved her for years.
He couldn't let her know that, though; he couldn't let her in. The thought of it frightened him more than any battlefield. To be so vulnerable? He'd experienced loss once before; he'd not survive loving and losing her.
“We were talking about why you've not married,” he said firmly.
“Mm.” She may have sounded her assent, but Marjorie's mind was clearly on other matters. She shifted closer and slipped her arm beneath his plaid, placing her hand where she'd had it a moment before, only now it was the skin of her questing fingertips he felt on his leg.
“I wonder. Why ever have I not married?” The pattern she traced along his thigh made her words an innuendo. Her lips parted in the wicked suggestion of a smile.
He flexed his muscles, girding against Marjorie's onslaught. All he'd need to do was tilt his pelvis to her.
She'd know what he wanted. She'd wrap her cool, soft hand around him. He could teach her how to stroke him.
The mere thought of it made his cock pulse. Though he willed his flesh to calm, his blood pumped hot, leaving him hard and wanting. If she were to touch him, he knew there'd be no going back. And she deserved more than him.
More than this lie they enacted, more than Lord and Lady Brodie in a seedy, dockside inn. He'd not take her innocence from her.
Her touch drifted perilously close to his erection. He gently took her hand and tucked it along his side. “Why choose to live alone?”
“I don't live alone.” Slipping her hand away, she reached around to idly stroke his backside, bringing his cock to stand at happy attention. She rubbed a thumb along his hip bone. “Why, only just last month, Uncle Humphrey—”
“You're alone, Ree.” Tenderly, he lifted her chin to look her in the eye.
Her hand stilled. Sadness flickered in her eyes, and the sight of it speared him. He regretted his honesty, but she deserved more than this life she'd chosen for herself. And she deserved more than him.
He carefully removed her hand from where it rested heavily on his hip. “Humphrey's an old man whose only concerns are his books and botanicals.”
“He takes care of me.”
“You take care of him,” he insisted. “You take care of everyone, Ree. But who is there to care for you?” Cormac thought of his own situation. Waking, fishing, feeding his family, and sleeping alone once more. A life alone — hadn't they both made the same choice?
