by Jane Henry
“Remember that first night?” she asks.
“Aye,” I tell her with a smile. “The night you caught me in the cemetery, and I gave you hell for leaving without a guard.”
“Mmm,” she says. “The night I let my mind actually imagine something between me and you.”
I look at her curiously. “You mean to tell me you didn’t before?”
“Well…” she says, looking a bit sheepish. “I mean I did? I’ve always liked you Carson, and I’ve most definitely always found you…” she bites her lip. “Attractive. But I knew that your heart belonged to Eve, even after her death.”
My voice is a little husky when I whisper, “Aye.”
It seems she’s affected by memories as well, since she bites her lip and doesn’t speak for a moment, but when she does, her voice wobbles a little. “I think we should tell her.”
“What do you mean?” Megan comes up with all sorts of outlandish ideas.
“Tell her,” she says. “Tell Eve.” She shivers as the wind nips from the shore, cold and biting.
I eye her thoughtfully. “Don’t you reckon she knows, then? I mean, Father Finn says that death only separates us from life by a thin veil, or something, doesn’t he?”
“Aye,” she says. “But just because someone might already know something, don’t you think it’s still important to tell them anyway? Like… I tell you I love you. You know that I do. But doesn’t it… mean more if I say so?”
“I suppose you’re right,” I say to her. “Yes, let’s do that.”
She bends and picks a handful of wildflowers that sprout between the rocks at the cliff’s edge. “Here,” she says. “We’ll take these.”
And we do. Hand in hand, we walk away from the ocean and toward Holy Family, off to where the graveyard lies under shaded trees. It’s vacant today, save a little sparrow that flies from tree to tree as we enter, fighting against the winds that blow. Silently, we make our way to Eve’s grave.
She pauses a few feet away, as if giving me the freedom to approach first. The wind whips at her hair, and it flies about her like the mane of a wild stallion. She tries to tuck it behind her ears, but it’s no use.
“Come on,” I tell her, giving her hand a little tug. “We’ll go together, love.”
Today’s so unlike that first night we were both before Eve’s grave. We argued, then. It was the dead of night, and I was so furiously angry I could hardly see straight. I reckon I may have been harsh with her for just that reason. But God, how gorgeous she looked under the full moon, the prettiest thing I’ve ever set eyes on. After that night, I couldn’t get her out of my mind.
We approach Eve’s grave. Someone’s put flowers nearby recently, vivid red and purple flowers.
“From Aunt Maeve’s garden,” she whispers. “Aren’t they?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Aye.”
Megan bends and places the flowers she brought beside the ones already there.
“We brought you some flowers, Eve,” I say, feeling a bit strange speaking to her aloud. “That’s me and Megan who thought of that, by the way. She was the one who suggested it, and… well, I liked the idea.” Now that I’m talking to her, it seems I’ve so very many things to say. “Wee Breena’s grown up so much,” I tell her. “She looks so much like you. It’s been good for her, being surrounded by family as she is. Maeve treats her as if she were her own, and Breena calls her granny. And she’s got cousins, now.” I pause, because it’s gotten a little harder to speak. I open my mouth, but no words come.
“Aye,” Megan says cheerfully. “Loads of them. Uncles and aunts and cousins and… me.” Her own voice wobbles a little, but it doesn’t stop her from talking. It takes me a moment to see that she’s crying, but it doesn’t stop her from speaking her mind. Jesus, I love her. “And I promise you, friend. I’ll love them as best as I possibly can.” She sighs. “You have my word.”
It strikes me then that this is love, right here in a darkened cemetery, surrounded by the ghosts of the past and the sorrows of the present. Words spoken over the body of a woman I loved, words spoken by the woman I love now. Megan turns to me, and I brush her tears with the pad of my thumb. I place my finger under her chin and draw her up toward me. I bend and kiss her, a brush of lips, no more, no less. She sighs, and I taste her salty tears, before I pull away.
And the wind stops blowing.
“I don’t know how things work beyond the grave,” I say to Megan, drawing her to my chest as the warm sun from above basks on us. “But I like to think she’s at peace, now.”
Megan rests her hand gently on my shoulder. “I like to think you are, now, too.”
Chapter 20
Megan
The room’s so full it’s teeming with people. Everyone’s here, from Keenan and Caitlin and their children to Nolan and Sheena, her hand resting on her gently swollen belly, to even the lowest-ranking members of the Clan.
It warms my heart to see the couples together, mingling about with their children. It was only yesterday I told Carson that maybe the idea of marriage wasn’t such a bad thing after all. On a practical note, I know it’s best if we solidify our union and take advantage of the code that protects both me and Breena. But on the other hand, I wonder why I’ve objected all along. There are no other men for me.
Tiernan’s on holiday from St. Albert’s, sitting by the large open window, as a gentle late summer breeze rustles his hair, and Fiona sits beside him, chattering excitedly about her best friend who’s going off to Boston to study.
“Boston?” he says sharply. “Don’t you get any notions in your head now about going there.” She tosses back her head and shrugs.
“Like hell she will,” Lachlan says. He stands behind her with his hand in his pocket and a glass of whiskey in his hand.
She tosses her head and frowns at both of them. “Neither of you can tell me what to do,” she says. I know that feisty heart well, the one that wants to break away from the oppressive protection of the Clan and spread her wings. I sigh and make a mental note to have a wee chat with Fiona. I wonder if her reckless comments have anything to do with Lachlan joining the boys at the club in town last night.
Oh, heaven help, there’s a story there.
Carson squeezes my hand, and my eyes rove over the crowded room, growing a little misty. I love these people. I love this family.
“Jesus, that cake’s big enough to sink a boat,” Carson mutters when the staff brings out the largest cake I’ve ever seen in my life. “Fancy a look, Megan?”
I look at him curiously. I’ve rarely seen sweets pass the man’s lips. He’s rigorous about his diet and doesn’t like cake. But he knows I find chocolate cake nearly on par with a triple orgasm, and you have to love a man for that.
So with a shrug, I take his hand and follow his lead. I wonder why they’ve brought such a big cake out tonight. There is no major celebration yet, only Sunday brunch that Keenan’s called us to.
“Megan, cake!” Breena says, running to take my hand. I squeeze her little dimpled fingers in mine, and we slow our steps so she can keep up.
“Don’t you look lovely today?” I ask her. She’s wearing a light blue dress and matching fairy wings. Her nanny’s braided her hair, and helped her into her little patent leather shoes.
“Special day,” Breena says. “Nessa says.”
Her words have come along quite nicely since she’s been under the tutelage of Nessa, and it’s a joy to see her communicate more and more with every passing day.
“Aye,” Carson says, smiling at his daughter. “’Tis.”
I look at him curiously, but he’s staring at the cake. “Look, Megan,” he says, his voice thickening. “Look at the cake, love.”
I notice the billows of chocolate icing first, the chocolate flowers so pretty they’d almost be a shame to eat. Chocolate swirls decorate the edges, and pretty white swirls and loops make a lovely contrast.
And then I read the letters looped in ivory on the smooth su
rface of the center, and my heart comes to a stuttering halt. The room seems brighter as my breath escapes me.
Megan, will you marry me?
My hand flies to my mouth, and the room goes suddenly still. I blink back tears, my skin prickling with the awareness of dozens of eyes on me.
Oh my God.
I look sharply at him and the man is down on one knee, his eyes shining at me, and in his hand’s a black velvet box.
“Carson,” I whisper, because a whisper’s all I can muster.
“I’ve asked your cousins for your hand in marriage,” he says. “And they’ve granted their blessing.”
Of course they had to go about it the old-fashioned way. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.
I grin at him.
“Will you marry me, Megan?” he asks. “Spend the rest of your days with me?”
It feels as if everyone in the room holds their breath. I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue is frozen, until I see Breena’s wide eyes looking at me with hope and wonder. I’m not sure she knows what’s going on, but she knows this moment’s special.
“Aye, of course I will,” I say to him. “Yes!”
The room erupts into cheers and claps and catcalls. Carson’s grinning, then slipping a beautiful princess-cut diamond on my finger. And then his hands are cupping my jaw and he’s bending down toward me, and his mouth’s on mine. There are so many people congratulating me, I hardly know what to do. I’m hugging and kissing, swept up in the joy of this moment.
“Alright, you lot,” Carson says, pushing his way through the crowd. I watched as he had his fair share of handshakes and congratulatory smacks on the back. He’s likely had enough, and so have I. He’s got an enormous slab of cake on a plate, and he’s heading my way. “If I know my betrothed, she’ll want a piece of this cake, so part the Red Sea and let us alone for a bit, will you?”
“And this is why I love the man,” I say to the room.
He leads me to a table someone’s set up, with champagne flutes and a pretty white lace tablecloth.
“Was this right under my nose and I never noticed?” I ask, shaking my head.
“Aye,” he says with a chuckle. “Made it easier for us. Ten times I thought you’d figure it out, but you didn’t.”
“I guess I didn’t give it much thought,” I say to him. “Wasn’t it only ten minutes ago I even told you I was warming up to the idea of marriage?” I give him a teasing grin. It was longer than that, and I’m absolutely fine with the idea of marriage.
We stay and feast for a good long while, until Breena yawns widely and I follow suit. “Right, then,” Carson says gently. “Let’s get you two girls upstairs.”
Since we’ve got Breena, Keenan’s given us an entire suite to ourselves. I love that we don’t have to travel to his place. I love that my best friends and my cousins are right here in the family home. I can pad down the hallway to Aileen’s in my jammies or visit Caitlin’s, Breena can play with her cousins, and I only cook when I feel like it.
And Carson loves being here as well. He doesn’t say much about it, but I know it must make him feel like he belongs here more fully, like he’s a true part of this family. It’s hard to believe only a few months ago he and Breena were nearly alone, and now he’s a full-fledged brother in the Clan.
I yawn so widely my eyes water when he shuts the door. “You go rest,” he says. “I’ll get Breena to bed.” He nods toward the doorway. Breena’s arms are wrapped around his neck, and damn if that doesn’t make my heart go all melty. She’s half asleep, as he holds her to him, but not so tired she doesn’t manage a little wiggle of her fingers to bid me goodnight.
I kiss her cheek. “Good night, sweet girl,” I whisper. She smiles and closes her eyes. I watch him walk toward her room that’s opposite ours for privacy. He opens the door and walks her to bed, and I head to our room.
We wanted to keep things as simple as we could when we moved in together. I brought the majority of the furnishings and the like from my place, and he brought some of his favorite things as well, but we discarded the things we didn’t need. It seemed the right thing to do. Being together gives us so much, it feels like we don’t need more belongings to clutter things up. So our home is simple and classic, a merging of our two lives.
I strip off my clothes and toss them into the hamper. I watch as the silky fabric slides to the bottom, then stretch and yawn. It’s a sort of ritual at the end of the day, stripping out of my clothes and changing into something comfortable. I walk to the bathroom and flick the lights on, remove my makeup, then take out the pins that hold my hair in place. It cascades onto my shoulders, and I lift my hairbrush when Carson enters behind me.
He takes one look at me, and his eyes grow hungry.
“Aren’t you a picture,” he murmurs.
He’s taken off his dress shirt, and leans against the doorframe, watching me.
“Go on,” he says. “Don’t stop on my account.”
I smile at him and brush my hair. “You like this, don’t you?”
“Watching you get ready? I love it.”
“Why?” I ask, while I brush my hair.
He shrugs. “Reckon it’s like you’ve let me into something intimate,” he says. “And because you’re beautiful.”
I smile. “Thank you.” And he honestly makes me feel beautiful. I can’t say that about anybody else, that anyone else has ever made me feel the way he does.
“Breena asleep?”
“Before her head hit the pillow.”
I smile, placing the brush down in a little basket. “Wears herself out, doesn’t she?”
“Her nanny helps.”
“You ought to tip Nessa, then.”
He grins. “Noted.”
I turn to face him, my skin prickling under the intensity of his gaze. Something tells me I’m not going to bed anytime soon.
“Hand me that brush, will you?” he says. He places his hand, palm open, and I slide the brush into his hand, eyeing him thoughtfully.
He slides it into his pocket, takes me by the hand, and leads me to bed. I climb onto my side and plop onto the pillows. The sheets are freshly washed and fragrant, cool and comforting. I yawn again.
He kicks his shoes off, then reaches for his belt buckle. I watch as he slides it out of the loops on his pants, doubles it over, and gives it a good snap before tossing it to a chair. My heartbeat quickens.
He unfastens his trousers and steps out of them, tosses them into the hamper, then joins me in his boxers and t-shirt.
“We aren’t going to bed anytime soon, are we?” I ask him teasingly.
He grins. “Eh, you can close your eyes.”
I almost don’t want to, because I love looking at him, but at his suggestion, my eyes feel suddenly far too heavy.
I feel him come up beside me. He straddles me from behind, and I’m leaning up next to him, when he starts to brush my hair.
I sigh in contentment, it feels that good.
“Half expected you to spank me with it,” I tease.
“Have you been naughty?” he asks in a stern voice, one of his brows quirking up.
I shake my head, as a shiver of delight weaves its way through me.
“Good girl,” he says, and his voice full of pride. “I’m so pleased you said yes, Megan.”
“I had to,” I tell him. “Was meant to be, don’t you know.”
I smile at his low, deep chuckle. “I do know.” My chest warms. It takes me a minute to realize exactly what it is I feel.
Content.
Loved.
Cherished.
“Come here,” he says, in that low, sexy growl that makes my sex clench. He’s giving me that sexy-stern look I’ve come to crave. He crooks a finger at me, and I crawl over to him, my eyes fixed on his. When I reach him, he arranges me over his lap, straddling him.
He reaches for his drink and to my surprise, dips his fingers into the liquid. A moment later, he’s got a half-melted ice cube between his fing
ers. He places the drink back down, then turns to me.
“Clasp your hands behind your head,” he says.
I swallow hard, my eyes fixed on him. I obey. My full, heavy breasts are bared before him, and his hungry gaze grows rabid. I know that look well. My heart beats faster.
He crooks a finger at me. I bend lower.
He takes the ice cube and traces it down the slope between my breasts. My nipples peak from the cold, just before he leans in and grasps the hardened peak between his teeth. I gasp, and he moves the ice cube lower, down my belly to between my legs, then back up again, as he licks and suckles my nipple. My head falls back as he trails the ice all over my body. He releases my nipple then laps the melted water.
“Fucking nectar of the gods,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “You taste so fucking good.” He sucks the ice cube between his lips, grasps the back of my head, and yanks my mouth to his. I taste salty wetness and fiery whiskey, his latent desire and my pressing need, as his tongue slips into my mouth and I feel his fingers find my wet, needy folds.
I’m rocking my hips against his hand while he fondles my breast and kisses me, swallowing my moans and mastering my body to climax. He pulls his mouth off mine and breathes in my ear. “No coming without permission. I’ll whip your sweet cunt if you do.”
I whimper and try to squeeze my legs together to stop the low hum of need that’s rocking my lower body, but I can’t straddled atop him like this. He abruptly removes his fingers and grasps my hips, lifts me up, and plants me next to him.
“On your back,” he says. “Now.”
I obey as quickly as I can. He reaches for the bedside table and removes a strip of silk, wraps it around my wrists, and positions them above my head.
He bends and brings his mouth to my ear. “I want that pretty pussy,” he whispers. “Spread your legs, love. And if you think you’re going to come, you say sir.”
I nod my head and watch as he reaches for his glass of whiskey again. What the hell is he doing now? There are benefits to being with a guy as smart as Carson. His mind’s kinky as fuck, and I love it.
