A glance from the clock on the wall to Brontë’s face told him this wasn’t her usual time to retire.
“We can talk over breakfast,” the older woman added. “That is, if you’re spending the night.”
Brontë covered her face. “Nice, Granny. Very subtle.”
“I only meant —”
“I know what you meant.” Brontë lifted her head and arched a brow at her grandmother. “I think we all know what you meant.”
In all honesty, Tris wasn’t entirely certain. She must have been offering him a room for the evening. The other option was too scandalous to consider.
“I don’t know if Tris wants to stay,” Brontë berated the woman. “He may want to go home instead.”
Violet leveled him with an inquisitive look. “Do you want to go home?”
“I...er,” he sought an appropriate response. “I’ve nothing pressing, as long as I’ll be home when I need to be.” Brontë managed a nod. “Then I’m most appreciative of the invitation, if you’ve room to spare.”
A blank look descended over Violet’s face before she recovered herself. “I’m sure my granddaughter has —”
“Enough, Granny!” Brontë leapt to her feet, her face aflame. “Oh my God, could you possibly make this any worse? Why don’t you toddle off to bed now?” She snatched up Violet’s hand and dragged her toward a door opposite the one they’d come in. Her voice lowered to a hiss, but this time he caught the words. “I’m going to kill you!”
A disrespectful and vile threat, yet Violet threw back her silvery head and laughed aloud. She waved to him over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Mr. MacKintosh.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Graham.”
TRIS WAS AT THE CABINET refilling his whisky when Brontë returned. She didn’t blame him. Her granny could be a lot to take on a normal day, but when she was trying to hook up her granddaughter after a year-long romantic drought, apparently, she tended to go overboard.
Way, way overboard.
“I’m so sorry for my grandmother’s behavior,” she said. “She thinks she’s being cute. Or funny. Or something.”
“Then she didn’t intend to imply that I should share your bed?” The words were crisp and proper. Poor guy, he probably didn’t know what had hit him. And that after a long day of being figuratively hit upside the head multiple times.
“No, she did.” His brows rose with her confession. The scandal of openly sleeping with someone under a family member’s roof outside the bounds of wedlock might be harder than anything he’d seen that day for him to accept. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “She can’t know that we’re not exactly in that place at the moment. All she sees is that I’ve brought home a guy for the first time in forever and she’s jumped to the wrong conclusion. I just wanted you to meet her once.”
So you’d understand. She sighed.
“You’ve engaged in an affair under her roof before?”
That was his take away? Someday she’d understand how his mind worked. “No. Never. Not that I...I mean, you know that I’ve...uh.” Brontë shrugged.
“Aye, I realize I’m not the first. Nevertheless, all things considered, I’d begun to think today that your time might be far more prudish than mine,” he told her. “However, such an invitation as your grandmother’s forced me to second guess the notion.”
He thought our time was prudish? What had she done to give him that impression? Obviously, people today were far less puritanical and more progressive than they were a hundred years ago.
Tris’s wry chuckle broke through her thoughts. “I see some things never change, despite such a passing of time. I never cared to consider that my ancestors were intimate prior to marriage either, yet my parents weren’t wed until I was several weeks old. A family secret as the parish register was good enough to alter the documents to make my birth legitimate. And that unseemly fervor Henry courted Hazel with? I can tell you she relented with a fair amount of fervor herself.”
“Wow, I so didn’t need to know that.”
Obviously Hazel had fudged a few things in her diary as well.
“Well, I can drive you home if you want,” she said. “Or to your townhouse, if you’d prefer.”
He cocked his head, his expression unreadable. “You don’t want me to stay here then?”
It depended on whether he wanted to stay for a pillow beneath his head or her beneath his hard, breath-taking body.
As full as the day had been — bounding with lively conversation, even laughter. The joy of watching him eat his first pizza — she hadn’t a clue where they stood otherwise. She’d thought all this would scare him off, make him run from her. He hadn’t. He’d given no indication of his mood or feelings on the matter at all. His habit of lending her his arm carried no weight in this instance.
“It depends if you want to stay here or...” She bit her lip.
“Or?”
“Or stay with me.”
Being put under a microscope couldn’t have managed such a thorough study as the long look he gave her. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
“I thought ye said ‘twas nothing but lust between us?” His voice dropped to a silky brogue that set goosebumps rippling down her arms. Setting his glass aside, he walked toward her...no, prowled. A panther stalking its prey. “Animalistic, I believe ye said. Something to be purged, burned away.”
He traced a fingertip along the edge of her jaw, and the goosebumps worked their way into a shiver. Of desire. Of need. He clasped her chin between his fingers and prompted her to look up at him. His eyes were ablaze with something more than lust. Knowing that brought a wobble to her knees.
“If it’s mere lust between us, lass,” his whisper was deep, husky. “Does it matter why I stay?”
She should let him think that’s all it was. To love him openly knowing the end for them was near would be more cruel than to let him think otherwise, wouldn’t it? Or was it better for him to know the truth of her feelings? She wanted to go with whatever was easier for him.
His lips brushed along the same path his light touch had. The faint contact rocked her body, and set her limbs quaking. Her head fell, her loose hair trailing down her back. He gathered it in his other hand, wrapped it around his hand and tugged gently, forcing her back farther.
“Open yer eyes, my love.”
Were they closed?
Opening them, she looked into his fiery eyes. “I’ve kent lust. This isnae it, is it?”
She shook her head and swallowed hard. When had she wrapped her arms around his shoulders? And pressed her body against his?
Tris lifted her against him and kissed her then. Lightly, sweetly. “Where do I go?”
What? Go? She blinked and glanced around. The couch was looking pretty good. The floor was fine, too.
“Yer chamber, lass,” he growled, though there was a hint of humor to it. “Where is it?”
“Oh.” The reality of what she was doing hit her as did the reminder of the one thing she’d been avoiding all day. After all the surprises, he didn’t deserve another. Nevertheless, she couldn’t carry on without him knowing the truth. All of it.
“Ye look suddenly serious.”
“I need to tell you something you may not want to hear,” she said quietly, easing away from him. “I don’t want you to be angry.”
His delicious lips lifted in a mocking smile. “I’d say that guarantees an opposite effect.”
Wishing she had her glass in hand for a shot of liquid courage, she settled for a bracing breath. “When I take you back, whenever that may be, I won’t be able to stay there for long.”
Twin lines furrowed between his brows. “Why no’? Will the device no’ allow ye?”
“No. Nothing like that.” A shrug lifted her shoulder. “It would be more accurate to say that I won’t allow myself to stay there.”
His expression shuttered and he turned his back on her obsequiously to retrieve his glass. “Why no’?”
When he tu
rned around again, Brontë found she couldn’t meet his eye. “I could give you a dozen reasons.”
He took a sip of his whisky, savoring it as he studied her face. “I doubt I’ll like any of them. But try me.”
She cast around for an easy answer. “I can’t change my clothes every two hours just for the sake of it.”
“That’s nae a good one to start wi’.” Tris’s knuckles were white as he clutched his glass. “’Ere ye go on, do any of these reasons of yers hae to do wi’ yer feelings for me?”
God, they had everything to do with them. “I don’t know what you mean.”
A ghost of a smile hovered on his lips. “Of course not. I frightened ye wi’ my hasty declaration last night, aye? I sensed as much this morning.”
He’d freaked her out enough to send her bolting down the lane and to have her hiding her head in the sand for the past two weeks. Not the answer she wanted to give him, so she settled on the most basic truth. “I don’t want to hurt you, Tris. More than I already have, that is.”
Once again, his expression hardened to granite. Turning away, he tossed back his freshly poured drink. “Ye dinnae return my affection then.”
The question clawed at her again. Which was better? To let him think that or let him have a deeper look into her troubled psyche? The taut set of his shoulders, the stiffness of his back scored her heart. She couldn’t hurt him like this.
“Tris, it’s not like that.” She slipped to his side and took the glass from him, setting it aside. Running her hand up his whiskered jaw, she urged him to turn. “Look at me. Please.”
His eyes when he looked at her were dulled with anguish, his jaw set against another blow. Her resolve trickled away. “I love you, Tris. I love you more than I’d ever thought possible. I’ve never felt anything close to what you do to me in my entire life.”
The moment the admission escaped her, a weight lifted off her heart. It was the truth. Try as she might to deny it or circumvent it, it was real. Cyrano had won Roxanne in the end by making her see what was below the surface. Tris had done the same with her. Looking beneath the superficial handsomeness, beyond the scorching passion to see the kind, caring man behind it all. The one who sought a better future for the world, who devoted himself to friendship. Who loved with his whole being and shown her what it was to be treasured instead of prized.
Warmth burst and blossomed in her chest, stretching outward. Released by the admission. She loved him. Even as the poignancy of emotion cast its rays throughout her body, an icy ache curled in its place. A black hole drawing all sensation toward it and left her limbs weak. Cold. Barren in its wake.
She was going to lose him anyway.
The tension in his gaze eased and the path his knuckles blazed along her jaw left her tense and guarded. Better her than him. “My love...”
“It will still have to end,” she told him. “Whatever else you or I might wish for, this thing between us was never meant to last.”
A month ago, she would have said it had no hope of lasting. That, like all the others, this relationship would follow a familiar path and end in heartbreak. Time had changed her...Tris had changed her. He’d shown her that when absolute love settled in the heart, all the arguments and differences between them meant nothing. They could drive each other crazy and she’d never want to run from him. Time would never change where she wanted to be in the end.
In his arms.
In his heart.
Yes, there would be heartbreak this time, but for an entirely different reason than the others. Tris was so much more than the men she’d dated in her own time. An old-fashioned solution to her problem, as Donell once said. He’d known, somehow, of this love he was setting her up for. Damn Donell for bombarding her with hope only to rip happiness away from her without mercy.
She’d been ready to fight for Tris, fight for every moment she could have with him. In the end, all the time in the world wouldn’t be enough.
“Why?” The question was raw, torn from his throat.
“I can’t leave my granny here alone, Tris.” Tears burned at her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked them away, unwilling to sacrifice a second of seeing him. “As much as I love you, I won’t abandon her any more than you’d leave your family behind.”
He shook his head, denying the notion. “Wi’ yer machine, ye can see her anytime.”
“It’s not a matter of days, even years. It would be forever.” The finality of the word left her choked. Mission accomplished, Donell would want his device back. To move on to another of his projects. The power to make those years disappear wouldn’t be hers for long. “It’s not simply a matter of leaving her on her own. She can take care of herself. Don’t you see? I’d have to let her believe I’d died or disappeared off the face of the earth. I can’t do that. I can’t desert her like that. Not even for you.”
“Brontë, lass...”
“Would you do it?” A tear with desperation trailed down her cheek. He swept it away and she clasped his hands between hers. “I’ve seen you with your family, your friends. Would you give up the chance of ever seeing them again? For me?” God, was she really asking him to sacrifice everything for her? “No, don’t answer that. Even if you said yes, I wouldn’t let you do it.”
“Yet ye expect me to sacrifice ye?” His brogue was low and thick.
“If I’d realized what was going to happen earlier...This impossible situation I put us in, I would have done something different,” she told him. “I tried to go back and undo it, but I couldn’t make it work.”
The sorrow manifesting in his eyes turned to confusion, then his brows furrowed. “Ye tried to take this away from me?”
Brontë shook her head. “I wanted to spare you from any pain. I’d never wanted to hurt you, Tris.”
“Ye dinnae think this love I hae in my heart is worth any amount of suffering?” He growled low in his throat. “I’d no’ gi’ up a minute of my time wi’ ye, lass. Bugger the consequences. Whether ye’re wi’ me for an eternity or but an hour more, I’d no’ forsake a moment of it.”
Nor would she. The solitary reason she’d made the attempt had been for his sake alone. The memories would always be with her.
“Ye’re the most foolish, impetuous lass I’ve ever known.” He took her by the shoulders with a little shake, then drew her into his arms. “’Tis glad I am ye failed.”
“Me, too.”
He leaned back and looked down at her. “For a day or a lifetime, ye’re mine, lass. My heart. My love.”
The cold fist eased its crushing grip on her heart. “I love you.”
“I love ye, too.”
Tris hugged her hard as if the strength of his arms could relay the power of his emotions. Buried against him, she pressed her mouth to the smooth skin bared by the V of his open collar. It had been tempting her all afternoon.
He bent his head and kissed her, infusing her with wonder at the power of love, and with the same potent, passionate urgency his every kissed relayed. She needed to touch him. Tugging his shirt loose, she slipped her hand beneath it and skimmed her hands over the rippled planes of his stomach. Around his back, his skin hot and smooth beneath her palms. A low groan from deep within rumbled against her hands.
His mouth left hers to trail hot kisses down her neck. The roughened texture of his chin chafed lightly against her skin, sending a shiver of pleasure through her. Curling her fingers into his hair, she urged his mouth to hers once more. Parting her lips, she invited. With another groan, he capitulated, his mouth plundering hers until her head swam with desire. A low moan of longing and surrender came from deep within her.
Tris must have recognized it for what it was. “Where is yer chamber, lass?”
Brontë recovered her senses enough to ask, “Are you sure you want to do this, knowing...?”
He caught her hand and pressed her palm against the hard bulge straining against his trousers.
“Okay then. Upstairs.” She broke away and took his hand, her b
ody bereft without his next to her. Backing away to the base of the stairs, she tilted her chin upward. “I wish you’d taken the hint that first night and gone upstairs with me.”
His smile melted her knees. “I hoped but couldnae presume. I wish ye’d asked.”
“I did.” She kissed him. “I am.”
Chapter 35
BRONTË SPARED AN ABSENT thought to wish she’d made the bed before she left last time. Tris didn’t seem to notice. He lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed, descending over her. Catching the hem of her sweater, he pulled it up and over her head. His hands cupped and kneaded her breasts through the lace of her bra before she could push her hair from her eyes.
She wanted to see him, to watch him as he raked his teeth along her collarbone and the sweep of his thumb across the swell of her breasts. He was so handsome. Perfect. That is, perfect for her. He glanced up, letting her revel in the fire in his eyes.
Letting her know without doubt that he loved her. That he burned for her and her alone.
His fingers slid along the band of her bra then back again and a huff of laughter shook her. This was no time for a lesson in the quick removal of twenty-first century undergarments. She wished they’d have time for that.
She pushed back the maudlin thought. If she wanted to see that big beautiful body of his against her bare flesh, he’d need an assist. Pushing him onto his back, she slipped off the bed.
“Where are ye...?”
“Shush,” she whispered, unclasping the back of her bra. She held it against her breasts for a breath of time and let it fall. Unbuttoning her jeans, she rocked her hips out of them. His hot gaze was a physical caress as she pushed them down and stepped out of them. With a teasing grin, she hooked a thumb into the band of her panties and crooked a finger at him. “Want to finish?”
She was bent over his arm before she could take a breath. His hot palm slid over her bottom and finished the job of seeing her naked. Brontë wasn’t willing to wait much longer to see him in the same state. She pushed his shirt up while he worked the buttons of his trousers. They made quick work of both.
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