“I’ll get it wrapped.” She ran up the stairs.
Vivienne and Hannah had transformed the parlor into a party place by having the food laid out on the side table. Soft Christmas music played in the background. Brodie couldn’t help marveling how the all-male fisherman’s cottage had turned into a warm home, making Brodie homesick for his boyhood, his mother, and the time before his da had died.
Rachel came into the parlor as Vivienne was stepping out. “I was just headed to the kitchen to get the plates.”
“I’ll get them,” Rachel said, and she was gone.
Vivienne accused him with her eyes. “What’s wrong with her?”
He shrugged and took his place beside his grandfather. “Are ye ready for Christmas, Hannah? Have ye been a good girl this year?” He thought about the presents he’d bought. Aye, he’d overdone it, but he might not get another chance to spoil the little lass who’d stolen his heart.
Rachel carried in a stack of plates and set them next to the food. It was more plates than they would use, and for a moment, Brodie wondered if she’d invited guests. But the second she started filling her plate, he knew. He made his way to her as she was slipping from the room with a heaping helping of sandwiches and vegetables.
“Who’s that for?” he asked her backside as she walked down the hall.
She spun around. “For me. A snack for later. I thought I’d put it in the refrigerator.”
He followed her into the kitchen and found her pulling out the plastic wrap to cover the plate. “Are ye planning to be hungry in the middle of the night then?”
She squeezed the plate in the frig before turning on him. “Are you offering to build up my appetite?”
Now there’s an idea. But he ignored her proposition, or at least he tried. Once a thought like that took hold, well, even Lou Ferrigno would have a mighty hard time shaking it off.
Without answering her, he went back to the parlor, wishing he hadn’t followed her. He made himself a plate and sat in the corner to eat. But if he thought he would be left alone to brood, he was wrong. Hannah pulled him over to sit next to her. On the other side, she’d put up Joe’s picture, as if they were having another blasted tea party.
But the lass was so funny and entertaining that after a while he settled down and enjoyed the evening. He and Hannah made hats for all of them to wear for their Christmas Day meal as Vivienne told them of her travels. Hannah didn’t seem to be winding down, but Rachel started preparing the lass for bed.
“Did you see what I brought?” Rachel pulled out ’Twas the Night Before Christmas. “I’ll read this to you before I leave.”
“Nay.” Hannah grabbed the book from her mother. Before he knew what had happened, she’d dropped it into his lap. “Brodie’s going to read to me.”
For the first time since the kiss on the porch, Rachel looked directly at him. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” He sat on the couch and Hannah climbed up beside him, laying her head on his arm. He couldn’t help comparing this moment to Christmases in the past. This Christmas Eve had turned into something more than having a dram of whisky by the fire. He glanced over at Grandda, who appeared to be having the time of his life.
Suddenly, Brodie was surprised at how he felt. He was glad the Granger women had come for the holiday.
Chapter Twelve
Rachel watched Brodie read to her daughter, feeling as if she was falling in love with him all over again. She knew it was one-sided, but her heart had a one-track mind and there was no convincing it otherwise.
But he kissed you, the voice in her head whispered. The voice used to be loud and confident, proclaiming how they were going to be a couple and how the three of them would be a family. Day by day, the voice had become less vocal and less sure. But he had kissed her, and it was wonderful. Pure joy. To feel wanted by Brodie Wallace was bliss personified.
He finished the book and shut it.
“Again! Again!” Hannah said.
“It’s bedtime,” Rachel announced. “The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner Santa will come.”
“Father Christmas,” Hannah corrected in her Scots accent.
“Fine. Father Christmas.” Rachel reached for her daughter. “Up with you.”
But Vivienne was there. “I want to put her to bed. I’m tired, too.”
“It’s too early for you to go to bed,” Rachel said, knowing her mother was a night owl.
“I downloaded a couple of Christmas novels. I thought I would read for a while.”
Rachel hugged her mom and whispered into her hair, “Are you going to be okay here without me?”
“Are you trying to mother me again?” Vivienne laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you in the morning.” Her mom picked up the complaining Hannah. “Tell everyone good night.”
“Night!”
As the two went to the stairs, her mother began singing a made-up song. Hannah laughed at the silly words and sang along with her, “Merry, happy Christmas from Hannah in Scotland.”
Rachel went to the hallway and pulled out the box which held her mother’s patchwork quilt. She returned to the parlor and laid the box under the tree.
“Have ye been out shopping?” Abraham asked.
She smiled at him. “Something like that. I’m going to head to Thistle Glen Lodge. I’ll be back early, as I expect my daughter will be up before the roosters.”
“Sleep well, lass,” he said.
She headed to the kitchen to get the plate for the man who stayed in the shadows. She wondered if he was warm enough tonight. But then she remembered Aileen’s missing quilt, which he’d probably taken. She retrieved the plate and turned around. Brodie was there with his coat already on and with her parka over his arm.
“You don’t have to go with me. I know the way and I’ll be perfectly safe.”
He walked toward her, holding out her coat.
She slipped her first arm in. “Really, Brodie, I’ll be fine.” She transferred the plate to her other hand and put in her second arm.
But talking to him was like trying to convince a grizzly bear to stay put in his cave when he was hell-bent on doing as he pleases.
“Fine. Do whatever you want.” She flounced from the kitchen.
He was being stubborn. Sure, she wanted him at the quilting dorm, but preferred he was there because he’d decided to forgive her. She dreamed what it would be like to be Brodie’s wife, and all the extracurriculars which went along with marriage. The only thing she was going to get this evening, though, was another sleepless, restless night with him camped out on the couch.
She slung open the front door and marched out. Brodie was right behind her, carrying a small duffel.
“I’ll take the other bedroom on the main level.”
“So the grizzly bear speaks,” she said sarcastically, but that was only because she was crazy about him with no hope of fulfilling her dreams.
“What?” He looked side to side. Of course, he was on the lookout for the shadow stalker.
“But the bear doesn’t speak much,” she huffed to herself.
When they reached the dorm, she opened the door and started in, but he took her arm.
“Aren’t ye going to leave the plate out here?”
“Fine.”
“Make sure to set the lock when ye’re done.”
She laid the plate down then shut the door with them inside.
When she turned around, Brodie was down the hallway, almost to the living room.
“So this is how it’s going to be,” she said to the floral and plaid window coverings. “I’m going to have a lonely Blue Christmas.” But that wasn’t fair. She had Hannah, her mother, and Abraham.
When she got to the living room, he wasn’t there. She collapsed on the sofa, feeling utterly rejected. But in the next second, when Brodie appeared, we
aring flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, her pulse kicked up. He didn’t seem to notice she was about to hyperventilate, as he walked to the kitchen without giving her a second glance. She heard the tap go on. He came back with a glass of water and stopped at the edge of the living room.
“Good night, lass.” No gazing at her as if he couldn’t live without her. Hell, the way he stalked to his bedroom—the one next to hers—and closed the door behind him, she felt as enticing as a snow cone in the dead of winter.
Rachel spoke to the hearth this time. “He has some nerve.” She sat there for a long minute, staring down the dark hallway at the light escaping from under the door. She was certain her irrational thoughts were brought on by sexual frustration. She hoped in vain he would sling the door open, march back down the hall, pull her into his arms, and kiss her until she had a very merry Christmas. But then the light went out in his room.
She laid her head on the sofa, closing her eyes. “Damn.”
Finally she pushed herself up, plodded to her bedroom, and readied for sleep. As she was brushing out her hair, a series of not so innocent thoughts bombarded her mind, which would put her on the naughty list for sure. But she always did the right thing, and look what it had gotten her. Nothing.
Hesitating only a millisecond, she turned out her light, but didn’t climb into bed. Instead, she snuck to the room next to hers and cracked open the door. The moonlight stretched across the room. She was surprised to see his large frame sitting on the side of the bed, staring out the partially frosted over window.
“Did ye get lost?” he rumbled without turning around.
“Yes.” It was the truth. She got lost six years ago and she’d been trying to find her way back ever since. She hadn’t realized how adrift she’d been until she’d returned to Gandiegow and laid eyes on him. But this truth was too heavy for Brodie. She padded toward him and sat down, bravely leaning against him.
He drew back a little, but didn’t scoot away. “What do ye want?” His voice was strained.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say you. But she didn’t say it; instead she slipped her arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder.
His body stiffened as if he was bearing up against rising flood waters. “How do you imagine this is going to play out?”
She liked that he was direct. She would return the favor. “You’ll make love to me.”
“And then?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care.” That wasn’t exactly true. “I want you.” That was the truth. But she couldn’t tell him all of it . . . she wanted him for always. But she would settle for tonight.
He turned to her and touched the locket. “I want ye, too.”
Her chest warmed. She was light-headed and giddy. She felt like she could fly.
He tilted his head to the side, maintaining eye contact. “I’m going to be straight with you beforehand. We’ll do what ye want, but ye’ll have to agree first that you understand that making”—he cut himself off and changed his tack—“that going to bed together won’t change a thing between us.”
Her heart fell. Plummeted. Barely pulsed, as it curled into a ball at the bottom of her soul.
She dropped her arm from his waist.
Since she’d gotten to Gandiegow, she’d been making one deal after another. So far, she’d been able to keep her end of the bargain. But now? Could she really be with him and not want to change his mind?
“Okay,” she heard herself saying. The little voice in her head was agreeing and whispering little encouragements, Do this, then he’ll love you. But she wasn’t fool enough to believe it.
She laid a hand on his back. “Before we go any further, there’s something I have to say.” She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “I tried to call it off.” She didn’t explain what it was. Brodie was sharp; he had to know what she was talking about. “I even told my mother I couldn’t go through with it.” Rachel hung her head, remembering. “My mother gave me reason after reason why I had to marry Joe.”
Brodie didn’t say anything. At this point, he probably didn’t even care anymore, but he deserved to hear her confession.
“I’m not blaming my mother. It’s my fault. I was weak back then. I only wanted to please her. Please everyone.”
Still he said nothing.
Rachel rubbed his back as if that might counteract her words. “I should’ve been stronger. I can’t go back and change things.” She paused for a second and told him the whole truth. “And if I could, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have missed Hannah for anything in the world.” That might hurt him, but it was true.
He nodded—the only acknowledgment that he’d heard her. He didn’t take her into his arms, but went back to staring out the window. She understood; he needed time to process what she’d said. A minute passed. She was very aware of her own breathing. As the second minute was stretching on, anticipation turned into realization that her confession had only made things worse. Brodie didn’t want her any longer.
She popped up. “I’ll just go to bed.” She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her hand.
“Come here.” He yanked her to him.
One second she was chilled from the night air, and in the next she was crushed up against him, his mouth on hers, greedy for her attention. Oh, she was easy when it came to him, because she kissed him back as if they’d never kiss again. She didn’t even recognize herself. Six years of pent-up hormones were unleashing themselves faster than water rushing from the floodgates. Maybe she should’ve savored every morsel of his touch, but she was half afraid he was going to change his mind and bolt from the room.
Night clothes were a wonderful thing when she needed to get to bare skin quickly . . . not much on under there. She tugged at his shirt and pulled it over his head. He started on the buttons of her gown, but she returned the favor and pulled it off for him. Pajama bottoms and panties were no match for their impatience. They were naked and on the bed in two seconds flat, mouths on each other’s, as if they collectively held the air for each other’s lungs.
He broke away. “Condom.” He hurried across the room and lifted his discarded pants, digging around in its pockets. She saw a wallet, him fumble, and a “dammit” resounded when it hit the floor. A moment later, he was back, ripping open the package.
She was as anxious as he was.
He quickly positioned himself above her as if this was the chance of a lifetime, but then he stopped and stared at her.
“Did you forget something else?” She saw serious determination in his eyes.
“I heard every word ye said. On a rational level, I understand why you did what you did . . . marrying my cousin. But you have to know that I mean it, Rachel. Nothing changes between us.”
“I know.” She was going into this with no illusions.
With him looming over her and the moonlight flooding in the window, she had a chance to soak him in. Suddenly, she was aware of what was tattooed on his chest.
A partridge! Did he get the tattoo as a souvenir of what they’d shared?
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask. Her eyes went to his, but he was staring at the locket around her neck. There was so much more they needed to discuss. The locket. The partridge. But for now, they’d talked enough.
She laid a hand on the tattoo so he would know she’d seen the partridge. He placed a hand over hers as if both of them were holding his heart. The world fell away, replaced with a magical cocoon surrounding them, as his eyes drifted back up and he stared into her face. He eased himself in, never breaking eye contact. His look of tender longing nearly broke her heart, making her love him even more. She shifted, opening up to him, giving him more access as he filled her. She quieted her own thoughts to better hear what his body was saying. No words fit the emotion in his eyes or the way his body consumed her, and he’d done nothing more than cross the threshold.
“Kiss me,” she said, afraid she might cry if he gazed at her any longer.
“Aye.” He leaned in but didn’t devour her as she’d expected. He started at the corner of her mouth, caressing her lips as if she wasn’t an emotional mess underneath him.
His approach to their coupling felt like he was composing a love song. He seemed to be looking for the perfect note, the right tone, strumming her, executing each part in perfect time, all meant to produce the most pleasure for her. She felt helpless to give him as much as he was giving her. His lovemaking was excruciating, overwhelming her, and positively breathtaking. Before she could stop them, teardrops tumbled out and annoyingly rolled into her ears.
“Enough,” she said, pushing him off. “I want to be on top.”
As he moved away, she discreetly wiped her tears on the corner of the pillowcase, thankful for the shadows. As she sat, she nudged him to the mattress, and climbed on top. Before she could do more, he pulled her down for another heart-melting kiss, making her stretch out beside him, both of them lying on their sides.
“Mo ghràidh,” he whispered into her ear.
Could a woman die from an endearment? For surely, that’s what it was.
“Brodie?” She cupped his face and made him look at her. She wanted to pour out her heart and confess how much she still loved him, but she didn’t. She couldn’t stand it if he pushed her away now. “I can’t take much more.”
He smiled and then kissed her nose, not seeming to be in a rush at all. She was afraid she might truly start bawling if he didn’t hurry his fisherman self along.
“Come here.” He lifted her leg, scooted in closer, and joined them together once again.
“That’s better,” she exhaled, feeling complete. But she had to use all her focus to keep her mouth from revealing her true emotions.
He had been in control up to this point, but his cool manner slipped away. Taking her by surprise, he rolled her on her back and once again he was on top. Whoever said the missionary position wasn’t exciting was nuts. Brodie making love to her from above was the most heart-pounding experience she’d ever had, and she was nearing the place of no return. She was so wrapped up in the moment that her heart cried out, “Love me, Brodie.”
It Happened in Scotland Page 20
