by Lara Temple
‘I love feeling you, Benneit, love how you feel on me, against me.’
She could not stop her hands from caressing him, stroking his chest, her nails tracing the silky dark hair, snagging on his hardened nipple, making him gasp and buck against her. He laughed and groaned at the same time, his legs tangling with hers, his hipbone grinding into the soft skin of her abdomen as she writhed against him, loving everything—the pleasure, the pain, the anticipation, even her coming destruction had a sweetness to it, like the last glimmer of a sunset.
‘My wanton pixie, you will finish me before we even begin.’
She didn’t answer, just drew his head down to hers, kissing him with everything inside her, holding nothing back.
Every caress, every glide of her body against his was too much, every touch of his fingers and mouth raising her inexorably towards the promise of sweet release. She hardly even sobered when he left her for a moment, returning with something he extracted from a box, sheathing himself with it before he sank back between her legs, his hand soothing as he eased her legs further apart before entering her gently, slowly. He filled her utterly, hot and hard and so right. She didn’t want him to move because it would be the end of it, but when he did she just abandoned herself to the joy of their bodies, the way his chest scraped against her breasts, the way his hand moved between them, goading her on until she was panting and begging, her legs rising to pull him in as deeply as she could. Then the pleasure became unbearable, hot honeyed waves hitting again and again as if they would never stop. She wanted to cry or yell, but could do nothing but fall as the world burst and faded. Even as she lost herself she dimly felt him move inside her, his chest heaving with great gasping breaths.
‘Jo. God, Jo...’
Her name reverberated through her body with the diminishing waves of her own climax as he shook through his, his voice hoarse and grabbing her very core in an iron fist.
* * *
‘Don’t leave yet. It is still short of midnight. Stay.’
Benneit pulled her back towards him as Jo tried to rise, tucking her against his length, his mouth brushing her temple and then pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
‘I shouldn’t.’
‘Why not? Are you regretting this again?’ The words were brusque compared to the message of his body and she heard her own uncertainty there and shook her head. Perhaps she would later, after she left Lochmore, but whatever time was left she did not wish to ruin with regret.
‘No. Though it is still hard for me. Perhaps we should not have done this here, in the room you shared with Bella.’
His arms pulled her even closer, his hand spread over her ribs below her breast. It was large and warm and both soft and calloused and her skin tingled beneath it, already wanting more.
‘She was never in this bed, so that needn’t sit on your conscience. You’ve too much there already and I can’t bear adding to it.’
She ignored the future, focusing on the past, more curious than jealous about that. ‘Never?’
‘She preferred her own chambers. She hated the castle and demanded we redecorate and, as you can see from the Hall, I gave her free rein in most places outside my room and the study. And the crypt. Her romantic fascination with all things Scottish didn’t last long when confronted with the reality. When my father told her about the mystery of the plundered tomb in the crypt she wanted to transform it into a quaint attraction for visitors, but I drew the line there.’
‘The plundered tomb? Was that the one with the broken lid?’
‘Yes, there is no body there and the matching brooch was missing. They were taken during a battle with the McCrieffs hundreds of years ago, but no one knows where or why. Bella felt it would be a pleasant attraction for when we entertained our English friends.’
‘Didn’t she know you hated closed spaces?’
His fingers stilled for a moment in their slow caress of the curve of her waist, but he didn’t withdraw as she expected.
‘No. My parents taught me quite effectively no good came from sharing my mental instability. I am usually better at masking it.’
‘It is not mental instability. It is the natural outcome of a horrible experience. If this had happened to Jamie, you would not allow anyone to regard it in that manner!’
‘I would not allow such a thing to happen to him. Why do you think I forbid him to go alone to the tunnels?’
‘You cannot know what life will do to any of us. But I know you would not shame him for his fear any more than you shame Angus for his reluctance to see beyond his scars.’
‘That is pure selfishness. I like having Angus here.’
She pressed a kiss to the curve of his shoulder.
‘You are a monster of selfishness indeed. I knew it all along.’
His arm tightened again, his leg rising to brush against hers, but he lowered it.
‘Bella certainly believed I was.’
She barely resisted the urge to snort.
‘Bella was certainly an authority on selfishness. She had many good qualities, but she was spoilt from the cradle. I always envied her her certitude.’
‘So did I. It was one of the things I admired about her. It was...persuasive. I wanted to be like her.’
‘I thought you were rather like her,’ she admitted. ‘Back then. You appeared perfect together.’
She covered his hand with her smaller hand. He sighed, linking his fingers with hers.
‘The bard had some words on how the world seems compared to how it is, didn’t he? We were perfect for how we both wanted to appear to the world. But Bella needed someone kinder than I, someone indulgent who could calm the little girl who was afraid she would no longer be loved when she ceased to be perfect. I had no notion and, to be honest, no real will to do so. Sometimes I think it irked her most of all that I preferred her imperfections—that made them all the more real to her. Once our mutual infatuation was over we had to face the fact that we were not very well suited.’
He raised her hand, brushing her fingertips across his lips as he spoke, his breath warming the sensitive skin between her fingers, smoothing over the back of her hand.
‘She married a wealthy Duke-to-be who played the London game and ended living in a social wasteland with a Scottish heathen at war with his father and who was up to his neck in estate matters. I thought once Jamie came it would create a bridge between us, but then Jamie changed everything for me. I cannot explain—the moment I took him in my arms I knew everything was different.’ He laughed, looking years younger than he had this past week. ‘It was like hitting a wall. My resentment against my father, the demands of Lochmore, Bella’s frustration—all that faded and I realised nothing mattered as much as Jamie.’
‘Poor Bella,’ Jo said, and, absurdly, she meant it.
‘Poor Bella, indeed. Unlike my shameful flaw there was nothing I could do to mask my love for Jamie. Perhaps if we had been in London she would have found our differences more bearable. I hoped Jamie would bridge that gap between us, but I think that very expectation only made it worse. When she went down to Uxmore that last summer and left Jamie and me here I was so relieved that when the news came of her illness and death all I could feel was guilt that I had so thoroughly enjoyed my time alone with Jamie.’
His hand stilled on her hip, she could feel the tension gathering in him and searched for some way to stave off the intrusion of reality. But he spoke first.
‘What about your Alfred? Or did the accident occur too soon for disenchantment to set in?’
She wondered what she could say. She wanted to repay the gift of honesty, but not scare him out of the temporary intimacy they shared.
‘There was no disenchantment because there was no enchantment. You will think me horrid—I did not marry Alfred because I loved him, but because he loved me. It was the opposite—I learned to care for him because he value
d things in me others hardly even noticed. So when he died I told myself I must not lose that completely. I also feel guilty because I never loved him as he deserved. Not even as much as I think I was capable of.’
In the silence she heard the murmur of the fire and the pattering of rain. His fingers stroked her hip as they might Flops, methodically but absently. Then they stopped and she gathered her resolve. Time to regain reality. But when she moved towards the side of the bed she found herself suddenly on her back, Benneit propping himself above her, his leg sliding between hers, his erection hard and hot against her thigh. He was in shadow, but his eyes were as sharp as a panther’s, narrowed and predatory. Even his words were a growl.
‘You aren’t leaving yet. We are not done here.’
The transition from empathy to blazing desire was so extreme her body ached, her skin tight and tingling as if it had shrunk on her. She could not stop her legs clamping around his, her hips trying to rise. Her hands rose as well, pressing against the stubble on his lean cheeks, feeling the bone beneath.
For now he was hers. His body wanted her—as strange as it was, she knew it was absolutely true and marvellous. Somehow, for now, Benneit wanted her with a passion that equalled hers.
‘What shall we do, then?’ she asked, breathless, and he smiled, a panther’s smile.
‘You shall do nothing. You have earned your rest. I will do everything.’
‘But I enjoy doing,’ she murmured, touching the sharp-cut line of his jaw, the sweep of his shoulder and collarbone. Beautiful.
‘Later. I want you addicted to this before morning comes and I can’t concentrate when you’re touching me,’ he murmured against her nape, his own hand trailing lower. ‘So for now I want you to keep those dangerous hands of yours to yourself, little pixie. Close your eyes and drift...’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Benneit woke into softness. The bed was soft, the cover above him was soft. His skin felt soft. He only wished she had not left before dawn so he could sink in to her again. He didn’t want to wait until nightfall again. He wanted to tell her how good he felt with her. Not good—wonderful. He felt he could walk into the crypt and take a nap there and... Well, not quite that good, but close. There was no point in chasing ghosts, as Jo had said.
In fact, a large portion of his life recently was becoming dictated by what Jo said, what she did, what she wanted. What she needed.
Amazingly, it felt right.
Unlike Bella, Jo’s words and actions and wishes felt an extension of him, of Benneit, not Lochmore.
He opened his eyes, staring at the canopy.
So this was love.
Even as the words formed in his mind, a welling of heat spread upwards through his body, expanding him.
I love Jo.
It wasn’t completely a revelation. It had been forming, weaving itself into his fabric with each word and look and gesture on the trip north, then put together as she explored his world, him. As she made room for him and Jamie in her thoughtful little world. As he came first to see and then realise the wealth under her cautious, watchful exterior.
I love you, Jo.
The words felt inadequate, as far from reflecting what he felt as a speck on the horizon reflected the reality of a great mountain.
Do you love me?
He swung his legs off the bed, an echo of the fear and pain of the last week pinching at his skin.
That question was more dangerous than any of his thoughts. Because if she did... How could he walk away if she did?
How could he walk away even if she did not? Even if her feelings were nothing more than lust and the kind of warmth she offered those within her circle of care.
There must be something wrong with him to feel he could not weather losing her. A woman he had only truly known for a month of his life. That it should be sitting in the same corner of himself that raged and cowered when something threatened Jamie.
Had Bella ever been there? Even at the height of his passion for her he wasn’t certain he had felt she was essential to him. His father had never truly been that, and he could not reach back with clarity to his mother’s loss. With Bella he found the kind of union his parents had—a mix of sexual fascination and antagonism—but he had kept most of himself apart, just as he had with his parents. With Jo he couldn’t hide himself even when he tried.
Even Jamie was different—Jamie was his to care for and carry through life until he could walk alone. He wanted Jo for himself. For her. For ever. The thought that the rest of his life would stretch out without her was...
Wrong.
There had to be something he could do.
But he could think of nothing that wouldn’t make Jamie pay the price for his selfishness. If not for Jamie he could have turned his back on all of this, not without pain because Lochmore was also his to care for, but he could have done it and paid the price. But how could he expect Jamie to pay that price for the rest of his life? By shaming Tessa McCrieff, he would be shaming Jamie.
It was impossible.
* * *
‘Mrs Merry says the sun will hold so what must she do but decide to wash all the linen and bring three girls from the village, each sillier than the next, making sheep’s eyes at Angus and Ewan when they should be hard at work,’ Beth complained as she laid out the green-sprigged muslin dress.
Jo tried to commiserate as Beth prodded her into the dress but failed utterly. She treasured these bright, warm days, but it was a joy tempered with the knowledge of pain to come. All too soon they would be gone and so would she. Surely that made no sense? It felt as wrong as stopping her breath.
When Jamie came rushing in to tell her they were to go have luncheon at The House she hurried Beth along. She did not wish to waste a single moment she could spend with Benneit.
* * *
The contrast with their last visit to The House was so extreme, Jo ached with it. She and Benneit rode side by side, knees brushing occasionally, and Jamie turning back often to smile at them, as if he was the proud parent and they well-behaved children. Angus and Ethel were waiting for them with a light meal which they ate in the conservatory overlooking the sculpture garden. After the meal Jamie curled up on the sofa and was soon asleep and Benneit took her arm, leading her into the garden.
The light-hearted happiness began to fade the moment they were alone, replaced by tension and an edge of pain. In the bower Benneit let go of her arm and moved to inspect the clambering vines and Jo took the plunge, her half-formed thoughts tumbling out.
‘I was thinking,’ Jo said.
‘Thinking what?’ He turned to her and she saw a reflection of the same tension in the harsh lines of his face.
‘I told you I don’t intend to return to Uxmore. I always thought I would go to London, but when we were in the village the other day I spoke with Mrs McManus and she said it is becoming harder for her at the school. Lochmore may have shrunk, but there are more children than ever and she was thinking of speaking with Mr McCreary about finding someone younger to assist her. And I thought...perhaps I might...’
‘You wish to become a schoolmistress? At Lochmore?’
‘It was a foolish idea. I’m sorry. I dare say it would be embarrassing to have a relation of Bella here in such a capacity.’ She turned away and reached towards a cluster of buds hanging from the vines that covered the trellis above them. ‘What is this?’
‘Wisteria. It is one of the loveliest plants here, but you can only appreciate it once it blooms.’ He guided her towards the bower where the sun was strongest. One of the clusters was a pale lavender, soft and fresh, the colour of a mythical dawn. ‘They will all be like this soon and then you will see why my mother took such effort with it.’
* * *
Benneit watched Jo touch the delicate cluster hanging from the trellis, the buds shivering under her fingers and an answering shiver skimmed u
nder his skin. In an instant he was on fire, his skin tight, tingling with the need to act, press himself against her. It was so immediate he felt dizzy with it, his breath turning shallow.
In his mind’s eye he saw her naked beneath the vines, covered with these flowered waterfalls, waiting for him. But that would never be and it hurt like nothing had hurt in his life.
‘It is lovely,’ she murmured, her voice sucking him further under the wave of lust. He rested his hands on her shoulders a moment before turning her. Her eyes were still bright with appreciation of the beauty, her mouth the soft curve of a smile that stripped him of his defences every time. It was that smile that made her impossible to ignore, each smile as soft as a petal unfurling, but with the power to destroy his defences.
‘There should be roses, too.’ His voice was hoarse because it hurt to talk. ‘I should have tried harder to keep them. They would be in bloom now. I want to see you surrounded by roses, find the one as soft as your mouth, as sweet as your scent so I can find you when you leave.’
Even speaking those words hurt and he pressed his hands to her cheeks, moulding his fingers over her face, mapping her, the soft curve of her cheek, the firm, stubborn chin, the long gold-tipped lashes that were shielding the cool pixie eyes, and her mouth, the generous, sweet bow that could rule his reactions and which gave her away far more than her eyes. It was parted now, her breath as uneven as his, as vulnerable as he felt, shivering like a petal in a rising wind. He brushed his fingers over it, catching the warmth of her breath.
He couldn’t touch her here. Anyone could come by out and see them...
One hand slid into her hair. Without her bun it was looser and it made way for his fingers, warm and silky, made to be set loose and wrapped about him as it was at night.
‘I want to make love to you in daylight, here, with the sun streaming through the vines, touching you as you touch me. I want to taste the sun on your skin, every golden gleam, every freckle, I want to make you blush so I can watch heat pour through you when I enter you, when I make you shudder. Right here in the centre of the garden so that no corner is ever free of you, of your feel and your scent. You will always be right here.’
