A Wanting Heart

by Christie Adams

  With the tray and remnants of the feast gone, she slid back under the sheet, barely making it before Ryan half-covered her with his body, his mouth devouring hers while his hand cupped her breast.

  Remembering what he’d said, Fiona deliberately dragged her nails down his spine. Arching beneath her hand, Ryan shuddered and groaned, pressing his face against the side of her neck. “Again, a rúnsearc. Please.”

  When she’d marked him before, it had been done at the height of passion, completely without thought. This time, though, it was different. Ryan wanted to bear her mark, and some primitive impulse she was too preoccupied to analyse at that moment wanted to put that mark on him. She raked his back three more times, the third time going all the way down to his buttocks, where she dug her nails in, pulling his hips into her body. “Mine, Ryan. This belongs to me. You belong to me. Every last part of you.”

  “Yes.” Breathing laboured, his whole body trembled with tension. “I have to belong to you, Fiona—I need to belong to you. Do whatever you want with me, but please don’t let me go.”

  “Ryan?”

  Surely she was mistaken. That couldn’t have been fear she heard in his voice, but what if it was? She couldn’t ignore it. “I won’t let you go. Not ever. You’re mine, and the only way I’ll ever let you go is if you tell me that’s what you want.”

  He shook his head. “Never.”

  The quiet desperation in his demeanour shocked her. She’d had no idea—not then, not now—that Ryan’s feelings were so deep and so strong, that he needed her so much. Nor had she known what he needed from her, until she saw it in the eyes searching her face. He needed her to mean it when she said he was hers.

  What would have happened if she’d talked to him three years ago, if she’d shared her worries instead of hiding them?

  All of a sudden, Fiona found it difficult to breathe. Ryan would never have turned his back on her. Together they’d have been strong enough to deal with anything, and they wouldn’t have spent all that time apart and hurting.

  Dear God—what had her fear cost them?

  ~~*~~

  Fiona was still fast asleep. Ryan was sitting on one of the sofas, leaning forward, elbows resting on his thighs, nursing a strong coffee. His body was still half a heartbeat away from shaking at the memory of everything that had happened the previous evening. If he hadn’t given up cigarettes a long time ago, he’d have chain-smoked his way through half a pack in the last twenty minutes.

  Without doubt, it had been the single most sensual, erotic experience of his life. She’d woven a spell around him, and the next morning he still felt its echoes in every cell in his body. All his preconceived notions about sex and love had been completely scrambled. It was like a switch had been flicked in his brain, when it came to Fiona. Or maybe the switch had been flicked a long time ago and he just hadn’t realised it.

  Until he’d met Fiona, Ryan had dated plenty of women—as many as his work had reasonably allowed, at any rate. The sex had generally been satisfying—sometimes it just scratched an itch that needed scratching, other times it had been pretty darn good.

  There hadn’t been a hint of kink about any of it, yet after the night he’d just spent with Fiona, a whole different menu of possibilities had opened up. Handing over control like that had given him a high that still had him buzzing…as well as asking himself questions about who he really was and what he really wanted. Something told him that finding the answers might not be a walk in the park.

  With a deep breath he turned his attention outward, to focus on the reason he’d left a warm bed, and the even warmer woman in it.

  Wanting to show his appreciation for the previous evening, Ryan had decided to serve Fiona breakfast in bed. With everything bubbling away nicely, he set about clearing one of the sofas, so that they could settle down and listen to some music afterwards—maybe even have that talk. He was moving a stack of books when some of them slipped and fell from his grasp. Among them was the sketch pad that Fiona was always so careful not to let him see. He hesitated for a moment, then flipped it open.

  The first thing he saw was a drawing of a gown that bore a strong resemblance to the one Natalie had worn a few days ago, followed by another that clearly formed the basis for the stunning dress that Fiona had worn for the same event. The wedding cake was there too, and looking at the dates on the sketches, the only thing that made sense was that these were the original designs. Fiona hadn’t taken them from the actual items themselves—these were initial concepts, and could only mean that she was the designer responsible for them.

  Ryan had no idea she was so talented. He carried on leafing through the book, and then stopped dead—at a picture of himself. She must have sketched him while he was on the conference call, but it was the next page—where he was looking at himself in bed and looking straight into his own eyes—that really stunned him. Was this how she saw him?

  Love really was blind. Ryan could only assume that there was a lot of artistic license being employed in the execution of the image.

  He turned the page again and sat down hard as shock hit him like a sledgehammer. He was looking at himself for a third time, but this was beyond his comprehension. What he was looking at wasn’t based on any reality they’d shared, either now or in their first life together.

  What staggered Ryan more, though, as he took in the lines and curves, the careful shading that defined the two-dimensional image, was how that image spoke to that place inside him. His answer was there, right there in front of him, staring him in the face.

  How had she known? Had she sensed it in him? If this was what she wanted from him…she’d seen into the depths of his very soul.

  “Dear God, no.”

  The horrified exclamation brought Ryan to his feet. The sketch book still in his hand, he looked around at Fiona, frozen in the doorway. She was wrapped in a sheet from the bed. Her face was pale and she looked terrified.

  “You were never supposed to see that.”

  “Fiona, I didn’t think –”

  “It’s not how it looks!” She came to stand in front of him. “Ryan, do you know what I see when I look at you? Someone so strong and in control, handling a level of responsibility I can’t even begin to imagine.

  “This man,” she tapped the drawing, “is no less strong, no less powerful, but he’s given responsibility for his care over to me, so I can help him to carry that load for a while. He’s the most incredible man I’ve ever known and I –”

  Her face drained of colour, Fiona stopped dead. On the verge of tears, she bolted for the bedroom.

  Ryan found her sobbing her heart out on the bed. When he tried to touch her, his intention to offer comfort, she refused to face him and blindly batted his hands away.

  He stepped back from the bed, his mind flashing back to the night before, when he’d knelt before her. That wasn’t so different from what she’d drawn, as if she’d known the truth about him even then, that his soul needed something only she could give him. Had she known that all along?

  It seemed that the dynamic of their relationship might be about to undergo a seismic shift…

  “Fiona.”

  She was still crying—no longer in heart-rending sobs, but in soft whimpers that spoke volumes about the level of her distress. He tried again. “Fiona. Look at me.”

  This time she did, and almost slithered off the bed, straight into his arms.

  Ryan had brought her drawing to life, kneeling in front of her as naked as she had portrayed him. He helped her wrap the sheet around both of them, taking the opportunity to enfold her in his arms. “I need you, Fiona,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I need you. You’ve seen a part of me that no one else has. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep us together, darlin’. Just tell me what you want. Whatever it is, it’s yours.”

  Wrapped in each other’s arms, for Ryan, time seemed to stand still. Over and over in his mind, he swore that this time it was for good, that it would work out betwe
en them. He’d do whatever was necessary to ensure her happiness.

  “Not that, Ryan. Not what you’re thinking. You’re mine, you belong to me, but not like that.” She clung to him fiercely. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have –”

  “Why not?” He nuzzled her neck. “Don’t you realise? You’ve seen the truth about me. I’m all yours, a chuisle. That’s what you drew, the part of me that’s yours alone. If I can’t let my guard down with the woman I love –”

  Jaw rigid, Ryan closed his eyes. “Shit!” he muttered under his breath. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to hear that –”

  Her finger on his lips silenced him. “Don’t beat yourself up, Ryan. Not ever. You can say anything to me and I’ll never hold it against you or use it against you. You mean too much to me.”

  In silence, they simply clung to each other. Ryan sensed that she needed this physical reassurance as much as he did.

  “It’s all right, darlin’,” he murmured, before pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Why don’t you get back into bed, then we’ll have breakfast, and talk about what else you have in there.” He nodded in the direction of the sketch book.

  Maybe breakfast wasn’t quite in the same league as the spread Fiona had provided the previous evening, but her delight in the simple selection left Ryan in no doubt that he’d done the right thing. Once they’d finished, he reached across and picked up the sketch pad.

  Fiona groaned. “Do we have to do this?”

  “Why not?” Ryan was genuinely curious. “You should be proud of this—I’m proud of this. And I’m proud of you. I had no idea you were so talented.”

  His praise pleased her, he could see, but the embarrassment was more prominent. She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she told him that, as well as moving into freelance bookkeeping, she’d been making part of her income from paintings and sketches, and some design work.

  “A bit of a change from audit work,” she admitted, looking at her fidgeting fingers as she referred to the job she’d had when they first met. “I’m not making a fortune and I don’t expect I ever will, but I’m making an adequate living and I’ve got more work coming in by word of mouth. Of course, there’s always the bonus of being my own boss.”

  In spite of her nonchalance, for Ryan, one very significant alarm bell was ringing loud and clear. “Are you managing financially?”

  She shrugged. “Things can be a bit tight at times but I get through.”

  “You could always work part-time for me, darlin’. I need an assistant to come in for a few hours a week to keep the office under control. Hours to suit you, and you can fit them in around this.” He held up the book.

  “I’m not a charity case, Ryan—I haven’t sunk without a trace yet, and as I said, I am getting more work now.”

  “I know you’re not a charity case, a chuisle. I’m the charity case—I’m throwing myself on your mercy and begging you to rescue me from an avalanche of paperwork.”

  He could see that she still had her doubts, but there was a softening in her eyes that told him she could be won over, if he played his cards right. “All right—how about if we give it a trial run and see how things work out?”

  “Works for me.”

  Chapter 7

  Fiona needed some fresh air. She hadn’t been outside in days, and was convinced she was heading for a major case of cabin fever. There was snow out there that needed walking on, especially since it had stopped falling, for a little while at least. She didn’t intend to go far, just far enough to blow away the cobwebs and breathe in all that crisp, clean air. Unable to wait any longer, she decided to go while Ryan was on his daily conference call.

  She scribbled a quick note to let him know that she was going for a walk and would be back within half an hour at the most. Not wanting to disturb him while he was on the call, she left it by his laptop while his back was turned. As an afterthought, she jotted the current time at the bottom of the note, then headed out of the kitchen to get ready for her expedition.

  “Thanks, guys, same time tomorrow.”

  Ryan ended the call, more than happy to divest himself of the headset at last. A muscle-bursting stretch eased away the tension that always built up on these calls. However, at the risk of tempting fate, everything was going well—so well, in fact, that he was almost starting to feel redundant. At least he was still required to sign off on the payroll.

  “Fiona? All done for today, you can come back now.”

  Silence. Strange, he knew she could hear him no matter where she was in the cottage. Maybe she’d gone to the outhouse to get some supplies from the freezer. That was okay. She’d be back in a minute.

  He turned, and that was when he saw the bright yellow note. His eyes scanned the lines, and when he automatically checked the time against his watch, his blood ran cold.

  Fiona should have been back well before now. He knew what he’d just been watching through the kitchen window, yet he hardly dared look again, not wanting to see the snow that had resumed falling in a blizzard-like swirl of big flakes quite some time earlier.

  “Oh Christ, no.”

  His cold-weather gear was in the utility room. He pulled everything on as quickly as he could, cursing fingers that suddenly refused to function. He called on all his training to calm the pounding of his heart—in the past, he’d have slipped into the routine with flawless professionalism, but this was Fiona, missing in rapidly deteriorating conditions.

  He told himself he’d find her in five minutes. He’d find her, and she’d be laughing at him for panicking and worrying needlessly. She’d probably walk through the door before he even set one foot outside.

  He still turned the heat up to maximum as a precaution and threw extra blankets on the bed.

  With the satellite phone safe in his pocket and praying to God that he wouldn’t need to use it, Ryan strode out into the white wilderness. Christ, where did he start? He looked around for any sign of footprints but the fresh snow had obliterated any sign. Which direction would she have taken? The possibilities were limited. Think.

  It hadn’t been snowing when she left, just badly overcast. She would have kept to her plans, so factoring in enough time to take in the view wherever she’d gone, feasible options were limited, probable ones even more so.

  It had to be the tarn. She’d asked him about it again just yesterday. He’d even told her they’d take a walk there just as soon as the weather let up. His instincts told him it was the best place to start.

  But if she wasn’t there…

  His fingers closed around the satellite phone—speed dial 2 for Mountain Rescue…

  ~~*~~

  Fiona was huddled in the lee of a wrecked stone wall when he found her.

  The way she was dressed would have been sufficient for a short stroll in the conditions prevailing when she’d left the cottage, but were woefully inadequate for the ensuing rapid climatic decline.

  As far as he could gauge, she was in danger of transitioning from mild to moderate hypothermia—her skin was like ice, her breathing shallow, and she was only just conscious, but she did stir slightly when he touched her cheek with his bare fingers. He needed to get her back and into bed, where he could hold her close and get her body temperature back to normal. Hands encased in the military-standard arctic mittens once more, he lifted Fiona into his arms, determined to get them both safely home through the worsening weather.

  Ryan’s sense of direction took him unerringly back to the cottage. Pausing only to remove the mittens, he stripped Fiona of her clothing and tucked her into bed. Semi-conscious and restless, she tried to push him away, completely oblivious to the urgency of the situation.

  As fast as he could, Ryan shed his clothes and joined Fiona in bed. He pulled her to him, tucking her against his body before wrapping both of them in the sheets and blankets, as many layers as possible. With gentle urgency he massaged her back, trying to encourage warmth into the centre of her body. Even though her arms and legs were frozen, he w
rapped himself around her, using his own body heat to try to raise hers. When he felt the first shiver, he allowed himself the luxury of a moment of relief.

  “Good girl,” he murmured against the top of her head. “Do it again—I know you can, a chuisle. Do it for me.”

  The shivering intensified. Ryan had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually, he realised that she wasn’t quite as cold as she had been and her skin was starting to gain a healthier colour.

  “Ryan.”

  Thank God. It was a whisper that saved his sanity and his life. “It’s all right, a rúnsearc.” Mouth dry, he barely recognised his own voice. “You’re safe. You’re home, here with me.”

  ~~*~~

  Lying on the sofa, bundled up in several layers of clothing, with three fleecy blankets and the eiderdown from the bed covering her, Fiona watched Ryan moving around the kitchen as he made hot drinks for both of them.

  She was still shaking inside. The thoughts wouldn’t go away that she’d very nearly killed both of them, by going out for that stupid walk on her own without checking the forecast first, and without checking with Ryan that it would be all right. If it hadn’t been for that man and his cold-weather survival training, she’d be dead. Worse, Ryan could have died while looking for her. How could she have been such an idiot? She’d screwed things up again.

  Ryan must have heard the stifled sob that escaped her control. He was over like a shot, and in the next instant his arms were around her, giving her the comfort she needed.

  “Shh, shh, darlin’, it’s all right, I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry, Ryan.” She clung to his arm. “I could have got you killed.”

  “No, there was no chance of that, a chuisle.”

  “I should have asked you if it was all right. I should have checked the weather.”

  “Maybe I’ll grant you that one, but it could have happened to anyone. The weather here can catch anyone out. It was one of those things, Fiona, but it’s over now.” His arms tightened around her, making her look up at him. He kissed her mouth with an aching tenderness. “We’re here, we’re safe—I’ve got you, darlin’.”