by Caro LaFever
“Damn ye, lovely Lilly,” he mumbled into the steam. “Damn ye.”
For the first time since he’d been cursed, he’d let himself feel. Feel his body. Feel his need. Feel his aching cock.
She did that to him.
He lifted his head, letting the water wash his tears of shame away.
His body had been dead to him for so long. Now it was alive.
“Damn ye,” he moaned into the mist. “Damn ye to hell and back.”
Because it wasn’t only his body she’d brought to life again. It was his mind, too—alive once more to the pleasure of being with someone. Someone smart and quick. Someone who’d made him laugh and think once more.
“Damn ye.”
More than anything, he damned her for bringing his heart back to life. Back to feeling. Making him remember how much he missed his da, how much he missed his men. How much he missed life.
“I hate ye,” he swore at her through the rock and stone. “I hate ye with a passion.”
He couldn’t go back.
The realization sank into him with sharp teeth. The storm would end eventually, she would leave at some point, yet she’d leave him a different man. A man who’d wanted to take his life tonight and had been denied the pleasure. So the man had stupidly gone for another pleasure and found life again in a female’s kiss, in a female’s scent, in a female’s touch.
Leaning his forehead on the edge of a rock, he closed his eyes. But he could no longer close his mind from reality.
He didn’t want to die.
Not really. Not at all.
What would have happened if he’d been alone tonight with his guns? What would have happened if Lilly Graham hadn’t barged into his life and taken over?
He’d never have reached the point.
Because he’d used whiskey to stop himself from confronting the real truth.
He didn’t want to die.
The terrible grief he’d struggled to deal with for weeks during his recovery and then smothered with alcohol for months here in his castle, exploded back into him again.
Now, though, he had no protection.
No excuse.
He really didn’t want to die.
“I’m sorry, lads.” His anguished voice echoed against the rock and glass. “I’m sorry.”
Slumping down, he sat in the heated water. His head sagged onto the wall and the tears he’d hated to show her came again.
A sob of rage at himself and at her rocked him.
“Iain.” Her flat drawl was tentative and quiet and came from right outside the shower, hitting him like a bullet.
“Jesus,” he groaned. “Go away.”
“Not on your life.”
He laughed at that. A hoarse, rough sound that hurt as it came out of his mouth. She placed her trust on his worthless, hopeless life he shouldn’t want and didn’t deserve.
The shower door creaked as it opened.
He felt her come to him. He imagined he could smell her distinctive scent, the lemon cutting through the mist and water. He imagined she smiled at him, even though she should be angry at him for his unwanted kiss.
He kept his eyes closed because it was the only thing he could keep from her.
“Hey.” Her warm hand landed on his shoulder and smoothed to his neck. “I’m right here.”
“I don’t want ye here.”
“I don’t believe that.” She plopped down by his side and snuggled her wet, cotton-covered body into him. “You need me.”
The truth of that statement shook him like another bomb, one of so many. “What the hell am I going to do with ye?” he moaned.
She wrapped a strong arm around his torso and nuzzled into his shoulder. “Be my friend and I’ll be yours.”
Chapter 13
Lilly peered out of the bedroom window and sighed.
The dolster was winding down.
The wind whistled around the castle, but no longer howled. She saw the beach now, saw the waves weren’t tamed, yet at least they were tempered.
By this afternoon, the storm would be over and she’d have no reason to stay with Iain if he didn’t want her to. After last night’s confrontation and chaos, she wasn’t quite sure the peace that had descended between them as they’d sat in the shower would be enough to overcome his mantra.
Go away.
She honestly couldn’t. He needed her too much. She just hoped he was sensible enough in the clear light of day to understand that.
Turning, she surveyed the bed she’d climbed out of. After they’d sat in the shower until the water had grown cold, he’d grumbled about leaving her alone and stomped into the den. Not knowing what else to do for him, she’d decided to sleep on it and tackle him again in the morning.
Well, it was morning and she didn’t have a clue what to do next.
Other than be here for him.
A memory swirled through that conviction, slithering past her determination to plant a picture in her mind.
A picture of a naked Iain McPherson.
He’d only turned on one light in the bathroom last night. The light over the hot tub at the other end of the room. With the mist and steam, she hadn’t been able to see much. To her credit, her focus had been on his tortured face, his tears, and his pain.
Still, she was a woman.
A woman who wanted his body with a desperate need.
Although she’d told him no.
His shoulders were so broad and beautiful, the skin so smooth on the male muscles. The hair on his chest so gorgeous, marking patterns on his body she wanted to explore with her fingers and tongue. He’d had his feet planted by his butt, his legs hiding his sex, when she’d come into the shower. Even after she sidled to his side, she’d kept her gaze away. Yet everything in her had wanted to follow the line of dark hair down his stomach.
Maybe it was best if he threw her out. Because she was very close to throwing herself at him.
She was a mess inside.
And he deserved better.
Tightening her mouth against her lust, Lilly scolded herself. She had come here on a mission and she liked this guy too much to be selfish. Coming so far to only get sidetracked by his beauty wasn’t something she’d allow herself to do. She just had to keep a handle on the lust and she could do that.
Swiveling around, glad she had her priorities in order again, she readied herself to confront him and tell him what was best.
He stood in the arch, one shoulder leaning on the stone, his gaze fixed on her.
“Good morning,” She plastered a smile on her face.
“Is it?” He didn’t move from his relaxed lounge on the wall. He wore his usual jeans and a thick wool sweater. His hair lay messy on his head, as if he couldn’t be bothered to run a comb through it. He presented a picture of idle curiosity, of vague disinterest.
Yet, she knew him now, knew he pretended. The tense line of white around his mouth told her the man was wound tight.
He needed her. More than ever.
As a friend.
“It could be, depending on what you decide.”
“What?” His straight dark brows rose. “I get to decide something?”
“Yes.” She ignored his sarcasm because he did have to make this decision. She couldn’t very well refuse to leave his home, and she wasn’t big enough to fight him if he demanded she go. “The storm is dying down.”
“Aye.” He still didn’t move.
“So.” She stopped, not knowing how to phrase the question. She wasn’t clear on how she should approach him.
“Sooo,” he drawled the word in her accent before switching back to his. “Now ye can go away.”
She felt as if she’d been kicked. Kicked by someone she’d felt so close to last night, and she’d imagined he’d felt the same. Guess she’d been wrong. A temper she rarely experienced reared inside. “If that’s what you want, McPherson.”
“It’s what I want.” But unlike the determined words he’d thrown at her before, words l
ike he couldn’t be helped and go away, this time she caught the flash of confusion strumming along the edge of the pronouncement.
“Really?” She took a step toward him.
His stormy gaze fell to her legs and he straightened from the wall. “Aye.”
“Are you sure?” Ignoring the sudden hot flush of excitement on his cheeks, she kept coming at him.
“I’m sure.” He gave her a sneer and put on his half-mast eyes, yet he took a step back. “Unless you’d like to come over here and give me another kiss.”
Was the man afraid of her? Seriously? She wore another of his big, ugly T-shirts that hung on her like a bag. Granted, her legs were bare. But the man must have seen his share of female legs. Plus, even though she’d had some success with men, she wouldn’t ever classify herself as a femme fatale.
He took another step back, his sneer growing.
He was. He was afraid of her.
Why?
“Iain.”
“Iain.” He drawled out his name in another mimic of her accent, his gaze filled with obstinate refusal.
In a flash, she saw the young boy in front of her. His teenage scowl, his eyes filled with angry pain, his words of rejection filling the stone hall.
You’re a stupid girl, aren’t ye?
You’re a nosy pest, aren’t ye?
Did I ask ye to follow me?
Go away.
Do ye ever think before ye act?
Lilly stilled and thought this time.
Before, with the boy, she’d taken his words at face value and taken her hurt to heart. She hadn’t stopped before she leapt away from his pain, leapt away from his need, leapt away from the underlying meaning behind his rejection.
This time she didn’t make the same mistake.
Striding around the bed, she headed straight toward him.
Shock crossed his face and he stumbled back, no longer able to keep the façade of sarcasm and disinterest intact. Before he could gather his defenses, she was on him. She yanked at his dusky curls and kissed him.
On his cheek.
A low growl of surprise came from his throat.
Lilly kissed him again on his other cheek.
“Donas,” he muttered. “You’re mad.”
The next kiss was on his chin.
His big hands grabbed her hips and he pulled her closer.
She kissed him on his ear.
The sound he made was somewhere between a chuckle and a cough.
She kissed his other ear.
“All right, ye crazy lass.” His arm came around her, latching her to his body, but the action wasn’t filled with lust. The action wasn’t a camouflage.
Her heart zinged with relief.
He wanted her to stay.
“Say it,” she demanded.
“All right, dammit,” he murmured. “Ye can stay if ye want for a spell.”
She was pretty sure that was a kiss on the rim of her ear at the end of His Majesty’s proclamation.
“I don’t know why ye need to go to your da’s cottage.” Iain’s disgusted growl rumbled from his favorite chair. “Especially since ye pushed so hard to stay a few minutes ago.”
“I need to let my dad know I’m okay and get more clothes.” Lilly eased her camera into its case. “I’m going to leave this here, though, so you know I’m returning.”
He eyed the camera case with disinterest. “Ye don’t need clothes. Ye can borrow mine.”
He’d let her in. Yet, it was clear he still wasn’t keen on letting the world in. One thing at a time, she counseled herself. Turning, she gave him a determined smile. “I’ll be back here before dinner.”
“I suppose you’ll want me to cook for ye again.” He frowned, but she saw the teasing light in his eyes.
“Yes.” She walked over and kissed him on the top of his head because she knew the man would have a fine spread laid out for her when she returned.
And also because he was so damn cute.
The growl came again, this time filled with lust. But she understood the tactic now, and she wasn’t intimidated. At least, not by his lust. Hers was another matter. One she had to keep a strong check on.
“Why don’t I stop at Mrs. Butler’s place and make an order?” she said with a cheerful carelessness.
“Naw.” He waved the suggestion away. “I’ll do the ordering.”
She stared at him. “From Glasgow.”
“Correct.” He met her challenging stare with a glower.
“Isn’t that a bit expensive?” She tried to find a way around his stubborn purpose without doing an actual run at him and his temper.
“Don’t fash yourself. I have all the money in the world.”
“Do you?” Cocking her head, she wondered. He’d designed this sanctuary with simplicity, but every item screamed exclusivity and luxury. And as far as she could tell, he hadn’t worked since he’d arrived on Somairie ten months ago. Not many people could go that long without income. “Do you really?”
“What is this?” He lazed in his leather chair, yet his gaze went steely. “Is that why you’re here, donas? Have ye taken the village gossip to heart?”
“What gossip?”
Snorting, he eyed her. “I supposed ye haven’t, not being from around here.”
“Tell me.”
“The gossip that says the McPhersons have stacks of gold in the dungeon below.” He snorted once more, this time in amusement. “And piles of loot stowed away in caves all across our islands.”
She couldn’t help getting distracted at the image. “You have a dungeon?”
He gave her a quizzical look before laughing. “You’re more interested in the dungeon than the gold?”
“Well, I guess if there’s a dungeon and gold, I’d be interested in seeing both.”
“There’s neither.” He tapped his fingers on his long leg. “Ye really don’t care.”
Lilly frowned, not following his train of thought. “I care about you.”
“But not the gold.”
“You just told me there’s no gold.” She glanced at the cell phone she’d switched on again. “Listen, I need to get going if I want to spend some of the day with my dad.”
“I thought ye wanted to spend time with me.” The petulant claim made her look at him once more.
He caught her gaze before stretching his muscled arms above his head. The wool sweater hiked up to show an eyeful of prime male abdomen.
Camouflage at its finest. Trying to divert her attention with his body.
“So you’re bound and determined to order from Glasgow.” She focused her scrutiny on his face and watched as the sinful invitation fell out of his eyes and the disgruntlement returned.
“Aye.” The one word was clipped.
“Can they honestly deliver in one day?”
“Aye.” The word came again, this time pointed.
Sighing, she decided she had more important battles to win with him for the time being. “No whiskey.”
“Ordering me about again?”
“Iain.”
“Maybe a small amount.”
“No.” Folding her arms, she gave him a stern stare. “None. Or I won’t return. Promise me.”
“All right, all right.” He mimicked her by crossing his own arms in front of him, and if she had to describe the expression on his face she’d say it was a pout.
Adorable. Seriously adorable.
“I’ll be off now.” She walked toward the arch leading to the stairs. “See you soon.”
“Don’t go the back way.” His surly voice came from right behind her.
“What?” Swinging around in surprise, she found him standing far too close for her hormones. For such a big man, he moved silently. His soapy, piney scent encircled her as she stared into his sky-blue eyes. She’d like to jump right into those brawny, wool-covered arms of his. Crap. “What do you mean?”
“I meant exactly what I said.” He went past her, saving her from her lusty impulses, and started towa
rd the stairs. “You’ll go out the front.”
“Why?”
He glanced at her, the surly look still on his face, yet his gaze was clear and alive. “Those back stairs aren’t safe even in the best of circumstances. After a storm, they’re likely to be wet and dangerous.”
He paced down the steps.
Another kind of thrill went through her. Not the lusty kind, but the kind that came when a person cared for you and paid attention to your well-being.
A true friend.
And as his true friend, she had an obligation to care for his well-being too. “Are you sure?”
He stopped and turned to confront her with a frown. “Aye. I’m sure.”
“It’s just that…” She waved her hand toward the main part of the castle. “I didn’t think you—”
“You’re the one pushing me to get myself together, eh?” He looked at the stairs, a determined glint in his eye. “Well, this is the next step.”
“Okay.” Lilly wanted to say good for you or I’m so proud. She didn’t think he’d like that, though.
The best she could do was be with him when he went into the main part of his family’s ancient home. She didn’t know what bothered him about his family or his past life here, yet if he were willing to go there, she’d be at his side.
Following him down the circular stone steps, she came up beside him as he opened the stout wooden door leading into the treasure trove she’d had only minutes to peruse the other day.
He flicked the overhead lights on.
“There are some beautiful pieces here,” she ventured.
His only response was a grunt.
There wasn’t room for both of them to walk together, so she trailed behind him, brushing her fingers over the treasures as they passed. A gorgeous oak book cabinet teetered against the wall, one foot gone, while two eighteenth-century Queen Anne chairs stood to one side, their blue velvet upholstery in bad disrepair. But the damage couldn’t conceal the elegant hand-carved beauty of the pair nor the solid splendor of the bookcase.
Why didn’t he value his family history? Why wasn’t he taking care of these riches?
It didn’t fit with the boy she’d known so briefly. The boy who’d relished showing her his family’s secret door. And it didn’t jive with the man his father had proudly boasted about. The man who’d led his troops with honor and returned every year to Somairie to see his da and the villagers.
