by Caro LaFever
He growled, an animalistic noise that made her body shudder.
His hands moved away from her head, down her shivering shoulders, over her sides, and onto her butt. His fingers squeezed, arching her pelvis into his. Relaxing his grip, he tightened once more, pushing and releasing, pushing and releasing. With an instinct as old as the earth, she responded with her own rhythm, soft then tense, soft then tense.
He groaned, a sound that called to her female core.
Heat poured from his body, firing her own. Swathed in his wool sweater and her wet T-shirt, she steamed with desire and need. Sweltered in his arms as the humid, horny female she was.
Rearing back, he gazed at her. “Take this off.” He yanked on his sweater, pulling it over her head. “I want to touch ye. See ye.”
The air cut into her heat, cooling the wet cotton like a splash of cold water. Her mushy mind awoke with a start.
Is this being a friend, Lil? Really?
Iain slanted his mouth toward her once more, ready for another kiss, his lips sultry, his eyes at half-mast.
His camouflage. His armor.
And she’d nearly fallen for it.
“Stop.” Her hands planted in the middle of his chest with a punch.
“Stop?” He stilled, his mouth going tight, his eyes going flat. “What the hell do ye mean by that?”
“I mean, let me go.” She slid her hands from him to her breasts, covering them, protecting herself from his power. The cotton shifted on her skin and she shivered. “I’m cold.”
“Ye were hot a minute ago.” His focus went to her lips and his hips bumped on her own. “What happened, donas? Let’s keep going. We were both enjoying the ride.”
The ride. That’s all it was to him. Lilly had experienced this a time or two, with a man or two. She’d known the relationship wasn’t going to last and she’d been fine with taking the fun and the man for what it was.
But with Iain, instinct told her it wouldn’t be the same.
She glared at him, hiding her fear behind rising irritation. “I’m not available for rides, buster. Move.”
Glaring right back at her, he pumped his hips on hers again. Yet, this time, the action wasn’t about sex and seduction. This time, it was about aggression and anger.
For all of Iain McPherson’s bluster, though, she knew he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want done. How she knew this, she couldn’t say. But her instinct blasted the knowledge to her just as surely as it passed on the reality—this man was different from any other man she’d played with.
This man couldn’t be played with as a lover without endangering her heart.
So she had to play with him as a friend.
“Iain.” She kept her stony gaze on his furious face. “Stop.”
Stop? For the first time in months, hell in years, he felt alive and full and free. And she wanted him to stop?
Fury roared through his body. The body who yearned for this woman with a stark need that fired inside him like a pulsing bead of life. Iain scowled at the donas and even through his rage, he noted the plush plumpness of her lips, bright pink from his kisses. “I don’t want to stop.”
“Tough.” Her gaze narrowed and he was struck by how luxuriant her lashes were from up close. They were blonde at the tips, masking how thick they really were. She pushed at his shoulders once more, wrenching him away from his fascination with every little bit of her. “Move.”
He didn’t want to.
He wanted to keep taking inventory.
He wanted to touch her cheeks to see if they were as silky as they appeared. When he’d held her before, he’d been too filled with lust to take in the details. He wanted to kiss her mouth again, and this time, take in all the subtle flavors of Lilly. He wanted to pet her pretty breasts and lush tush, and this time, he wanted her naked.
“Move.” Her mouth tightened into a straight, determined line.
“Fuck.” Her gaze told him everything he didn’t want to see. The fun was over. His time was done. Dropping his shaking hands from her heated body, he stepped back and nearly tottered into his guns.
His ruined guns.
Damn her.
“No, thank you,” she said with a pert lilt that she had no business feeling. She should be feeling guilty and begging for his forgiveness, not mocking his sexual need.
“Go fuck yourself,” he yelled before striding out the shed’s door toward the stairway leading to the castle.
“I guess that’s better than go away, huh, McPherson?” Her taunt landed squarely in the middle of his back like a sledge hammer. “But I’m not interested in fucking around with you at all.”
That was so untrue it almost sucked the air from his lungs. He might be depressed and damaged, yet he knew a woman’s lust when he saw it and felt it.
Lovely Lilly was lying through her pretty little teeth.
Iain swung back, so angry and furious he couldn’t remember feeling this way. Ever. As a child, he’d been a sunny, happy kid until his mum’s illness. As a teenager, he’d been a determined young man bent on fulfilling his da’s dreams. As a soldier, he’d been a disciplined, tough leader. Never, not in any of these roles, had he felt as if his head were about to explode and his body was about to flame into an uncontrollable fire. “I never want to see ye again,” he bellowed.
She edged out of the shed, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her wet T-shirt flapping in the wind. “I’ll say it again. Tough. I’m here to help you.”
Going near her was too fraught with peril. He might push her onto the shed’s wall and drive into her with a fevered need. Or he might toss her into his sea once more and this time he’d not be letting her back on his land. Even more likely, he might take her over his knee and spank her lovely, lush rump until it was red from his hand.
“Nothing to say?” She cocked her head in that provoking way of hers and gave him a grim smile. “Good. I wouldn’t want to fight with you.”
That smile did it.
That smile of hers was too much.
He advanced toward her like he was marching into war, a snarl on his face, his hands fisted with rage.
Her face whitened, her eyes went wide, and her arms trembled.
Trembled.
Iain stopped, mid-stride.
The donas was afraid? Of him?
The truth rattled from his brain down his heated body like a cold, hard spike of chilled ice. Along with it came the realization he was a big, broad man and she was a dainty, delicate lass.
“Lilly,” he whispered, stunned at the fact he’d scared her. Scared his fairy girl exactly as he’d done long ago. “I’m sorry—”
“I think you should go to the castle now, McPherson.” Her words were brave and jaunty, yet there was still a wary look in her eyes. “I think you should turn around and go away.”
Her rejection, the same words he’d thrown at her over and over, came at him like a slap of a bullet. For all the time she’d been with him, he’d been the one holding this card, this rejection card. He’d been the one to push her away and yell at her that he didn’t want her around. And she’d taken it, his ugliness and shite and rejection, with a lovely smile, always holding out her hand in friendship.
Not many people would put up with you. But I have because I want to help.
The lust roaring in his blood went quiet as his rage simmered into silence. His brain snapped back into operation and gave him a report of his recent conduct.
He’d grabbed her.
Forced her against a wall.
Kissed her when she’d said no many times before.
Horror spread across his skin, making him shudder. He’d known he wasn’t what his da dreamed of for a son. He’d known throughout the years of military service that he wasn’t a real soldier who loved the work. And he’d known when he came home to Somairie he didn’t deserve the island and its bounty. But he’d never thought he’d sink this low. Into a mean animal intent on only his pleasure, never looking at the woman and realizing
she was scared.
“I didn’t mean to scare ye,” he offered, his voice rusty with regret. “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes went wide and her pretty mouth gaped open. “What did you say?”
The male in him shifted, edgy about the direction they were going. He knew when he was wrong, though, and unlike other times, the person he’d harmed still stood in front of him. Still could forgive him. “I said, I’m sorry I scared ye and hurt ye.”
“Hurt me?” Her blonde brows furrowed.
“I promise I won’t do it again.” He infused every word with the last of his pitiful honor. “Ye have nothing to fear from me.”
“Iain.” Sighing, she dropped her hands. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Ye are.” The whip of the wind cut through his sweaty T-shirt, making him shiver. “I saw it.”
“Well, you can be a little bit fearsome when you’re in a temper.” She gave him a tentative smile.
He wouldn’t take the gift. He didn’t deserve it. “Ye see. Fearsome. That says everything right there.”
She cocked her head, her gaze growing shrewd. “You are a bit dramatic, aren’t you? I just realized that.”
“I’m only saying what’s true.” He turned to stare out at the calm sea. “I’m thinking ye can see why I keep telling ye to go away.”
“Can I?”
“Now that you’ve seen me behave like I did.”
“Like…” her voice trailed off, leading him on.
“Like in the shed.” He gritted his teeth at the memory. He’d been selfish, thinking of only himself and his feelings. Feelings of lust and freedom and pleasure. Never stopping to think of Lilly and what she’d told him she didn’t want.
“When you kissed me.”
“Yes,” he hissed, all his self-hate in the one word.
“And when I kissed you.”
Swinging around, he scowled. “I pushed ye onto the shed’s wall.”
Her eyes twinkled.
Twinkled?
Shock coursed through him, making him go stiff. His arm arched out, lashing across his body in rejection. “Don’t try and brush this off, donas—”
“And while you were doing the pushing, I was doing the grabbing.” Her mouth curved in a wry smile. “Grabbing you and pulling you into my kiss.”
“I forced ye—”
“To grab your hair and yank you to my mouth?” Those provocative lips of hers curled, sending a surge of inappropriate lust swimming through his blood.
“Shite.” He narrowed his eyes before swinging away, keeping his gaze from her and her distractions.
He needed to think.
Think with his brain, not his cock. Think as he’d used to when he’d been fully functional and not a crazed beast of a man going after an unwilling woman.
When he’d joined the Royal Marines, he’d thought he’d do his duty and get out. But he and his superiors had quickly realized Iain McPherson was a very good strategist, a grand planner, an excellent thinker. He had a talent for building a team and profiling the enemy. He knew how to motivate his men and how to keep calm in a storm of disasters.
He’d been too valuable to let go.
The medals and honors had kept coming and his da had grown prouder and prouder. Every time he thought about quitting, the call of his country and his da’s pride would stop him from severing the tangled ties. After a while, he’d lost the strand of his own dreams, the dreams he’d thought to attempt after the military. After he’d done his duty. He’d lost himself in the military, lost his childish fantasies, his ideas about what kind of man he wanted to be, and finally, he’d lost his honor.
Now, he’d landed back in his benighted past only to find he’d not only lost his way and his dreams, he’d also lost his control and his brain.
She touched him, a soft float of fingers on his bare arm, and he jumped back to the present.
To Lilly.
To what he’d done.
To how he was trying to think.
“Hey.” She stood at his side, too near. “Have you stopped beating yourself up now?”
“No.” He crossed his arms in front of him, stopping himself from grabbing her again. “I’m not beating myself up, I’m just telling the truth—”
Her delicate hand slapped his arm. “Along with that dramatic flair of yours, you also have an oversized sense of responsibility, don’t you?”
He couldn’t help himself. Turning, he glared into her smiling face.
Smiling face?
Confusion, the usual confusion he felt around the donas, swarmed inside, making him dizzy. And completely unable to think.
“Listen, you.” She sidled to stand in front of him and came to her toes, her pointy, pretty nose coming right to his chin. Her eyes were bright green in the light shining off the sand and Iain felt like they pierced right through his skin, right through to his soul. “That was mutual in there, in the shed.”
Lust swallowed his pride and lingering honor, but he couldn’t move because he didn’t want to scare her. More than anything, he desperately didn’t want her to go away. Even though she should. She should before he hurt and scared her once more.
As he had when they’d been kids.
As he had when he yelled at her time after time.
As he had on this beach moments ago.
Her peachy upper lip and pouty lower one curved, making his brain spin. “Not that I want to kiss you anymore, but I don’t want you walking around with a load of guilt.”
The spike of her rejection went straight through him, yet he still couldn’t bludgeon any coherent thought together to protect himself.
“You carry around enough guilt already.” Lifting her hand, she tapped his clenched jaw with her soft palm.
Her touch burned over and in and out of him. His hands fisted, barely containing the urge to yank her into his arms. Yank her into a kiss she so clearly didn’t want.
“We’ll have to work on that.” She patted him again, as if he were some placid doggy.
His brain flooded with too much of everything. Lust and fear and anger and pain. She did this every time. How could a man take this woman in and stay sane? How could a man think he’d be able to develop any kind of strategy to deal with a donas like her? How was he going to make her go away when he suddenly couldn’t imagine his castle and his life without this guileless spirit flitting by his side?
The awareness, the realization of his need for her, blasted into him like an IED, cutting through the pain and anger, aiming straight for his heart.
Stumbling back, his arms rose, covering his chest.
“Iain?” She came down on her feet from her tip-toes, a puzzled look on her face. “What’s wrong?”
He glanced around, a wild, scattered view of his island, his sea, and God help him, the woman he wanted to be his, too, and then he turned from it all.
“Iain?”
Her wistful voice followed him as he marched toward his sanctuary.
Chapter 18
She’d followed him back to his castle.
Why? He had no idea.
If she’d been smart, she would have run across the beach, up the moor and on toward her father’s cottage.
Iain stood in the center of his den staring into the roaring fire he’d just set. He’d set one in the kitchen too because when she’d arrived at the arch of his entrance, she’d shivered.
With cold.
Thankfully, not as a result of fear.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she’d announced before slipping into the bathroom and sliding into his fevered, lusty imagination.
Forcing the naked Lilly from his brain, he replaced it with a memory of why she was cold and shivering.
The solid feel of her in his arms.
The sight of her blonde curls bobbing in the wind when he swung her around.
The sound of her cry as she went into his sea.
Cold and shivering. All because of him.
Had he thought of that when he pic
ked her up and slammed her against the shed’s wall? Naw.
Had he contemplated why she was soggy and wet when he ran his hands along her pretty body? Not for a second.
Had he taken a moment to think of her comfort and well-being when he’d sucked and licked her plush mouth? Not a chance.
Shame flooded inside him, and he knew if he were to stare into his cursed mirror, he’d see his skin red as a tomato.
He needed to make it up to her somehow.
Pacing over to his music, he selected the record he’d given her and put it on the player. The fragile, poignant strains of Debussy’s “Reverie” filled his sanctuary. He’d told her it was the type of music for a woman. The type of music that rolled with romance, instead of striding into the air with the deliberation of Beethoven or the precision of Mozart. The piano trilled high, patient and lilting. Making him think of his mum and how her voice would rise and lilt when she scolded him or loved him.
A clutch of grief mixed with bittersweet love filled his throat.
He’d been wrong. Debussy wasn’t about romance. It was about emotion.
He didn’t do emotion now.
Swinging away from the music, he strode into the kitchen. He needed to do more for lovely Lilly than merely play a record. He walked to the fridge and opening the door, he leaned in and stared inside. He could do steaks again, but that was a man’s food. He could make her another stovie, but he’d already done that before. He needed to make something special, something that would say I’m sorry and I’m an idiot and don’t go away.
Iain, my lad, and don’t ye look like ye need some comforting.
His mum’s voice whispered from the past, bringing back her love and care and the memory of what she’d always brought him when he was sick in bed.
Inspiration hit him with a slap.
He had a good piece of haddock he’d ordered. Not from his own shores and fisheries, so he didn’t have the best, yet good haddock nevertheless. Within minutes, he had the fish simmering with bay leaf in one pan. In another, he had the onion and leeks covered and stewing.
