by Caro LaFever
“All right.” His slate-blue eyes dazzled in the soft sunlight. Like a dark storm shot with lightning. “Tell me.”
“I never was your father’s lover.” She kept her voice crisp and contained. “Never.”
His lean body went rigid and his expression turned blank.
Begging wasn’t in her. The last and only time she’d begged since childhood was when she’d begged Gareth for Elis’ sake. Never again. Never with any man or any woman.
“Is that so,” he finally said, his voice gentle.
But something flashed in his eyes that was dangerous to her. She knew with a deep womanly instinct—danger.
She said nothing. Merely stood in his arms and let him come at her with whatever he wanted. Because if he gave her rejection, she would survive as she had before.
Her mam’s rejection.
Her friends’ rejection.
Her husband’s rejection.
Of who she honestly was. Of who she wanted to become. Of how she yearned to be loved for herself. Not her beauty.
But oh, God. She wished for more.
His gaze was keen and his mouth firmed into a straight line. The only sound came from the quiet sift of the wind riding on the grassland surrounding them. Her heart trembled, yet she kept her focus firmly on him. She wouldn’t beg. She’d survive.
A shift happened. Something in his eyes, something in the way he held her.
Her heart beat in chugging terror.
“I believe ye,” he stated in his dangerously gentle voice.
Simple. Quiet. Solid.
Her stuttering heart tumbled out of her chest and into his rawboned hands. She knew with a deep certainty these words meant more to her than any words ever said.
“Thank you,” she managed to stutter.
His gaze narrowed. “I’m thinking I’ve not been paying close enough attention to ye.”
That was laughable. The man had catalogued every inch of her skin, had inspected every sensitive place on her body. Yet, in a way, he was right. He’d only scratched the surface of who she was.
Did she dare to let him come further in?
The question banged inside her head. Not knowing the answer, she shifted her gaze to the basket and blanket on the ground. “Shouldn’t we eat before the food goes bad?”
He grunted, his arms tightening around her.
“No?” She flashed him a smile and batted her eyes. “What else would you like to do?”
“You’re trying to distract—”
Lunging for his mouth, she swallowed his words. The truth. She’d given all she could today. The reality of her relationship with Will. Her heart. Her hope. She felt as if she’d dried up, a dry well needing some time to refill.
Lorne grunted again and finally eased himself into the kiss, taking control and giving her his tongue and his lust. Falling into the familiar, she let herself and her brain go. The only dim thought she held was…yes, this man was now familiar to her. Familiar body and kiss and taste. Familiar in his habits and his expressions.
Familiar. And precious. So precious.
His hands drifted to her butt and pulled her into his erection, his usual response to her being near. Something that delighted her each and every time. He tore his mouth from hers and nuzzled into the crease between her neck and shoulder. “Ceri,” he murmured.
“That’s me,” she whispered into his ear.
“I suppose you’ve distracted me enough we might as well sit down and have something to eat.” He lifted his head, his brows rising. “But don’t think I’ll forget.”
His gaze told the story.
He was still coming after her.
Chapter 24
Lorne wanted his mobile right now.
Why he hadn’t stopped and listened to Doc when he’d had the chance, he didn’t know. He was a fool, a wanker. His friend had dropped enough hints about Ceri’s background he should have listened. The initial report he’d received from the security firm he’d hired hadn’t been thorough enough. Clearly.
He needed to hear what Hugh had to say.
Instead, he found himself in the middle of a meadow with a woman trying to dazzle him with her charms, when for the first time, he wanted to understand her.
Her.
Not her charms.
Though her charms were extraordinary.
“Let’s sit.” She grabbed the tartan rug and snapped it open, laying it on a flat section of grass. Her breasts swung gently under the baggy T-shirt, and her hips twisted as she moved, highlighting the flare of her arse and the length of her legs.
Setting the picnic basket in the center, he eased himself into a sitting position, all the while watching her.
She didn’t meet his searching gaze.
She had a fake smile on her face.
Yet he’d believed her, those simple words she’d shot out between them. As if daring him to call her a liar.
Ceri Llewellyn…
Wait. He remembered what Doc had said.
Ceri Olwen was her name. He needed to believe that, and believe so many other things about her he hadn’t wanted to accept.
She hadn’t slept with his father. They’d been friends. Very good friends. And he owed her for that. Because he hadn’t been a friend to his father, and without Ceri, William Ross would have been a lonely man in the last years of his life.
The tang of grief coated his tongue.
The taste of regret washed through his heart.
She loved his castle and his land. During the last two weeks, he’d seen this over and over again. Through the cottage window, he’d watched her as she led the tourists into his garden. The echo of her voice had drifted into the open window, reminding him of his ancestors and the lives they’d lived here in this home and lands they’d passed down to him.
To her.
He shifted on the rug, letting that reality sink in.
The hurt rang inside him.
The bitterness rustled through his veins.
The reality was his da had left their family’s history and lands to her. At this moment, he understood why. She loved the place far more than he ever had.
Until now.
That was another thing she’d led him to. If it hadn’t been for Ceri Olwen, he would have spent a few days here making sure everything was settled, and then he’d have gone back to London for good.
He’d never have run through these forests, easing back into his homeland.
He’d never have remembered the silent comfort of long, drawn-out dusks.
He’d never have realized the pleasure of being at home.
At home.
A shiver of bright, hot awareness shook him.
At home.
“Mmm.” Kneeling across from him, his lover flipped the rattan basket open. She pulled out the plastic-wrapped smoked salmon and crackers, all the while keeping her focus away from him. Her hair drifted across her shoulders in a riotous glory, and her pretty skin was flushed, making him think of coding again. The impossibility of coding this woman. “Are you hungry?”
Aye, he was hungry. Hungry for her body, as usual. Hungry to kiss her and get her naked. But now he held another hunger in him. One he’d never expected to feel towards her. A hunger to know everything, to comprehend every part of her brain and her emotions and her past.
“Are you?” She finally met his gaze.
Her eyes were opaque. Not letting him in.
Frustration coursed inside him. He’d thought getting into her room and into her body would be his ultimate goal. Now, he realized he’d only just begun to get in.
He needed to call Doc.
She tilted her head, her gaze narrowing. “Is everything all right?”
The amount of experience he had with women was extremely slim. That fact added to his frustration. Because he had no idea which way to go. Should he blurt out what he wanted? That he wanted her to lay every one of her secrets in front of him so he could figure her out? Or should he hide inside the sexual need he ha
d for her and let it alone?
A latent instinct told him to do the latter. “Come here.” Pushing aside the basket between them, he reached over and yanked her into his arms.
“What are you—?”
Her exclamation was cut off by his lips. He let his frustration and need go into his kiss, thrusting his tongue deep into her. Eventually, at some point, he’d thrust himself far into her brain.
Far into her heart.
The realization pounded through him. He didn’t want to know about her past so he could figure her out. He wanted to know everything about her so he could understand her completely. Know all of her.
Especially her heart.
“Lorne,” she whispered into his open mouth.
He peered at her, so close and yet impossibly far away. Her gaze held the familiar haze of desire, one he’d come to love. But there was something more there, wasn’t there? They were warm and gold and alive with…
Was that love?
Could that be love?
He didn’t know. He had such little experience. Before Ceri, he hadn’t given this lack a thought. A woman would come along and he’d have her because of his money. That’s what he’d thought when he’d given any time to the topic at all.
Now, here he was with a woman. But she wasn’t merely a woman. She was far more.
And he had no experience to deal with this. “Fuck.”
She jerked back, her warm, willing gaze growing cautious. “What?”
Yes, what. What was exactly the word. What was he going to do with her? What was he going to do with Castle Ross, and this land that was more hers than his?
“Lorne?”
Lornnne.
What was he going to do?
He lay in sweet splendor on the tartan. The rug wove the colors Ross into a blend of brilliant red, green, and blue. His hair, released from the man-bun, fell in gentle waves, blending its fire into his family’s plaid.
“Did ye enjoy the feast, lass?” He mumbled the words, his eyes closed.
Ceri didn’t know what had been wrong with him at the start of the picnic. She’d thought perhaps he was angry at her for withdrawing, because clearly, that’s what she’d been doing. When he’d kissed her, she’d been relieved and sure she’d navigated away from revealing anything more. But then he’d sworn, stopping the kiss. By the expression on his face and the look in his eyes, she’d known he was frustrated.
Frustrated about what, though?
She didn’t know. Not then and not now. Which frustrated her.
“Did ye?” he asked once more, this time opening his eyes to stare at her.
“Yes, it was very good.” She busied herself by putting the last of the crackers and raspberries into the basket.
The tense moment when he’d pulled away from their kiss had drifted through their entire meal. Even as he’d smiled at her and yanked out the rest of the food. Even as she’d smiled back and taken the first bite of smoky salmon. Even as they’d sipped the Chablis and talked about…
Nothing.
It had struck her as they went back and forth—this was the first conversation where they both were hiding more than sharing. She hated the thought. She hadn’t realized how open they’d both been, how truthful in their words.
Before she’d been able to figure out how to get back to the kind of conversations she cherished with him, he’d put aside the remains of his food and slumped down into a slumbering pose.
As if it all exhausted him.
The stilted conversation. The meadow where he’d been embarrassed as a boy.
Her.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” His growled question, so pointed, like an arrow straight to the heart of things, should have irritated.
Instead, it thrilled her.
He cherished their true conversations, too.
Looking right at him, she gave him her first real smile of the afternoon. “I’m sad.”
The slate in his eyes went dark with bewilderment. “That’s an emotion, Ceri.”
A reluctant laugh escaped her. He was so literal. And also right.
“See.” He lurched up, putting his arm on his knee. “I’m confused.”
Her heart tilted, falling into a dizzy brew of affection. He was giving her truth again. “Are you?”
“Aye.” His brows furrowed. “Ye tell me you’re sad, but then ye smile.”
“I’m sorr—”
“There’s no need to be sorry.” His gaze never wavered from hers. “I just don’t understand how a lass could be out in a meadow she chose—”
“And you didn’t,” she teased, her spirits lifting in every moment.
“True.” A quick grin flitted across his face. “She also has a nice spread of food, good Scottish fare to be enjoyed.”
“Which I did.”
“Did ye? I’d say that was doubtful.”
“I ate.” She gave him a disdainful sniff, still playing.
“Barely.” Shifting closer, he swung a rawboned hand around her, placing it right by her hip.
The thought turned inside her that the gesture spoke of possession. Yet, instead of feeling upset, as she always had with Gareth, she felt warm and excited.
The realization stunned her.
Lorne peered at her, close enough she saw each individual strand of his gold-tipped eyelashes. “She also has a man here willing to do just about anything she wants.”
The air went from cool and clean to hot and sultry. Ceri battled between wanting to keep this conversation going until he confessed what he’d been thinking earlier, or taking up the invitation shining in his eyes. Still, if she pushed the conversation forward, then she might well have to make some confessions of her own.
She wasn’t ready to do that.
Perhaps he wasn’t ready either.
But they could relish and enjoy a connection between them that had never failed.
Sex.
Making love, her heart whispered.
In every one of their sexual encounters, Lorne had been the aggressor. She’d let him give to her, soaking in the pleasure of being worshiped, being appreciated. Yes, she’d touched and kissed. And yes, she’d given him pleasure. Not once, though, had she offered him more than easy acceptance.
She wanted to give him more here and now.
She wanted to express all the pounding emotions inside her she didn’t want to label out loud.
Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
Cuddling into him, she lifted her mouth to his and nibbled on his lower lip. He started, as if surprised. He should be surprised, she rarely initiated kissing. Not since they’d become lovers.
Because it reminded her.
Of how it had been with her husband. Of how she’d played a part and been the seducer. Of how she’d forced herself for the sake of her mother and brother.
“Ceri,” Lorne murmured bringing her back to this man and this time.
She responded by stroking her hands through his hair. The strands were warm and thick, rich and curly. His distinctive scent enveloped her, rich and warm, too. Shifting closer in his embrace, she rubbed her breasts along his chest.
His swift inhalation made her purr on his mouth.
“What are ye doing?” He jerked away from their kiss, astonishment filling his eyes.
Was he the opposite of her husband? A man who always wanted to be the aggressor?
She drew back. “You don’t like what I’m doing?”
Stilling, his face went expressionless. She could practically see him calculating his reactions and responses. Affection bloomed inside her again. “It can’t be that hard to answer,” she said wryly. “Either you like it or you don’t.”
“Ye taking the lead.” His voice was monotone, which she knew meant he hadn’t made a decision.
What would she do if he decided he didn’t like this?
Slide back into a passive role. Slide into showing only a part of herself, and not her all. Slide into playing another role for another man.
No. She couldn’t do that.
Drawing farther away, she frowned at him. “Make up your mind.”
“Och.” His mouth went soft and his expression turned tender. “You’re a demanding lass now, eh?”
“Yes.” Taking a chance, she placed her palm on the center of his chest. “Yes, I am. Is that okay?”
“Aye.” A spark of excitement came to life in the depths of the blue. “Do your damnedest to me, Ceri Olwen.”
Shock coursed inside her. By saying her maiden name, was he acknowledging something more than just the simple switch? Was he telling her he viewed her as who she really was, and not the artifice she’d erected years ago to protect herself?
“Well?” He cocked his head, a frown crossing his face. Yet excitement still shone in his eyes. “Are ye coming for me?”
Pushing aside the thoughts and emotions running through her, she reached for his broad shoulders, tightening her fingers into the cotton covering his freckled skin. “I certainly am.”
He laughed, his gorgeous, beautiful laugh, before she latched onto his lips with her own and he went quiet. Using her tongue, she slipped inside him, sipping his taste and seducing him at the same time.
A low groan came from deep within him.
Happiness, a bottomless well of happiness, burbled inside. Because he’d accepted her change. He’d accepted the want in her to take on another role in their sexual relationship. He’d let her be what she wanted to be without raising an objection, or trying to put her in a place he wanted her.
More than anything else, at this moment in her life, she wanted to give to this man.
Sliding her hands to the center of his chest, she pushed.
He landed with a thud on the tartan, his gaze narrowing, his mouth going slack. “Here I am. At your mercy.”
His words held a teasing challenge.
Ceri wanted to drive him into incoherence as he’d done to her many times in the last few weeks. So she accepted his challenge by slipping her hands under his T-shirt, and over his chest and sides.
That drove the air from his lungs, and his eyes drifted shut.
Taking advantage of his distraction, she pushed the shirt up and leaned down to suck on the slightly damp skin right below his belly button.
