Meredith grimaced, took a huge inhalation, then shook her head. “Before I explain that, I—I have to tell you I’m so sorry for what I said. I’m so sorry I acted that way. I was scared...I’m still scared—”
“I scare ye?”
She shook her head and glanced around the lobby. People still milled about, but they seemed to be too busy to pay much heed to the merry madness that had just ensued, let alone the whispering he and Meredith commenced.
“What happened to yer face, Meredith? That looks suspiciously like ye were punched.”
“Not punched. Slapped.”
“Someone slapped ye?” he asked a wee too loud.
She glanced around the antechamber again. “Do you have a room we could talk in?”
Lord, he’d wanted her there, but he was fearful of what she might say next, angered someone would dare strike his wee fae, and so damned confused.
He nodded.
“Will you show me to your room?”
The way her whisper suddenly turned into silk, the lushness of her voice, the innuendo of things they could do in his chamber...desire poured through him, making his stomach and groin tighten. He inhaled, praying for the strength not to rip her clothes from her little body, to be able to truly talk, for there was much they both needed to say to each other.
*
Meredith’s hands shook as Jake showed her into a small room, complete with a brass bed, a night side table, and two chairs facing a fireplace with only smoldering orange coals warming the room. Red-orange curtains were pulled aside, revealing the gray sun of winter. Even without a roaring fire and frail sunbeams, the room was inviting. Meredith thought it was especially welcoming with Jake’s trousers strewn about the brass baseboard of the bed, a pair of boots by the fire, even his shotgun and rifle seemed a happy sight. Because they belonged to him.
She was ecstatic to see him and couldn’t stop touching him. He’d held her hand, tucked against his bent arm as they’d ascended the stairs to his room, but she’d wanted to reach out with her other hand and touch his glossy brown hair that curled under his hat. She’d missed him so much. Words were hard to come by when he shut the door of his little room.
All she could think of was how it was time to tell him the truth about herself, but how she starved to touch him again. Her belly fluttered, her heart seemed to be somewhere close to her throat.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated from earlier.
He nodded, took off his hat, flung it on the bed behind her. Then in one move he held her roughly against him, his lips pommeling down on hers. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down further, deepening the kiss. She licked at the seam of his lips and he opened, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Their tongues laved against each other’s. A moan came from deep within his chest, and her knees nearly buckled at the sound.
“I missed ye,” he whispered as he kissed along her ear, sucking in her lobe, making her curl her body into his.
But something about hearing his accent, knowing he was hiding part of himself, made her have the strength to pull away slightly. She smiled up at him. “We need to talk.”
“Aye, I agree. It just feels so damned good to hold ye again.”
She lunged for a deeper embrace then, just holding him, feeling his whiskered cheek against her own. “I missed you so much. I know it’s only been a little over a day, but I missed you...” so much, she thought over and over in her mind.
It was difficult to do, but she had to—gain a bit of distance, so she could talk to him, tell him who she really was. Taking him by his bulging arms, she guided him to the bed, where it slightly squeaked under his weight. He was so lean, so chiseled, that often she wouldn’t think him heavy, but he was tall and made from marble muscle apparently, since she could barely keep her hands to herself as she tried to refrain from jumping on him.
“I—I need to tell you a bit about myself,” she began, her voice reedy.
He shook his head, utterly surprising her. “The last thing I said to ye—”
“I didn’t mean any of what I’d said to you,” Meredith interrupted. “I—I was scared.”
“I scare ye? And, Jesus, Meredith, what the hell happened to yer bonny face? Lord, lass, did it hurt when I kissed ye?” His accent was thick now, lilting, almost as if he weren't trying to cover it any more.
She shook her head emphatically. Even if it had hurt, she wouldn’t have told him, because kissing him felt so much better than the pain.
Her hand shot over her cheek and the area along her jaw where Bruisner’s hit had bruised her. In an instant, Jake stood again, pulling her hand away from her face.
“Someone slapped ye?”
Meredith nodded, wanting to keep him touching her, especially when he reached down with that gentle possessive look in his eyes and kissed over her aches. He was so tender, and for a moment she thought about lying, or simply not saying anything. They could tear each other’s clothes off, have sex and...and she would feel like a fraud the whole time. The shame would cut through her as it had the past few months.
“I—I came after you to apologize. I never meant to say...I was acting cowardly, trying to pick a fight with you. I was scared...Then you talked about the land—”
“I don’t want ye for yer land, Meredith. I just want ye.”
Oh God. Of course, he’d say the most perfect thing a man could. That he didn’t want her thinner, didn’t want her for her money or the things she owned—he wanted her just because he did. And he didn’t know she was a thief or a liar.
“I know that now. Well, I’m trying to get that through my thick skull.”
“I like that skull of yers very much. ‘Tisn’t thick. Just right, in my estimation.”
She smiled. Couldn’t help it. But tried to continue. “I was just scared.”
“Why do I scare ye so much? I’d never hurt ye, woman. Never.” Pain seared through his gray eyes. She was hurting him by stalling so much, and she had to stop.
“I—I’m sorry. I—” She cut herself off, not able to talk with him so near. Wheeling away from his warmth and tenderness, she said it all. “I’m a thief.”
“What did ye say?”
She took two more steps then turned. He deserved for her to look him in the eye when she confessed, even as she felt more humiliated than ever before.
“I’m a thief.”
His dark brows furrowed. “Is that how ye own the land? Ye stole it?”
She shook her head, frustration at herself for not telling him everything. “I—I stole from Erva.”
“Yer friend?”
Meredith nodded, tears blurring her vision. She couldn’t cry now. She just couldn’t. Blinking hurriedly, she had to clear her throat a few times, but then dove into honesty. “I—we used to work together, Erva and I. She—I was her supervisor. It was my responsibility to help her to my position. Instead, I stole her work and called it my own. I lied. I cheated. I’m a thief.” She didn’t know how to tell him more than that. She’d known from past experience that if she told the truth, about living in the future, people threatened insane asylums, and they gave her nicknames like Mad Mere. And she probably deserved much worse, but she wanted Jake to try to understand.
He tilted his head. “That doesn’t seem like something ye’d do.”
She laughed a humorless noise. “You don’t know me.”
“I do.”
He seemed so convinced, and she wanted to believe it, but she knew it wasn’t the truth.
She shook her head. “No, you don’t. I did do all those things. I stole from Erva. I lied—”
“She called you a friend of hers.”
“I—what?”
“She called you a friend of hers, and she meant it. She likes ye. The way she looked at ye with such protection when she didn’t ken who I was. She not only likes ye, but she’s a loyal friend to ye.”
Meredith shook her head, not sure what his point was. “She’s an amazing woman. She—”
“And she kens what ye did to her, aye?”
Meredith swallowed and nodded.
“And yet she’s yer friend.”
Finally, she’d had enough and let out a sigh. “Yes, she knows what I did, and she is still my friend. So...?”
His eyes narrowed at her patronizing tone, and she cringed. But he gritted his teeth and said, “So, if she can forgive ye, and ye did the wrong to her, then why is it ye think me so mean-spirited that I can’t forgive ye?”
Meredith couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore.
“Why is it ye think me doin’ ye wrong at every turn?”
A tear flickered out and fell on her wide amethyst skirt, marring the fabric.
“Why do I scare ye? Who hurt ye so bad to think the worst of me? Who is it that did this to ye, so ye treat me so unfairly?”
She shook her head, staring at the floor. “I’m so sorry.”
His hands tenderly cupped her cheeks. When he’d snuck so close, she didn’t know. He had moved with no noise. But there he was pulling her closer, forcing her to look at the storm in his eyes.
“Ye don’ have to answer me, but ken this, Meredith: I’m no’ him. Now, what kind of work did ye steal from yer friend?”
“Her writing. Her research. I claimed it as my own.”
“Why?”
She simply could not tell him while he looked at her with that fierce look. Bowing her head again, she whispered, “I don’t know. I was so desperate. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“I see.”
“I didn’t know what I had done until I had already done it.”
He grunted an acknowledging noise.
“I was so desperate.”
“Ye said as much.”
She tore free from his careful hands, anger pouring through her. “And I’ll keep saying it too, because you have no idea how desperate I was. You don’t understand any of this, do you? I’m a thief and a liar. I’m no good. I’m especially not good enough for you—”
“Not good enough for me?”
“I wasn’t even in love with him. That’s the sickest part. If I had lied and stolen, because I was in love, maybe I could understand that of myself. But I wasn’t. I was just so tired. Exhausted. I was so tired of trying to prove myself. There was Erva with that perfect article, asking what I thought. What did I think? It was freaking perfect. And something I didn’t have the time or energy to compose. I no longer had the enthusiasm to do...anything I used to love. And I used to love my life, Jake. I loved waking up in the morning and grabbing a coffee and teaching all day long, then researching into the night. I loved it waking, thinking how perfect my life was. And then...David...But it was all me. Don’t you get it? It was my mistake. I am the lair. I can try to blame him, but I wasn’t even in love with him. I am the thief. I have no one to blame but myself.” After she’d spouted God knew what at him, she found herself huffing, fists balled into her silk skirts.
His narrowed eyes slitted even more. His jaw line ticking, he slowly shrugged his coat and waistcoat off, then pulled his brown suspenders over his powerful shoulders.
Not understanding what he was doing, Meredith raised her chin, hating herself for wanting him to throw her on the bed, hoping he would. Wishing that after all she’d done, he’d still claim her.
He silently studied her, then tore his buttoned white shirt open, revealing the bands of ropy muscle under. His golden skin reddened under the strain.
“Ye think ye made a big enough mistake, Meredith? Such a huge mistake, ye need to wear a permanent mark, do ye? Ye want to brand yerself with yer shame?” Snarling he tugged himself free from one of his sleeves, and Meredith almost knelt to worship his perfect body.
“Look at me.”
She hated being ordered about, but she already was staring at him. He was too beautiful to stop herself.
“Ye see my scars.”
She shook her head. “You had chickenpox. You can’t blame yourself for having that.”
He growled. He actually growled at her. But she lifted her chin even more.
“‘Tisn’t chickenpox, lass. I had smallpox and nearly died.”
Well, that diminished her heightened chin a smidgen. But she had a point, while he didn’t. “Still, you can’t blame yourself for having it. I’m sorry you had it, by the way. But—”
“I do blame myself, aye. I was a burden to my brothers. I hate that I was. Then I was taken away from them.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop it and look at me. Look closer, for not only do the pox scars mangle me so, making me look part dragon, but look closer here.” He pointed to his chest where two of the scars were not actually pockmarks, but smoother, rounder. She’d noticed those scars earlier, assuming them to be a cluster of pocks that had needed stitches. But then the realization nearly knocked her on the ground. Those marks were two bullet wounds.
“Oh my God. You were shot.” Not being able to help herself, she held her fingers over his healed injuries, wishing she could have protected him from whatever had happened.
“Aye.” He grabbed her hands, holding them away from his warm chest.
“So close to your heart. How did you—how do you—?”
“I do no’ ken how I continue to live. I really do not ken that. Unless...unless ye’re an angel and I’m in heaven.” Although his lips didn’t curl up, his eyes twinkled with a smile.
“How can you say such a thing after you know what I did?”
“Ye’re a word thief. So...?”
“I stole her ideas. That’s worse than—”
“Don’ say it, woman, for ye do not ken what ye mean.” He pointed to his chest again, then released her hands wholly. “This, here, is a shameful scar. I’ll always have it too, to remind me of when I stood in shock and didn’ do what I should have.” He sipped in a breath, then continued. “It was my first job as a lawman, but back then I was to uphold the security on a rail line. We were told to clear out an Indian village. Supposedly, the railway had paid for the land, but there were the villagers, in the way of progress, it had been explained to me. I didn’ ken the Cheyenne people, but I thought I could reason with them. Explain—ah, hell, I was a daft idiot. I went with two-dozen men, thinkin’ such grand thoughts. Then they start shooting before anyone says a word. Not the Indians, the security men I worked with. They slaughtered women and children before I acted. Right in front of my eyes, they razed them down. Now, I ken from the newspapers, everyone thinks the Indians do all the massacrin’, but what I saw was...it was inhumane, Meredith. I have to live with the fact that for who kens how many minutes I stood still while children were murdered before my very eyes.”
She touched his scars again, feeling the smoothness of the injuries, then the rough texture around the old wound.
“I’m so sorry. Did you get shot trying to rescue them?”
“I don’t ken what I was doin’. I was just trying to protect—but I didn’t do enough.”
A tear streaked down her cheek, and she stepped even closer to him, cautiously at first. She kissed his wounds.
He moaned, and she placed both her hands on his warm body, smoothing the tense hills and valleys of his torso. He breathed heavily on top of her head, and then he grabbed the nape of her neck, forcing her to look at him.
His jaw line kicked again, but the storms in his eyes had darkened with desire. “Meredith,” his voice was so low it rumbled through her body, licking at her sex, making her want him so much she couldn’t think of anything else.
But he kept talking. “I ken shame. I ken it well. But, darlin’, ye are good enough for me. I worry I’m not good enough for—”
“Stop it.”
He kissed her. Hard. Almost punishing. So perfect.
But he pulled away. “Ye remember what ye said about my scars, Meredith? The first time I showed ‘em to ye?”
In a haze she shook her head.
“I do. And ‘tis the same for me about yer past mistakes.” He licked his lips then stared inte
ntly into her eyes. “I see them. I see yer scars. But I see more so much more.”
Her heart thundering in her ears, she lifted on her toes and rammed her lips against his.
Chapter 19
“I’m going to rip yer dress off,” Jake growled, while his thumbs dipped into her high neckline at her nape. She was wearing too much silk. Though fine, there was too much of it. And he needed her nude. Now.
“Any other time,” Meredith whispered, “I’d beg for you to do that. But I borrowed this dress from Erva. Please don’t damage it.”
He groaned a half-hearted protest, but smiled down at her. His heart stuttered when she grinned back. His. She was his. She’d made mistakes, aye. But what person didn’t? He was proud of her, because for Erva to call her a friend meant Meredith must have made up for the grievance. She’d owned up to it, and that was a hell of a feat, for he’d never told anyone of his bullet wounds. He’d tried to ignore them, for they blended in to a particularly scaly patch of his scars.
Yet, as Meredith touched him, roaming her fingers delicately over his healed wounds, he must have seen himself through her eyes. His scars weren’t as prominent or pronounced. Nor did they look particularly gruesome. Mayhap he wasn’t as ugly and unpalatable as he’d thought. As Meredith’s hands skimmed down to his scar-free stomach, all thoughts dulled into a haze. His erection strained against his trews, and she had noticed. Her gaze now focused down, her smile turned a little wicked.
“I’ll work on the bottom buttons of my dress. You work on the top,” she whispered, her gaze returning to his, but her lids were half-mast, sexy as hell.
He slowly circled her around, keeping her close as he did so. Reaching over her shoulder, he kissed her jaw, noting the swirling blue and purple mark. After nibbling her lobe, he asked, “Never told me what happened, how ye have the bruise.”
His hands splayed around her tiny waist, but she urgently pushed them up until his palms swelled with her breasts. As he caressed her, she moaned.
“Just want this. Now. Don’t want to talk about it.” Then she worked on her buttons, revealing a pink stays under. It would take all damned night to get her undressed, so he stole one hand away from her plump globe and unfastened the top buttons at her neck while he kissed, licked, and sucked her newly freed skin. But within a few seconds, frustration at the millions of buttons on her dress made him take both hands to the work, even as she arched into him, mewling.
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