by Anna Durand
He moved to stand.
"Wait," I said, pushing up as he sat back down and angled toward me. The washcloth slid off my forehead onto the bed. My face bumped into his chest. The wonderful scent and heat of him flooded over me, surrounded me, triggering an ache in my chest. A yearning I'd fought for so long. I felt too awful now to care about being strong. Tilting my head back, I met his questioning gaze. "Stay with me. Please."
His lips curved up in a shaky smile, and he let out the breath I hadn't realized he was holding. "Of course I will."
Without another word, he climbed over my body to lie down beside me. He didn't try to put his arm around me or nuzzle against me. He just lay there, a couple inches away, and folded his hands over his six-pack abs, concealed beneath his dress shirt. I was grateful beyond words, and besides, I had no clue what to say to him. Talk? Sure, I'd thought I wanted to do that. But once I got here, I couldn't remember any of the things I'd planned to tell him. Cutting things. Definitive things. Unimportant things.
I tossed the washcloth onto the sleek, modern bedside table — surely it was waterproof, right? — and settled into the cushy mattress, underneath the silky-soft blanket. Sleep seduced me, luring me down into its shadowy, weightless depths. No dreams haunted my slumber, no thoughts, no worries, just a deep and peaceful sleep the likes of which I hadn't known in months, maybe years. I woke bleary-eyed and fuzzy-brained, rising out of a fog into the bright sunshine, squinting until my eyes adjusted.
Where was I? Huge windows, view of the city, and… My heart did a little hop-skip. Right next to me, turned on his side to face me, slept Lachlan. Everything rushed back to me with a heady abruptness. The Infinity Suite. Almost passing out. Lachlan catching me. Caring for me. Lying with me.
Raising up on one arm, I took in the sight of him there, eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips, as if sleeping beside me gave him all the pleasure in the world. As if he belonged with me. As if he loved me. But he'd never said the words, which left too much room for doubt. And yet, I yearned to curl up against him, to feel his strong arms encircle me, drawing me tight against him. To hear him call me gràidh and mo leannan. I stretched a hand out to touch his face, then pulled it back, fisting it over my belly. He'd vowed he wouldn't leave town without me, but he hadn't asked me to go with him to Scotland — or anywhere. Though I understood why he hesitated, why he'd walked out on me two months ago, my heart and soul were tapped out, sapped of the strength to argue or watch him break down again. If he woke up and started murmuring sweet words to me again, I'd melt. Problem was, I couldn't shake the bone-deep fear he'd lose his nerve and run back home to Scotland like before.
You are my home, he'd vowed.
Pain cramped the back of my throat. Despite the fear, despite everything, I needed to speak the truth, even if he couldn't hear it. Maybe it was best he never hear the words. I whispered them into the air, so hushed I scarcely heard it.
"I forgive you."
Sliding out of the bed, I tiptoed into the living room, found a paper and pen, and left him a note so he wouldn't wonder what became of me. I hurried out of the suite and down the elevator, but the concierge intercepted me on my way through the lobby. He insisted on hailing a taxi for me and I didn't argue. By the time I got home, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed, huddle under the covers, and sleep more.
But when I walked through the front door, my parents were waiting in the living room. They leaped off the sofa with a spryness even Casey couldn't match. The dog bounded up to me, but refrained from accosting me, instead choosing to lick my hands. Mom and Dad lingered near the sofa, though they came around the backside to scrutinize me with parental concern.
"Where have you been?" Dad asked.
"I went to see Lachlan."
They glanced at each other, Dad smirked, and Mom dug a ten-dollar bill out of her pocket, handing it to Dad.
I frowned. "What are you betting on now?"
"You," Mom said, as if betting on their daughter was a common parental pastime. "Your father said you must've gone to talk to Lachlan, but I said no, you're much too stubborn to go to him until at least tomorrow."
Dad pocketed the money, still smirking.
My frown deepened into a scowl that I felt cinching my face tight. "I'm agonizing over a very personal decision and you guys are making wagers about it?"
"What else have we got to do?" Dad said. "Retirement's kinda boring and we got used to all the activity at the village."
The village meaning the retirement community they'd moved to after he quit working. I was beginning to think life in swampy Florida had saturated their brains and turned them into loons. But, I supposed, betting on my love life was their way of showing they cared about the outcome. Cared about me. And, in a weird way, cared about Lachlan too. I still couldn't decide how I felt about their strange camaraderie with him.
Of course, they were better judges of character than I was. After meeting Presley once, they couldn't disguise their dislike of him, though they never told me they didn't like him. Completely taken in by his act, I'd ignored their attitude toward him, dismissing it as a sign of overprotective parents. With Lachlan, in spite of knowing he'd dumped me and hurt me badly, they still liked him. I withheld the gory details of our breakup, but they'd seen me weeping over him. For them to like him anyway… I wasn't sure what to make of it.
My mother marched up to me and planted her palm on my forehead.
I swatted her hand away, probably making a petulant face. "I don't have a fever."
"No, but you are pale."
A phone warbled. Mom excavated it out of her purse and answered, a smile lightening her expression. "Hello, Lachlan. How are you?"
I jerked my hand to reach for her phone, but reeled it back an instant later. Talk to him, don't talk to him. Yell at him, kiss him. My heart and mind couldn't agree on what I should do about Lachlan.
"Yes, she's here," Mom told Lachlan. She paused between each phrase she spoke, listening to his responses. "No, she didn't mention it. We'll take care of her, don't worry. I'll tell her."
She hung up, dumped the phone in her purse, and shook her head at me. "Lachlan says you passed out earlier."
I gazed heavenward, but found no answers there. "He's overreacting. I almost passed out, that's all."
"Hmm." She watched me for a moment, then said, "Lachlan wants you to know he heard what you said this morning right before you left. I don't know what that means, but he thought you would."
Right before I left? He'd been asleep — or so I thought. No, he couldn't have heard me when I told him I forgave him. But what else could he have meant?
"Erica was bound to get sick," Dad said, "after all the stress she went through the past few months."
Mom tsked. "That's not why she's sick, Frank."
"Really. Then what's your diagnosis, Dr. Deb?"
She surveyed me with a neutral expression, but her gaze hesitated over my belly before she looked at my face again. "You're going to a doctor, even if we have to hogtie you and drag you there on our backs. I already called and made you an appointment for three o'clock."
"You what?" I sputtered, executing a honest-to-goodness double take.
My mother sighed. "I knew you wouldn't go on your own."
"Should've heard her," Dad said. "She pretended to be you and whined real good until they squeezed you in this afternoon."
Well, I supposed I couldn't really blame them. I'd been nauseous and exhausted for two weeks, hadn't eaten much lately, and had resorted to napping in the daytime to make up for lost sleep. Maybe I did need to see a doctor. Resigned to my fate, I rubbed my forehead and let my shoulders sag. "Okay. I'll go."
Mom clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Good girl."
Dad glanced at me, then Mom. "Should we call Lachlan and let him know?"
"No!" The syllable exploded out of me, harsher than I'd intended. I flung a hand up to cover my mouth. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. But please don't call him. I'll deal with him later."
An odd expression flickered over my mother's face. "I have a feeling you'll need to see him sooner rather than later."
A prickling started on my scalp and rushed over my whole body, not quite cold, not exactly warm. It was more an awareness just below the surface of my mind. I couldn't grab onto it, and had a sinking feeling I'd regret it if I did latch onto the knowledge.
I seized a lock of my hair, twining it around my finger. My lip curled at the grimy feel of my hair. I dropped the lock. "Need a nap and a shower before my appointment."
But in the back of my mind, that slippery little fragment of knowing taunted me.
Chapter Thirty-One
I balanced atop a stool at the bar inside Dance Ardor, my heels lodged on one of the rungs. The bartender brought me my second glass of sparkling water. Yesterday, I'd visited the doctor's office and received my diagnosis. I still felt numb, unable to process what I'd learned. Yet even before my doctor's visit, I'd made my decision about Lachlan. After the appointment, I worried about what he'd think when I told him about my condition. Would it be too much for him? Would he hop on the next flight home?
You are my home, he'd said. I shut my eyes, my mind reeling back to yesterday in his hotel room. His sweet concern. The way he'd tended to me. How he'd lain beside me while I slept. My throat burned, and a coldness blanketed me. Why did the thought of him still affect me this way? I should've been inured to his presence by now.
I swigged my sparkling water. The carbonation tickled the back of my throat, making me cough. I'd never get inured to Lachlan MacTaggart.
Scanning the club, wincing at the bright flashes of the strobe lights, I searched for my guest. I'd sent Lachlan a text message — yes, I was a coward — inviting him to meet me here. Why here, my parents had asked. Good question. I couldn't really explain it, but this was where I'd first met Lachlan and somehow it seemed appropriate to experience the critical moment in our relationship in the place where it all began.
No Lachlan yet, though.
I turned back to the bar, sipping my drink. A gorgeous guy dressed in an expensive suit, without the jacket, sat down on the stool beside me. His hair had that ultra-chic rumpled style. He flicked me a quick, appraising look. His gaze heated when he spotted my breasts, highlighted by the low neckline of the emerald dress Lachlan had bought me way back during our one month together. Mr. Fashion Victim stroked his shadow beard and smiled — at my boobs. "Hey, beautiful. Can I buy you a real drink?"
A real drink. I choked on air, sputtering. Lachlan had offered me the same thing the first time I saw him, here in this club. My first taste of Scotch whisky had hit me hard, though not as hard as the Scotsman who introduced me to it. When he offered me Talisker whisky and described the Isle of Skye to me, oh my…
"Well?" the gorgeous boob-talker said. To his credit, he'd shifted his focus to my face. His eyes were a scorching shade of caramel brown. Most women would've swooned at his attention. His moves left me cold, with a familiar emptiness yawning inside my heart.
"Thank you," I told him, cradling my glass in both hands, "but I'm not drinking alcohol these days."
"What, are you Mormon or something?"
"No." I'm… No, don't think about it, not here, not now. "I'm a health nut." I tipped my glass to him. "My body is a temple."
The sedate song that had been playing faded away. Hard-driving electronic music pulsated through the club, vibrating my stool and grating on my nerves. I rubbed my temples and tossed back the rest of my sparkling water, gesturing to the bartender for more. The last time I'd visited this establishment, a certain Scotsman had strode up to me in a blue-and-green kilt, his demeanor all gentle confidence and easy sensuality.
"May I worship at your temple, gràidh?"
My heart thumped so hard pain stabbed through my ribs, stealing my breath. My rational brain shouted at me to get hold of myself first, but a reckless heat rushed through me, overpowering my reason. Elation shot adrenaline straight into my veins, heightening every one of my senses, awakening the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck. I spun around on my stool. My dress snagged on it and rode up my thigh, but I barely noticed the chill of air teasing my flesh.
Lachlan grinned. He wore the kilt and black T-shirt — and those damn combat boots.
The gorgeous guy beside me bristled. "She's with me, jackass."
"No, I'm not." I fought the impulse to hurl myself at Lachlan. This meeting was supposed to be mature and serious, not wild and fevered like our first encounter. A nagging voice in my head asked why I'd arranged to meet him here then, if I didn't want the same outcome. Okay, okay, maybe a part of me did want that. Our first kiss had been life-altering, and I craved the pure, mindless pleasure of succumbing to my desires, succumbing to him.
I intended to hop off my stool gracefully, but I'd made the fatal mistake of wearing the same stilettos as before, the second time ever I'd worn skyscraper heels. I'd eaten three good meals today, but the dizziness lingered in the background. The second my stilettos touched down on the shiny floor, vertigo twirled my head for a split second and I lost my balance. My right heel slipped out from under me, careening me toward Lachlan.
He caught me in those powerful yet gentle arms. Pinned to his body, I tipped my head back to drink in the sight of him. Worry creased his brow.
"Relax, I'm just clumsy," I said, making zero effort to disentangle myself. He was warm and solid and more tempting than ever, and my mutinous body seemed intent on dissolving into him. A bit too breathlessly, I added, "Feeling much better today, actually."
"Glad to hear it." One corner of his mouth ticked up. "You do have a tendency to swoon into my arms."
Ah yes, our first meeting. Had my subconscious arranged for me to tumble into him again? Stay focused, woman. I flattened my palms on his chest, swirling my fingertips over the ridges of muscles hidden under his shirt. So much for staying focused.
Mr. Fashion Victim jumped off his stool. "This douche bothering you?"
"Not at all." I gazed up at Lachlan, unblinking, seduced by his smoldering blue eyes. Dimly, I realized I was moistening my lips, but I couldn't concentrate on anything except his eyes. "I'm with the Highlander."
Lachlan's smile lit the entire world and shot liquid heat through my body. Reason and intentions disintegrated, blown away by the winds of an all-consuming need. I wrapped my arms around his neck and flung my legs up to encircle his waist and lock my ankles behind him. Heedless of the crowd around us, I crushed my mouth to his. Our lips fused in a messy and desperate kiss, his lips grinding against mine with a fervor beyond anything we'd shared before. Two months without his kiss, his touch, his —
He thrust his tongue inside my mouth and I moaned, clawing my fingers into his hair. Oh, he tasted divine. I couldn't get enough, though I lashed my tongue in greedy strokes, crazed with the need to devour him.
The boob-talker muttered, "You weren't the hottest chick in here anyway."
My Highlander set me down on my feet. His eyes were glossy and hooded, his lips moist from our kiss. He blinked rapidly, and I noticed wetness gathering in his eyes. Tears? My strong Scot wouldn't shed them, no way. But the fact he teared up launched my heart into orbit, weightless and free, spinning out into a universe that was hollow and vacant without him in it.
Lachlan placed one big hand on my cheek. "That eejit's wrong. You are the hottest chick in this place."
Still soaring, I clasped my hand over his. "I was afraid you might not come. I mean, I know how much you hate this place."
"I will always come for you." He shifted his hand, cupping my nape. "Always."
Yesterday, when I reached my decision, I'd promised myself from here on out I'd be honest with him, no matter what. Okay, here goes. "I miss you. I want to make this work, but we need to talk about a few things first."
His expression blanked, his mouth went slack. He spoke slowly, his tone measured. "Are you sure that's what you want?"
"Positive." I brushed my lips over his, murmurin
g against them. "Can't deny the truth anymore. I love you. I want to be with you, for as long as you'll have me."
"As long as I'll have you?" He shook his head, eyebrows squished together. His accent thickened with an emotion that roughened his voice. "I'll be having ye for the rest of our lives and whatever comes after. Ye'll not be getting away from me again."
"I wasn't sure if you were sick of my angst."
Lachlan shook his head again, his lips parting. "Don't be daft, lass. I'll never get sick of you."
His hand on my hip glided up my back, over my shoulder, grazing across my collarbone to flutter over my throat and settle on cheek. His blue eyes, glinting in the flashing strobe lights, enthralled me. I could've gazed into those eyes forever, but I needed an unequivocal answer from him. "The real question is, are you sure?"
He wound his arms around me and held on like he'd never let go. "I've let go of the past, once and for all. Losing you woke me up and forced me to see what I'd done to myself — to you. All I know is I can't abide a future without you in it."
My breaths grew labored as the import of his statement sunk in. He ducked his head close to mine, but just when he spoke, the music crescendoed to deafening levels and drowned out his words. I cupped a hand over my ear, shouting to be heard. "What? I can't hear you."
He pulled in a deep breath and, in the instant the song ended, he hollered, "I love you."
Everyone in the club turned to stare at us. Some looked baffled, others amused, and still more glared at us like we'd committed a heinous crime by interrupting their dancing. Who cared what they thought? Lachlan had spoken the words. Well okay, he yelled them so loud his voice reverberated off the club's walls and rattled my eardrums, but yeah. He'd said it.
Tears streamed down my face. Stupid hormones.
I staggered backward, turning away from him, my heart in my throat. It was time to tell him everything. Time to face the consequences and put his commitment to the ultimate test.