“And the newspaper interview?”
“It felt like betrayal,” he said simply, reliving for a moment that terrible afternoon. “I’d planned to tell you that night that I loved you. But instead, it seemed as if I had made the same mistake all over again…that I had been ruled by my libido at the expense of my family.”
“Were there any follow-up stories?”
“No. It was a nonarticle in the first place. Just one stupid guy shooting off his mouth and saying asinine things.”
“He is my father and will always be my father. No matter how badly he screwed up or will screw up in the future, I can never abandon him.”
“Does that same level of forgiveness and acceptance extend to me, as well?”
He held his breath, the balance of his life in the palms of her small, feminine hands.
The fact that she couldn’t meet his gaze gave him his answer. “I’ll go,” he said curtly, almost beyond social niceties. The agony of his chest being torn in two as he left his heart in those same small hands almost crippled him. He made it to the door before she stopped him.
“I don’t want you to leave,” she said, breathless as she wrapped her arms around him from behind and hung on. “Of course I forgive you.”
He stopped, whirled and grabbed her up in his arms. “I love you, Gracie,” he said hoarsely. “God knows you have no cause to believe it, but it’s true.”
Her arms were around his waist, her cheek to his chest. Frustrated with her silence and his inability to read her face, he scooped her up and carried her to the sofa. With her in his lap, he began to think the world might once again make sense.
He tipped up her chin, the better to see her crystal clear eyes. But the blue was muted today, veiled in a way that made him afraid.
She grimaced faintly, pressing a kiss to his chin and curling into his embrace. “I love you, too.”
“Come back with me,” he urged. “The house is empty now. You stole the life away from it.”
“No.” Her answer was simple. Quiet. “You’re welcome to stay here for a few days. In my bed.” She seemed to realize that her invitation needed clarification.
“And after that?” Anger clenched his muscles.
“You have a life and I have mine. Parallel lines, Gareth. No intersection.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He could outstubborn her any day. “I’m not letting you go.”
“You never had me…not really. We were playing a game, that’s all. The scullery maid and the prince. Can you imagine my father and yours if they ever met? It’s a ludicrous thought. We live in totally different worlds.”
“But you’re willing to have sex with me for old times’ sake? Is that it?”
“You needn’t make it sound so tawdry. There’s no reason we can’t maintain a physical relationship until you find the right woman to marry.”
“And then you’ll let me go…just like that?” He thrust her away and stood to pace, ridiculously hurt. Did she think so little of him?
Her bullheaded attitude convinced him he had to take another tack. “Let’s go to bed then. Right now.”
“I…uh…”
He took her hand and dragged her to her feet. “Where’s your room? Through here?” It wasn’t too hard to locate his target in such a tiny cabin.
The covers on her bed were tumbled. Either she was a little on the messy side or she had still been asleep when he arrived.
Without waiting for an engraved invitation, he stripped her out of her practical sleepwear, divested himself of his own clothing and bent her over the bed, hands at her hips. He almost forgot the condom, remembering only at the last second to bend down and pull one from his jeans pocket.
When he was sheathed in latex, he surged into her from behind, feeling the long, slow slide home on a million different levels. Her body accepted him easily now, warm and moist and slick with welcome.
He touched the back of her head, ruffling her curls. “Is this what you had in mind, Gracie? Friends with benefits?”
She was mute, her sharp gasps as he rammed into her repeatedly the only response. From this angle, the view was unbearably erotic.
“Look at us in the mirror,” he urged. His tanned hands on the white skin of her ass made a memorable picture. “This will never be enough,” he muttered, almost beyond speech. “You’re wrong. Dead wrong.”
He reached beneath her to cup her breasts and play with them, slowing his drive to completion only by exerting every inch of his iron will. Her nipples budded at his touch. He used his other hand to pinch lightly at her labia. She cried out and came, squeezing his shaft so tightly at the peak of her climax that he shuddered and saw stars.
“Gracie. God, Gracie.” Gripping her ass once again, he moved desperately in her, stroke after steady stroke. The tempo increased, his body tensed. Without warning, his world exploded as release snatched him up and tumbled him onto a rich, blissful, panting shore.
He had collapsed on top of her at the end. Boneless with pleasure, he shifted her all the way onto the bed and climbed in with her. Gracie was already asleep, which struck him as odd since it was morning, but he’d not had much rest in the last week, so he succumbed to postcoital fatigue and joined her.
Nineteen
Gracie awoke at noon, completely disoriented, but feeling as if something momentous had happened. The broad hair-roughened chest to which she was currently plastered gave her the first clue.
Gareth had found her. She reprimanded her silly, nonsensical heart for its cartwheel of jubilation and told herself to enjoy his apology visit without regret for the future.
Her movements wakened him. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, the sheet barely protecting his modesty. “I’m starving,” he said, running a hand over her hip and caressing her butt.
She managed a smile. “I can feed you. Give me a minute to get dressed.”
He rolled over her, trapping her with his thighs and resting his weight on his arms. “Do you understand what just happened?” His expression was sober as he looked down at her.
She chewed her lip, wondering why he was not putting a truly magnificent erection to good use. “Make-up sex?”
He bit her neck, sending shivers in wild seismic patterns all over her body. “Beyond that.”
“No.”
“I showed you how wrong you are.”
“Not following.” How could a woman concentrate when a man had his you-know-what pressed tantalizingly close to her most needy spot.
“I love you. You love me. We’re not going to skulk around having some Romeo and Juliet affair. We’re going to get married.”
Like a beached fish, Gracie struggled to breathe. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He used his swollen penis to nudge her gently.
“Not gonna happen. Now that I have all my memories back, I get the full picture. I’m firmly middle-class and you’re stinkin’ rich. Your father would have apoplexy if you brought me up to the castle. Admit it. That’s why you never introduced us to start with.”
“Wrong again. I wanted him to meet you, but I was afraid you were up to no good. Now that I know the truth, I can tell you that he’ll welcome you with open arms.”
“I still have an unpredictable, not always clear-thinking father.”
“Let me tell you a secret, Gracie Darlington.” He entered her half an inch or so and withdrew. “As we speak, UPS is delivering a dozen of my mother’s painting to the Darlington Gallery in Savannah…in preparation for an exhibition entitled For Those We Love. Dear old Edward is free to show them however long he likes…as long as the foundation gets the requested fee.”
She searched his face, stunned to see he was telling the truth. “But you were so angry with him. He was insensitive about your mother’s death, her life, your memories.”
Gareth sank deep, his mouth finding hers in a deep carnal kiss as he claimed her. “He created you, my love. And for that, I’ll forgive him almost anything.”
Gracie cou
ldn’t stem the tears that wet her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He moved with a power that left no question as to his passion, his adoration. “You’re mine,” he muttered, the muscles in his arms straining as he supported his upper body. His hips flexed. “Mine.”
Gracie gave herself up to the moment, overwhelmed not only by his incredibly generous gesture to her father, but by the openness she sensed in him, the lack of bitterness, the almost palpable contentment.
The end sparked at one instant this time, both of them groaning with pleasure as they came together, perfectly in sync, exquisitely attuned to one other.
Lazily, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world, she ran a hand over his shorn head. The hair was no more than a half an inch long all over. “Why did you cut it?” she asked. “When I looked out the window, I wasn’t sure at first that it was you.” Though he was still incredibly handsome, his new appearance was more hero and protector than wild man and dangerous predator.
Gareth dragged them both to a seated position against the headboard, Gracie’s back to his chest. In the mirror opposite the bed, she could see his expression clearly.
He ran a hand over his head, his smile rueful. “In ancient days, men sometimes cut off their hair as a sign of penitence and devotion. I hurt you badly, Gracie. The very person to whom I owed the greatest debt…for bringing me back to life. For loving me. This was the only way I knew how to make you see what was in my heart.”
“Oh, Gareth…”
Their gazes met in the mirror, hers tremulous, his amazingly tender as he rubbed the wetness from her cheeks with a gentle touch.
He grinned suddenly. “Well, the haircut wasn’t the only thing I thought of. Wait here. Don’t move.”
He left the room; she heard the front door open and close, which made her laugh out loud, because he was buck naked. Moments later he was back, this time scooting up beside her so they faced each other.
She leaned toward him and used both hands to caress his head. “I’m getting used to it already. It makes you look like even more of a badass than you did before.”
He hugged her tightly, his arms bands of steel that made it hard to breathe. “I’ll never hurt you again, Gracie Darlington.”
Reluctantly he released her, handing over a small parcel clumsily wrapped in tissue, but without tape or bow. She took it with a quizzical smile and peeled back the paper.
“Oh, Gareth.” That was her new refrain. But what else was there to say when he had given her the most exquisite box. The wood was cherry, the dimensions two inches by three inches and barely an inch deep. The lid was inlaid with an intricate pattern of turquoise and silver and onyx. “You made this?”
He nodded. “Open it.”
She slid the lid to one side, revealing a small compartment and an even smaller wad of tissue. Inside the tissue was a diamond ring, the square cut center stone flanked by two perfect emeralds. She was speechless.
“It was my mother’s,” he said hurriedly. “And if it makes you feel bad to wear it, we’ll find something else. But I’ve already talked to Kieran and Jacob. They gave me their blessing to pass this on to you…since I was the one who remembered her best.”
She gulped as he slid the lovely ring on to her finger.
Gareth’s expression was more open and vulnerable than she had ever seen it, his heart laid out for her to see. “Marry me, Gracie. Bring light and life and children to our mountain.”
She rested her head against his shoulder, already contemplating the memories they would create together. “Yes, my dear wolf,” she said. “Always and forever, yes.”
* * * * *
ISBN: 9781459219359
Copyright © 2012 by Janice Maynard
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Into His Private Domain Page 17